I, the Dark Lord, will definitely be a good principal!

Angell looked at the cat in his arms and gave a meaningful smile.

Cats catching mice is perfectly logical.

However, he and Ron will probably have a fight.

But...

As Angell walked through the crowd, a series of interesting ideas surfaced in his mind.

Poor little Ron, he's about to experience the beauty of tea ceremony!

vold: "???"

"Wait, what are you going to do now?"

Angel did not answer him immediately. He walked to the crystal floor-to-ceiling window, sat down, and reached out to touch the cool, transparent crystal.

Winter wasn't quite over yet, and the outside temperature was close to zero, but the fireplace in the common room was burning, so the temperature wasn't high, but at least it didn't make people feel cold.

The thick layer of ice on the surface of Black Lake has not yet begun to melt, while the bottom of the lake presents a completely different scene.

The water temperature was not yet low enough to freeze, and the lake water flowed slowly in the darkness. Some cold-resistant fish were still swimming among the aquatic plants at the bottom of the lake.

The world at the bottom of the lake, reflected in the crystal, resembles an oil painting illuminated by a soft glow.

It rained this morning, but now the sun is out.

As light filters into the lake, the crystal glass captures the subtle shifts in light and shadow, refracting them into dreamlike halos that cast dappled patterns on the floor and walls of the Slytherin common room.

“I’m not planning to do anything… To be precise, it’s my cat who’s planning to do something, like eat a mouse. There’s no need to let Sirius Black out to cause me trouble.”

Angell curled his lips into a somewhat cruel smile.

“Harry doesn’t need so many close people, let alone family like his godfather. If Sirius leaves Azkaban and is exonerated, Harry won’t rely on us friends as much anymore. What do you think?”

In his line of sight, several clumps of dark green aquatic plants spread wildly on the bottom of the lake, their branches and leaves swaying gently with the current.

Occasionally, small fish would dart among them, their bodies shimmering with strange silver or cold blue light. After leaving a brief, cool trail, they would quickly disappear into the dark depths.

Vold didn't say anything; he genuinely thought so too.

This is the approach that best serves Angor's interests, though it's somewhat cruel to Harry.

Yes, it's a bit cruel to Sirius too.

However, if he comes to his senses and is willing to escape from Azkaban, the story can still proceed normally.

“Moreover, if the main soul is not resurrected, then we can completely achieve a peaceful evolution, and there will be no third war in the wizarding world,” Angor continued.

"...Isn't this the ideal situation?"

Yes, it's perfect, but not very realistic, because no one knows where the main soul is now.

Moreover, if the Horcruxes are not completely destroyed, it is virtually impossible to kill the main soul.

His last vestige of soul will not be destroyed; although he can be said to be dead, he is not truly dead.

The little silver fish had completely disappeared. Angell sighed, turned and went upstairs to continue working on the paper he hadn't finished yesterday.

—This is rather tragic news.

When Dumbledore realized that Ingres was far more capable of completing his tasks than he had imagined, Ingres's workload increased by at least a third.

…………

February 15th, Saturday, early morning.

Sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a hazy glow. Cornelius Fudge opened his eyes, his consciousness gradually clearing in the gentle morning light.

He lay on the soft bed, his body and mind enveloped in comfort, while birds sang merrily outside the window, seemingly vying to celebrate the beauty of the dawn.

He has indeed been in a very good mood lately.

The evidence against Lockhart is conclusive; they have found the victims of his Oblivion Curse, and others can also testify that the protagonist of the events described in Lockhart's books is indeed someone else.

Through this incident, Fudge realized that Dumbledore might really be getting old and senile, otherwise he wouldn't have let such a fraud into the school.

He was completely unaware that, before this, they also believed Lockhart had actually experienced those things—at most, some people would think the story was made up, but no one ever thought of it as stealing credit from someone else.

Fudge was in a good mood and was about to get up when he saw a letter on his pillow.

A letter?

It's not time for the owl to deliver the message yet, and it won't be delivered to him anyway!

So that means someone left the letter by his pillow?

Fudge turned pale with fright at his own thoughts.

He was always protected by Aurors, who were able to deliver letters to his room silently...

Without opening the letter, Fudge left the room and hurried to Auror, who was sitting in the living room.

Did you see anyone enter my room last night?

The Auror shook his head, looking confused: "No, I've been here ever since the shift change."

"Uh... if Benjamin didn't say anything unusual when we changed shifts, and someone went in, I would definitely stop him... I mean, a stranger."

Fudge's face turned even uglier.

He led the Auror back to his room and showed him the letter that had been placed by his pillow.

At this, the Auror's expression also turned ugly.

"Minister, let me first check if this letter contains any black magic!"

Fudge nodded, took a few steps back, and kept a close eye on the Auror's movements.

Ten minutes later, he realized that it was just an ordinary letter.

They opened the letter and placed it on the table.

"Looks like it was just a prank... Oh..."

Fudge's slightly upturned lips seemed to be pulled down by an invisible force, quickly collapsing into a stiff straight line.

The smile vanished without a trace, replaced by an almost distorted expression.

The muscles in his cheeks began to tighten, and the originally soft contours became stiff and angular, as if you could hear the faint "clucking" sound of the muscles contracting.

He stared intently at the thin, concentric characters on the letter, as if trying to make the paper look magical.

The letter read—

"Your Excellency Minister Fouché:

The series of actions you have taken recently regarding the attack on Hogwarts by dark wizards have truly perplexed and worried me.

You seem to have a great misunderstanding and unfounded suspicion of me, believing that I intend to use this crisis to seize the position of Minister of Magic, and then to promote the so-called Hogwarts education reform in an attempt to weaken my influence.

I must solemnly declare to you that I have absolutely no interest in becoming Minister for Magic. My life's ambition and mission are dedicated to the land of Hogwarts; I only wish to be the headmaster of this great school, nurturing young wizards and witches.

The struggle for power and the vortex of politics are like a fog that makes one lose their way; I have neither the desire nor the inclination to get deeply involved in them.

When Hogwarts is attacked, we should work together to find ways to strengthen the school's defenses, hunt down the evil dark wizard, ensure the safety of teachers and students, and find the missing students, rather than engaging in baseless power struggles within the school.

Albus Dumbledore

November 1993, 2

Oh, by the way, I really like the stars on your sleeping cap.

Fudge's forehead began to bead with sweat, but he was completely unaware of it.

His lips trembled slightly, the twitching starting at the corner of his mouth and spreading to his entire lips, as if a chill was rising from the bottom of his heart, making him unable to control his facial muscles.

"Dumbledore..."