Vast Sea Visualization

In a world where magic meets the mind's vast expanse, Lucas, reborn as Harry Potter, wields the power of visualization to master his emotions and wandless magic. With a tranquil sea as his mental fortress, he embarks on a journey of self-discovery and magical mastery.

Evoxius · Book&Literature
Not enough ratings
84 Chs

Media Attention

Chaos reigned in the Dursley household as the family scrambled like ants before a flood, preparing for their move to Cambridge. Cardboard boxes formed a labyrinth through the rooms, their contents spilling out in rivers of clothes, books and knick-knacks.

In the hallway, Vernon's barrel-chested frame heaved with effort, face beet-red as he hoisted a heavy box into the hired moving van. Perspiration darkened the armpits of his strained white shirt. "You! Get your scrawny rear in gear!" he bellowed at Lucas, spittle flying from his pursed lips.

Lucas blinked, the shout dragging him from his thoughts. He scooped up a lighter box, its edges biting into his young arms as he carried it out front. Over the rumble of the idling van's engine, he caught Petunia's disdainful voice.

"Paying for everything, just for that freak's schooling..." She clucked her tongue, thin hands planted on her hip bones. "A new house, a new life, all because of the boy's oddities."

Putting down the box, Lucas rolled his shoulders to loosen the stiff muscles. His bright green eyes flitted about, taking in the chaos, the crumpled piles of newspaper, the scuffed walls now bare of photographs.

He closed his eyes and thoughts drifted, nebulous, until a wisp of memory solidified. Warm, welcoming, it spoke of home, of shelter. Of family. Yes, the protective blood wards - they weren't tied to this structure of drywall and timber, but something deeper. More viscous than brick and mortar.

Dumbledore's words trickled in, clarifying. "...the place where your mother's blood dwells..." It was more than just location - it was the thick cord of kinship looping back to Petunia. During his mental explorations, he'd sensed that same sheltering aura pulsating within her.

Revealing his adult intellect openly would be a risk, even under the blood wards' shielding umbra. Vengeful Death Eaters still walked unchecked, their vitriol for Muggles and the vanquished Dark Lord's conqueror burning obsidian-hot.

But risk bred opportunity's seedlings. Lucas had long decided to establish himself in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. No skulking in shadows, practicing magic in secret like a hermit. This new reality was his to seize with both hands. 

As the Dursleys' car ate up miles of highway, Lucas let his thoughts drift and slowly a good idea for a new spell took shape - invisibility. The ability to cloak oneself utterly, to move unseen. To bypass guards, sneak into places, pillage Cambridge's libraries for books far beyond his perceived academic level, and more. It would always be useful…

A childhood memory surfaced, bobbing up from the briny depths. A group of youngsters playing hide-and-seek amid the girders and exposed beams of a construction site. Scattering like startled rabbits as heavy bootsteps and gruff voices approached. Finding himself crammed in a crevice, every fibre of his being screaming the silent plea - "Don't see me, don't see me!"

The recollection hazed, but the raw emotion remained - that primal urge to simply... disappear. To become unseeable, undetectable. Lucas latched onto the feeling like a talisman, letting it saturate his consciousness, as if his very essence were dissolving into a placid pool.

For the remainder of the drive, he focused solely on this meditative visualization, sharpening his intent to hide into an indomitable cutting edge. Though tempting, attempting to cast the concealing charm now amid Muggle eyes would be foolish. But this mental labour would forge a firm foundation to build upon in the future.

At last the car pulled up to their new Cambridge residence, a tidy two-story home with fresh white siding and trimmed shrubbery. Lucas peered out, green eyes glinting like polished jade in the afternoon light. The blood protections would endure so long as Petunia lived here, and he considered this place his home.

The security was vague, but Harry's original timeline proved its effectiveness. A gamble, but a calculated one.


The centuries-old red brick buildings of The Perse School came into view as Lucas turned the corner onto Glebe Road. Tall trees lined the immaculately maintained grounds, their new spring leaves filtering the morning sunlight. Groups of students in navy blazers and striped ties meandered along the paths, books and rucksacks slung over their shoulders. Laughter and chatter filled the air.

Lucas adjusted the strap of his own bag and straightened his blazer before mounting the stone steps to the entrance. The heavy wooden doors opened onto the main foyer, where the unmistakable sounds of hundreds of voices echoed off the vaulted ceiling. He turned left down the corridor, following the flow of students towards the Pelican School building. 

The last month had been a dizzying cycle of assessments, interviews, and meetings with educational psychologists. More than once, Lucas had to stifle an amused grin as the supposed experts were lost for words, utterly baffled by how easily he completed cognitive tests designed for children. To his reincarnated mind, those simplistic exercises were literal child's play.

What did give him pause was the realization that his mental faculties seemed to be growing ever sharper since he began the occlumency exercise of visualizing a vast sea. His memory recall in particular was becoming almost photographic, able to absorb, process and commit entire textbooks to memory after a single reading.

To be honest, I have no idea why this is happening. Maybe such extensive visualization of a representation of his mind while still having such a young body is changing my brain's structure, and that's influencing my soul somehow? I don't know for sure, but my best guess is that I'm still mainly using my soul to think. Because such a young body and brain should have had some influence on me, whether that is by acting childishly or some other way, but I haven't noticed that at all.

Anyway, I'm satisfied enough that Harry's brain isn't changing my personality in permanent ways. Or even in temporary ways, like the… What was it called again? The… phylactery of Volde-

Lucas had a blank look on his face as he entered the bright, airy classroom to find two dozen or so students already seated at individual desks, several years his senior. A warm-faced woman with chestnut-coloured curls styled in a neat bun looked up from her lesson planning with a friendly smile.

"Good morning, everyone," Mrs. Hawkins, the friendly Year 3 instructor, announced in a welcoming tone. "This is our new student, Harry Potter, who will be joining our class. I know you'll all do your best to make him feel at home."

She gestured toward the tiny black-haired boy standing before the class. Lucas kept his back straight and hands clasped politely behind him, regarding his new classmates quietly.

A sudden eruption of shocked whispers and mutterings filled the room as the children absorbed the unexpected sight before them.

"He's just a little child!"

"Is he meant to be in this class?"

"He can't be more than three years old!"

Emily, the blonde girl in pigtails that Mrs. Hawkins had indicated, leaned over to her friend Amelia. "Is that really a new student? He's barely bigger than my baby brother!"

Amelia's brows knit in disbelief as she watched the tiny boy. "Your brother can't even talk properly yet. There's no way..."

To the class's collective amazement, the young boy stepped forward and spoke in a clear, polite tone that wouldn't be out of place from an adult.

"Good morning, everyone. I'm Harry Potter, and I'm very pleased to join your class today." He gave a small nod of his head.

The whispers and mutterings instantly ceased as two dozen jaws went slack. Eyes shifted rapidly between Lucas and Mrs. Hawkins as if to confirm this wasn't an elaborate prank.

Finally, a freckled boy in the front row found his voice. "But...you're a baby! How can you...?"

Lucas merely smiled an easy, dimpled smile. "I can assure you, despite my physical age, I am quite capable of learning alongside all of you."

Mrs. Hawkins cleared her throat, regaining the class's attention. "Quite right, Harry. Now then..." She clapped her hands briskly. "Why don't you take the open desk next to Emily in the third row?"

She gave the stunned girl with pigtails an encouraging nod. Emily's mouth worked silently for a moment before she recovered enough to offer a hesitant smile to the tiny boy making his way toward her.

Lucas gave a polite nod of thanks as he carefully stowed his rucksack and slid into the seat beside the bemused girl. Whispers and furtive glances persisted for a moment until Mrs. Hawkins spoke again.

"Alright everyone, let's begin with a few mental warm-up exercises..."

As she chalked out a basic arithmetic problem, Lucas's small hand shot up once she'd completed stating the full question. Mrs. Hawkins's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she fought to keep an impassive expression.

"You have the answer already, Harry?"

The whispers redoubled as Lucas replied without a moment's hesitation.

"Forty-two, Mrs. Hawkins."

For the remainder of the lesson, Lucas answered every question Mrs. Hawkins posed without hesitation, his small hand shooting up eagerly each time. The elementary maths and reading content held no challenges for his reincarnated mind. However, he took care to regulate his demeanour, not wanting to draw too much negative attention. 

As the class observed the tiny newcomer's obvious genius, a mix of admiration, curiosity, confusion and even disdain simmered in their thoughts. Lucas made a subtle study of those whose minds contained the most antagonistic or jealous thoughts, making a conscious effort not to provoke them further on his first day. It wouldn't do to make potential 'enemies' so soon.

During the mid-morning break, Lucas turned to the blonde girl Mrs. Hawkins had indicated, Emily. Her open, friendly expression and uncomplicated thoughts marked her as a promising connection.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he said with a warm smile, extending his small hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Emily," the girl replied brightly, giving his hand an enthusiastic shake. Her blue eyes sparkled with sincere interest. "You're really smart, aren't you, Harry?"

Lucas gave a modest shrug, green eyes twinkling. "I just enjoy learning. What's your favourite subject, Emily?"

Over the next few minutes, he steered their conversation towards her interests while carefully plucking insights from her thoughts using Legilimency. By the time the bell rang for their next lesson, Lucas had made his first new friend at Perse by tailoring his personality to click with Emily's own. A promising start.

The rest of the day continued in a similar fashion, with Lucas completing every assignment flawlessly while avoiding drawing any undue attention. When the final bell rang, he approached Mrs. Hawkins's desk, rucksack in hand. "Mrs. Hawkins?"

She looked up from gathering her lesson materials with a friendly smile. "Yes, Harry? Did you need something?"

"I was wondering..." He paused, considering his phrasing. "Today's lessons were really interesting. Do you maybe have any extra books or materials I could read to learn more about that stuff?"

Mrs. Hawkins blinked, briefly taken aback by the unexpected request. "Extra readings, you mean? On top of your regular work?"

Lucas nodded eagerly. "If it's not too much trouble. I'd love to dive deeper into those topics we covered."

The teacher's surprise transitioned into an indulgent smile as she processed the unusual ask from her new student. "You know what, I actually have some enrichment worksheets and activities that could provide more challenge. Let me put together an advanced packet for you, Harry."

His eyes lit up with sincere appreciation. "That would be brilliant, thanks so much, Mrs. Hawkins! I really appreciate you taking the time."

Gathering his rucksack, Lucas walked between the clusters of older students departing the school grounds. Though he anticipated receiving his Hogwarts letter at age eleven, he aimed to accelerate his muggle studies as much as possible beforehand. Completing his secondary levels, or even University early, would allow him to enter the wizarding world with a good academic foundation.


The shrill ringing of the doorbell pierced the quiet afternoon at their new Cambridge home, shattering the peaceful lull that had settled over the Dursley household. Petunia jumped, her bony fingers tightening around the damp tea towel she had been clutching, as the sounds of muffled voices drifted in from outside.

"Who on earth?" she muttered, craning her neck towards the front windows. Through the narrow gap in the net curtains, she caught sight of a small crowd gathered outside - several scruffy-looking men in rumpled suits clutching microphones, notepads, and hulking camera equipment.

Reporters. Her heart stuttered as she recognized the unmistakable hawkish looks in their eyes. But how? How had they learnt of Harry's...talents...so quickly?

The meetings with the stern-faced educational psychologists and the multi-disciplinary assessment teams had only just wrapped a few days prior. The experts, with their firm assurances, had promised the Dursleys complete discretion - that their privacy would be of utmost priority while evaluating the true extent of the young boy's remarkable abilities. Yet here were the slavering jackals of the media, swarming their doorstep with unerring accuracy, as if they could somehow smell fresh controversy on the crisp spring air.

"Vernon!" Petunia called out sharply, whirling away from the window with a hand clutched to her chest. In the sitting room, her husband looked up from the couch, brow furrowing at her stricken expression. "You need to come see this straightaway!"

Grumbling obscenities under his thick moustache, Vernon heaved himself up with effort, heavy footfalls reverberating through the room as he lumbered towards the entryway. "What's got your knickers in a twi--"

His words died on his lips as he reached Petunia's side, catching sight of the small mob outside through the curtain's part. Vernon's broad face mottled an ugly puce, the vein in his bullish temple pulsing visibly as his jowls quivered with outrage.

"Bloody vultures!" he snarled, spittle flying from his lips to speckle the lace curtains. "No respect for a man's privacy in his own bleeding home!"

The shrill ringing sounded again, accompanied by a volley of shouted demands and the bright flashes of camera bulbs strobing through the curtain gap.

"Oi! Open up in there! We know the kid genius is inside!"

"Just a quick comment for the record, eh? The public deserves to know the real story!"

Vernon took a lurching step towards the front door, meaty fists clenching at his sides as if preparing for violence, but Petunia rushed to block his path. She pressed her palms against his heaving chest, leaning back with all her weight to impede his momentum.

"No, Vernon, please! You can't go making a scene." Her eyes were wide, pleading as she craned her neck back to meet his furious glare. "It'll only make the mangy lot of them more rabid for the story!"

A muscle ticked visibly in Vernon's jaw as he warred with his anger and Petunia's logic. She could practically see the shrewd calculations whirring behind his eyes as he weighed the consequences of charging the door like an enraged bull versus taking the path of wilful ignorance.

Outside, the reporters' taunts and jeers grew more insistent, voices raised to carry over the demented percussion of shouts and camera shutters rapping against the windows and doors. The flashes of light strobed through the thin curtains, transforming the front parlour into a disorienting approximation of a seedy nightclub. 

"C'mon then, guv! The kid can't hide forever! Give us something to print, make it worth our while!"

Vernon's face purpled further, his entire body tensing as if preparing for fisticuffs as his narrowed eyes bored into the door with rage. Petunia plastered herself against his frame, arms wrapped around his neck as she hissed urgently into his ear.

"Think of the reputational damage, Vernon," she implored, voice rising in desperation. "If you lose your rag out there, they'll turn it into a right scandal quicker than you can imagine. It's better if we just... ignore those troublemakers until they realize there's nothing to see here. They'll get bored eventually and go back to their gossip rags!"

Her own words sounded hollow and uncertain even to her own ears, but Vernon seemed to find some logic in them. With an immense effort, he slowly unclenched his ham-sized fists and took a step back, though his small eyes still smouldered with impotent rage as they flicked between Petunia and the front door.

And so began their siege, the Dursley family held captive in their own home...


The ruckus from those bloody journalists showed no sign of letting up as the afternoon dragged on. Shouts and camera flashes bombarded the Dursley home in a relentless racket that had the whole neighbourhood gawking. Petunia marched back and forth across the sitting room, hands fussing with the pockets of her housecoat.

"Vernon!" she hissed, shooting a cautious look towards the front windows. "It's nearly half-two. We'll need to fetch Dudders and...and the boy from their schools soon."

Vernon grunted from his armchair, jaw clenched so tightly the vein in his temple bulged. Black eyes bored towards the commotion outside, lips curling into a sneer.

"Vultures, the lot of 'em. Circling the bloody place like hyenas after a fresh kill." One thick finger jabbed towards the curtained windows. "Mark my words, Pet, they're just itching to drag our good name through the mud."

Petunia swallowed hard, fingers fluttering at the hollow of her throat. "Well we can't very well go traipsing out there with that lot camped on the drive, can we? And I simply won't have Dudley caught up in this...this madness!"

With an explosive grunt, Vernon heaved himself upright and stomped towards the rear windows. He craned his thick neck, peering out over the back garden before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"No getting out the back this time. Buggers have the whole bloody place surrounded." He spun away, face purpling as he stabbed a meaty finger towards the front of the house. "Going to make a right spectacle no matter which way we go!"

Petunia's free hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in horror. Being trapped inside their own home by these...these leeches, it twisted her stomach into knots. When she found her voice again, it wavered on the edge of panic.

"Wh-What are we to do then? We can't leave the poor boys stuck there all night! But I refuse to have them exposed to such a...a circus!"

Vernon's chest swelled with ill-contained outrage. Straightening his body, he jutted out his chin in a show of obstinate defiance.

"We'll just have to brave it, Pet. Give those parasites a taste of good old British backbone! Show 'em the Dursleys won't be run out of their own home!"

But Petunia was already shaking her head frantically, hands aflutter. "Oh Vernon, you can't be serious! Think of the shame, the gawking spectacle it would cause! We've worked so hard for a respectable life..."

"And just what choice do we have?" he bellowed, spittle flecking his trembling moustache. "Huddle inside forever while that rabble tears us to shreds behind our backs? Leave our Dudders to fend for himself against their slanderous lies?"

A tense silence fell between them, the muffled jeers and camera flashes beyond the windows pressing in. Petunia's chest heaved with panicked breaths as the reality crashed over her. All their carefully maintained decency, their desperate efforts for a quiet, unassuming life...crumbling to dust thanks to her freak of a nephew.

At last, she gave a jerky nod, the words tasting like ashes on her tongue.

"You're...you're right, Vernon. For Dudley's sake, we...we must face them."

Vernon squared his shoulders with grim resolve before turning on his heel and lumbering towards the front hall without another word. Wringing her hands, Petunia trailed behind, the roar of the crowd outside swelling to deafening levels.

Pausing at the front door, Vernon drew himself up to his full intimidating height, one hand resting on the knob. He cut his eyes towards Petunia, silently awaiting her assent. She forced a jerky nod in return, jaw clenched.

With a deep breath, Vernon twisted the knob and flung open the door.

Immediately, a tidal wave of sound and chaos assaulted them - loud shouts, frantic camera shutter clicks, searing bright flashes of bulbs. Petunia recoiled with a strangled cry, hands flying up to shield her squinting eyes as the horde surged eagerly forward.

"There they are! The genius kid's family!"

"Give us a quote, sir! The world's desperate for answers!"

"How'd you keep it all hush-hush for so long?"

Vernon stood his ground, visibly swelling with indignation as he glared out over the throng of reporters. When the barrage of shouts failed to ebb, he raised a single meaty hand in a demand for silence.

"We've no comments to make on the matter!" he roared over the fray in his most intimidating bellow. "The Dursley family's private affairs are none of your concern, and we'll not be intimidated by such underhand tactics!" 

But the reporters merely surged closer, a frenzied pack of hyenas closing in on their prey. Microphones and cameras were thrust towards Vernon's purple face as the shouts intensified to a deafening din.

Petunia cringed in revulsion, sickened by the chaotic spectacle as Vernon forcefully shouldered them a path through the frothing horde to the car. As she slid into the passenger seat, she felt utterly defeated.

Whatever meagre illusions they'd held of respectability and normal family life were now well and truly shattered. Their name, their very existence, would forevermore be defined by this madness - by the boy's unnatural intellect.


Petunia's heart raced as they pulled up to Little Whinging Primary, the spectacle with those vultures of reporters still fresh. She took a steadying breath before plastering on a smile, determined to project an air of normalcy for Dudley's sake. She found her son playing happily, blissfully unaware of the chaos awaiting them at home.

"Dudders, love, time to go!" she called in a forcibly bright voice.

Dudley looked up, face breaking into a wide grin as he spotted his parents. He toddled over, pudgy arms outstretched. "Mummy! Daddy!"

Vernon scooped the boy up, expression softening briefly as he cuddled his son. "There's my little tyke. Ready to head back?"

Dudley nodded eagerly. "Can we get ice cream after?"

Petunia's heart clenched as she exchanged a worried look with Vernon. How could they possibly explain the media madness to their innocent child?

"We'll see, Dudders," Vernon said gruffly. "Got to pick up your cousin from his school first."

Dudley's face fell into a petulant pout. "But I want ice cream now!"

"Now now, be a good lad," Petunia cooed, smoothing his hair. "We've got some grown-up things to sort first. You can wait a tick for a treat, can't you?"

Dudley considered this a moment before giving a sullen nod.

As they pulled up to Perse, Petunia steeled herself for the conversation ahead with Harry. Despite being just a toddler, her nephew possessed an unsettling intelligence and perception far beyond his years. She had witnessed it in his speech, his mannerisms - the way he seemed to understand far more than any child rightly should.

They found Harry waiting outside, emerald eyes alert as he spotted their car. He clambered into the backseat beside Dudley with a curious expression at the tense silence.

"Harry..." Petunia began, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "We need to discuss something with you."

The small boy merely tilted his head, holding her gaze in an unnervingly stable manner. "Is it about the reporters outside our home?"

Petunia blinked rapidly, grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Y-Yes. How did you...?"

A tiny shrug lifted Harry's shoulders. "It was inevitable, really. People want answers about me. I'll talk with them."

A chill ran down Petunia's spine at how matter-of-factly he spoke, as if he'd been anticipating this inevitability all along. She swallowed hard as they turned onto Privet Drive, the throng of reporters and camera flashes coming into view.

"Harry, I'm not sure this is wise," she fretted, glancing at him in the rearview. "Those people are ravenous. They'll never let up until they get what they want!"

But Harry just smiled calmly. "I know, Auntie. But we can't hide forever. They need something from us, or this frenzy will only escalate."

Petunia's breath caught as she looked to Vernon, wide-eyed and uncertain. He met her gaze, troubled, before giving a grim nod.

"Boy's got a point, Pet. Can't keep running. Better to get this sorted head-on."

Heart pounding, they exited the car into the swarming chaos of shouts and camera flashes. Petunia clutched Dudley protectively while Vernon kept a firm hand on Harry's small shoulder. 

But to her amazement, Harry seemed utterly unfazed at all of the noise as he approached the rabid reporters.

"'Ello," he said, his high voice carrying with clarity. "I'm Harry Potter, and I'll answer your questions now."

The reporters fell into an astonished silence before the deluge of queries burst forth.

"Harry, how did you get so clever at such a young age?" 

"What's it like being a child genius?"

"Can you show us something amazing?"

Harry raised a hand. "One at a time, please. I'll answer what I can, but my family's privacy must be respected." 

The reporters nodded eagerly as a determined-looking woman in a blazer thrust her microphone forward. 

"Okay Harry, let's see what you've got. What's 327 multiplied by 94?"

The small boy didn't even pause. "30,738."

Whispers of amazement spread through the reporters. Another raised his hand. "Who was the Prime Minister before Margaret Thatcher?"

"James Callaghan," Harry replied evenly.

The quizzing intensified, reporters firing off increasingly complex maths problems and questions spanning history, literature, science. Harry met each one with confidence, providing accurate answers with stunning speed.

Until finally, a reporter posed a stumper. "What was the name of King Cnut's eldest daughter, and in what year did the Danish Viking army conquer Sussex?"

Harry's eyes narrowed, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully, clearly wrestling with the effort to recall such an obscure fact. After a moment, he shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know the answers to that particular question."

Chuckles and nods of understanding passed through the journalists. Even they recognized that was too niche for a toddler prodigy. A different reporter stepped forward.

"Fair enough, Harry. How about a logic puzzle instead? There are three boxes - one contains apple seeds, one contains orange seeds, and one is empty. The boxes are labelled incorrectly. How can you accurately label the boxes by opening just one?"

Harry's emerald eyes brightened at the logic puzzle as the reporters watched with bated breath. One second ticked by before the small boy spoke again.

"You'd open the box labelled 'apple seeds.' If it contains apple seeds, then the labels are all incorrect and you can deduce the others from there. But if it's empty, then that box must be the empty one, and the remaining two are mislabelled. And if it contains orange seeds, then the 'orange seeds' box must be the empty one, allowing you to determine the contents accurately."

A stunned beat of silence followed before the reporters erupted in hushed astonishment and furious scribbling. Even the most cynical among them couldn't mask their amazement at the intellect on display from the tiny three-year-old child before them.

"Bloody incredible..."

"Like nothing I've ever seen..."

As the impromptu examination finally wound down, Harry faced the cameras once more with a small, gentle smile on his face.

"I trust you now understand enough about me," he stated, clear voice carrying through the awed silence. "But as I've expressed, I'm still just a person who desires a normal childhood. Please respect my family's privacy from this point on so that I may continue growing and learning without undue disruption. Thank you."

With that, Harry calmly turned and started back towards their new house, leaving the dumbstruck reporters gaping in his wake, utterly gobsmacked by the unprecedented demonstration they had just witnessed.


Albus Dumbledore strode into the Wizengamot courtroom, his deep purple robes billowing behind him. The room was packed, a blur of plum-coloured robes and pointed hats. Dumbledore's face was grim as he took his seat at the head of the room, his usually twinkling blue eyes now hard and serious.

In the centre of the room sat the accused - an ancient, wrinkled witch named Griselda Grimhilde. Her eyes gleamed with a disturbing madness. Dumbledore raised his wand and sent sparks flying, calling the court to order.

"We're here today," his voice boomed, "to hear the case against Griselda Grimhilde. She's accused of horrific crimes against Muggles."

Whispers hissed through the crowd. Even some of the staunchest pureblood supremacists looked disgusted. Grimhilde's alleged crimes were beyond the pale.

A stern wizard from Magical Law Enforcement stepped up. "Griselda Grimhilde, you're accused of using dark magic to permanently turn over a hundred Muggles into animals. Then you made them fight to the death for your own sick amusement. How do you plead?"

Grimhilde let out a bone-chilling cackle. "Guilty!" she shrieked gleefully. "And I'd do it again! Muggles are just toys for us to play with!"

The room erupted in gasps and cries of outrage. Dumbledore had to shoot more sparks from his wand to restore order. "Silence!" his voice thundered.

The prosecutor went on, showing evidence of Grimhilde's atrocities. Grim-faced Aurors stepped forward, using their wands to project horrifying memories into the air:

Terrified Muggles writhing in agony as their bodies twisted and morphed into animals against their will. Being forced to maul and tear each other apart in gruesome, bloody battles...

Even the toughest Wizengamot members had to look away, faces pale. Dumbledore briefly shut his eyes, his brow creased with anguish.

The defence could barely muster a case. Grimhilde was clearly deranged, her mind warped by years of dark magic and vicious hatred of Muggles. They feebly argued for life in Azkaban rather than the Dementor's Kiss.

But as the Wizengamot deliberated, it was clear Grimhilde would get no mercy. Even those who usually pushed for leniency for crimes against Muggles were swayed by her utter depravity.

In the end, the vote was unanimous. Dumbledore cleared his throat heavily and pronounced the sentence:

"Griselda Grimhilde, for your unspeakable crimes against Muggles and blatant violation of our most sacred laws... this court sentences you to the Dementor's Kiss."

Shrieks of mad laughter turned to wails of terror as the dementors glided in, their rattling breaths turning the room icy cold.

Dumbledore watched solemnly as a dementor lowered its hood, clamped its jaws over Grimhilde's mouth, and sucked out her soul in a blaze of searing white light.

As the court dispersed, a troubled Dumbledore headed for the elevator, shaking his head at the depths of evil some wizards could sink to. Lost in dark thoughts, he stepped out into the bustling Ministry atrium - only to be startled by a familiar voice.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" It was Arthur Weasley, a young rising star in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. The red-haired man clutched a Muggle newspaper, looking deeply concerned.

"Ah, Arthur," Dumbledore smiled wanly. "What brings you here in such a state?"

"You've got to see this, Professor. It's about Harry Potter!" Arthur thrust the paper into Dumbledore's hands.

The old wizard's eyes widened as he read the headline: "Unprecedented Child Prodigy Discovered in London Suburbs." It detailed the unbelievable intellect of little Harry, not even three but already displaying knowledge years beyond his age.

"Thank you, Arthur," Dumbledore said gravely. "I must act fast to keep the boy safe."

"Of course, Professor. Anything I can do to help?" Arthur asked worriedly.

"Not now, but I may need you soon. For now, I must alert the Minister and department heads..."

With a swish of his wand, Dumbledore sent a silvery phoenix Patronus soaring through the atrium, carrying an urgent message to Minister Millicent Bagnold. His purple robes swished around his ankles as he hurried to the lifts.

The Ministry was a hive of activity. Memos zoomed overhead like enchanted paper airplanes. The golden fountain depicting a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin, and house-elf sparkled under the atrium's light. But Dumbledore barely noticed the hubbub, focused on the task at hand.

As the lift ascended, he pondered the powerful blood wards he'd placed around Harry's home. It was not regular magic, but Ancient Magic that was designed to shield the boy from those wishing him harm. But it was not foolproof, especially if Harry's uncanny abilities kept drawing world-wide attention. That could lure those seeking to exploit him.

The lift opened onto a long, wood-panelled corridor. At the end stood an ornate double door, guarded by two crimson-robed Aurors.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," one greeted respectfully. "The Minister awaits you."

The doors swung open, revealing a grand office dominated by an imposing desk. There sat Millicent Bagnold, a formidable witch with steel-grey hair and piercing blue eyes.

"Albus," she said crisply, rising. "I got your Patronus. What's so urgent it warrants an emergency meeting?"

"It concerns Harry Potter, Millicent," Dumbledore replied gravely, approaching her desk. "The Muggle world has discovered his extraordinary intellect. I fear it may attract unwelcome interest."

He laid the newspaper before her. Bagnold leaned in, her stern face transforming to astonishment as she read.

"Merlin's beard, Albus!" she breathed. "A child so young, displaying such unheard-of mental abilities..."

"Indeed. We must move swiftly to safeguard the boy and uphold the Statute of Secrecy."

Bagnold sat back, still stunned. "What do you suggest?"

"We must bolster security around his home, both magical and Muggle," Dumbledore explained. "I'll work with Magical Law Enforcement to post a team of Aurors to monitor the area, intercepting any magical threats."

Bagnold nodded slowly. "And the Muggles? We can't exactly Obliviate the whole country," she said wryly.

"True. But we can liaise with Muggle authorities to protect the boy's privacy. I'll coordinate with the Muggle Liaison Office and Magical Accidents and Catastrophes Department on that front."

Bagnold drummed her fingers, thinking. Then she straightened up. "Very well, Albus. You have my full backing. Keep me in the loop on any developments."

"Of course, Millicent," Dumbledore inclined his head. "I'll do everything possible to ensure young Harry's safety."

With that, he swept from the office, mind buzzing with plans. He needed to confer with Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, to arrange Harry's protective detail. And work with the Muggle Liaison Office and Magical Accidents team to manage any magical slip-ups and handle Muggle witnesses.

The lift juddered downward, carrying Dumbledore into the heart of the Ministry. He had no time to lose. Every moment counted to keep the Boy Who Lived out of danger.