Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 166 Public Opinion Offensive
It was getting dark.

The firelight shining through the window of the Forbidden Forest Hut was still warm and bright, and the bubbling sound of meat soup in the earthenware pot continued for a long time.

The young wizards still had room in their stomachs, but they couldn't eat any more stewed mutton. They found the stew too greasy and preferred things roasted over the fire: bread, flatbread, mushrooms, potatoes, or even apple pie.

There were also sweet potatoes that Melvin had buried in the charcoal fire beforehand. The outer shell was roasted black, like burnt charcoal ash. With a little force, you could pry it open to reveal the golden, soft, and sweet potato flesh inside. It smelled so good that you could smell the sweetness.

Ron couldn't resist the temptation. He took a piece, peeled it, and put it in his mouth, yelping from the heat.

Harry and Hermione weren't so greedy. They used their forks to poke two pieces of mushroom, then squatted down to observe Tooth and Yhorm. The dog and snake were in a strange way of getting along.

Ya Ya's eyes were still somewhat blank, and its expression was different from usual. Something cool was wrapped around its body, and even the meat chops it was gnawing on didn't taste good. This slender white snake could bark, making the worldly hunting dog question its existence.

Harry, his eyes brimming with curiosity, his lips moving in Parseltongue, hissed, "Who are you?"

The young snake seemed startled: "Woof?"

"I said, who are you?"

"Wang~"

Those snake eyes seemed blank, as if they couldn't understand Harry's Parseltongue.

Harry and Hermione fell silent again upon hearing the faint barking of a dog from the snake's mouth.

“How could that be? Parsley is the natural language of snakes; even snakes in zoos without magic can understand it…” Harry scratched his head.

“Could it be that Parseltongue has dialects, and the Parseltongue languages ​​from different regions are not mutually intelligible?” Hermione suggested. “Whether it’s the London Zoo, you, or the Basilisk, you all speak native British Parseltongue, so you can communicate with each other. But Yorm is from Ephamony, which is a different dialect?”

Harry accepted the assessment without much thought, after all, that's how Americans are; Professor Levent's accent was also a bit strange when he first arrived at Hogwarts.

The two men huddled together in front of the two animals, whispering amongst themselves, trying to feed the young snake with food from a roasting fork, but unfortunately, Yulm showed no interest.

The young snake's eyes darted around, its head shifting on the dog's body as it looked at the dog, the two young wizards, and the wooden house, filled with curiosity about the new things.

Melvin took a bite of the roasted potato. It had a light charred aroma and a soft, tender texture. The roasted potato melted in his mouth and had a slightly grainy texture. Because no seasoning was added, the flavor was very mild, with the unique fragrance of potatoes.

Watching the interaction between the students and animals, Melvin was once again worried about the intelligence of the young snake. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an owl fly past the window, flap its wings, circle around, and then slip back in through the window.

I sat down on the chair next to me.

It was supposed to be a letter for the school auditorium, but he didn't attend dinner tonight, so it was delivered here instead.

Melvin took the letter from the owl's talons, tossed it a piece of roasted meat, opened the letter from afar, and quietly read it by the firelight.

Hermione tried for a long time but couldn't get the baby snake to eat anything. She could barely hold the roasting fork anymore, so she simply fed it all to Tooth, freeing her hands. She then saw the professor reading a letter next to her.

His expression was somewhat complicated, seemingly a predictable mockery, yet carrying a subtle hint of sarcasm.

The little witch put the roasting fork back in the barrel, sat down beside it, and asked in a low voice:
"Professor, what happened?"

"The submitted application was rejected. Minister Fudge was unwilling to use FlooNet in conjunction with the Magic Mirror Club, even though Mrs. Eckmore from the Transportation Department personally explained the pros and cons..."

"This is clearly beneficial to everyone, so why is Fudge refusing?"

"Who knows?"

Melvin smiled faintly: "Perhaps the analysis in the application was not comprehensive or insightful enough; he needs to hear more voices."

Hermione tilted her head, looking somewhat puzzled.

……

Before they knew it, it was mid-January. Students' holidays were coming to an end, shops in Diagon Alley reopened, publishing houses resumed operations, and reporters and editors who had been on vacation returned to their posts, carrying resentment comparable to that of Dementors, and began working again.

After working overtime for several weeks, the Daily Prophet provided a comprehensive overview of the Chamber of Secrets incident at Hogwarts during the first semester, with ten consecutive special reports. In terms of magical history, it traced the origins of the conflict between Slytherin and Gryffindor, and examined the lineage of the Gaunt family. In terms of magical creatures, it covered the breeding and hatching of basilisks, and in terms of charms, it exposed Lockhart's forgery.

Experts from various disciplines and fields took turns to speak, top reporters interviewed relevant department staff, and even photographers traveled to remote villages to take pictures. All of these topics were controversial, generating plenty of buzz and attention.

The Daily Prophet's sales doubled this holiday season, with two issues published every morning and evening, plus a special edition on weekends. Owls delivered the news to homes, allowing wizards to enjoy gossip without leaving their houses, and family gatherings filled with discussions about the truth.

The topic was also all over taverns across the country, and newspapers and magazines that reacted quickly immediately called in their staff to work overtime. Although they had no intelligence and did not know the truth, they still jumped on the bandwagon by referring to and learning from the Daily Prophet's articles.

"Singing the Quibbles" magazine is one of them. It originally focused on all sorts of strange and bizarre animals and absurd speculations. This time, the traffic from the escape room incident also led to a certain degree of sales growth.

Obstherus and Wizhard Publishing, on the other hand, were slow to react. By the time the holidays were over and the hype had died down, they were already releasing some clichés, while watching enviously as Prophet Publishing next door was thriving.

Inside the Prophet's newspaper office, top reporter Rita flipped through various letters, while a green quill pen beside her wrote rapidly. Her mind and pen were in perfect harmony, and her thoughts flowed like a spring, quickly completing an article.

The special report is almost finished. This is a regular article, mainly a summary of news from the holiday period.

After all, it's a time of peace, so there aren't many news stories during the Christmas holidays. Most of them are about people struggling to pull fireworks off their kitchens, unlucky people ending up in the hospital because of pranks, or idiots casting spells on themselves that they can't break.

The media industry in the magical world is rather crude. By borrowing from other newspapers and magazines, piecing things together, and adding a bit of one's own unique insights, one can create another news article and earn some money.

"Reporting from top journalist Rita Skeeter..."

She didn't need to proofread the manuscript after it was finished; her magic quill pen had automatic error correction. She folded the parchment into a paper airplane, threw it out the window, and it wobbled as it flew toward the editor-in-chief's office.

Rita stretched and prepared to stroll around Diagon Alley to see if there was any news. Her work for the day was almost finished.

Before she could even pick up her handbag, the editor-in-chief, Barnabas Guffey, suddenly knocked on the door and came in, holding a letter in his hand: "Rita, there's a news story I need you to write. Hurry up, it's urgent, the evening paper needs to be published soon."

"What is so urgent?"

"Look for yourself. You're a top-notch reporter; you should know how to write it."

Gu Fei placed the letter on the table, and before leaving, he turned around and instructed, "Be careful with the content; I need to review it after you're done."

Rita frowned, picking up the letter with some confusion. It contained a photocopy of an application, with Minister Cornell Fudge's handwritten reply at the bottom.

"The Transport Department's proposals for the improvement of the flyway network..."

Rita sat at her desk, looking at the contents about the Shadow Mirror and Floo Network, which involved the cooperation between the Department of Transportation and the Magic Mirror Club, and inevitably mentioned the young professor, Melvin Levent.

The name flashed through my mind, and the ouroboros tattoo on the inside of my arm seemed to be getting slightly warm.

……

As evening fell, in Hogsmeade, Taclort, as usual, went for a walk after dinner. The wind and snow could not stop him, and he walked until he came to the door of the Three Broomsticks Tavern.

This bar was originally a place for residents to drink and chat, often coming here to pass the time in their spare time. After the installation of the video mirror, it has become a regular gathering place. In the cold winter, people watch the ball game, have a few drinks, and then find someone to argue and curse with, which is very relaxing.

It's a bit of a shame that no movies were released during the Christmas holidays this year.

Tacrot pushed open the tavern door and found the bar area rather quiet. Mrs. Rosmerta was wiping glasses with her head down, while several patrons sat nearby, flipping through today's newspaper, all with slightly furrowed brows and hesitant expressions.

Malcolm also looked constipated.

Tacroft sat down and snatched the newspaper from Malcolm's hand: "What are you looking at? You look so grim. Has the Scottish national team disbanded?"

His friend next to him rolled his eyes and gave him a disdainful look.

Taclot pretended not to understand his gaze, and as she flipped through the pages, she saw today's front page news: top reporter Rita Skeeter's article reveals the truth behind the Magic Mirror Club's setbacks...

"No way, if Fudge refuses this, has he got a brain infection?"

As soon as he finished speaking, Tacrot felt the candlelight in the tavern flicker a few times, and the eyes of several patrons fell on him. Even his old rival Malcolm nodded in agreement.

"I think so too, Fudge must be out of his mind!"

"It's not a big project, why refuse?"

"It's good for FiloNet, it's good for the Magic Mirror Club, and we residents also want to watch the mirror at home, but he's the only one who's against it!"

"Whoever elected him as minister must be blind!"

"..."

A single report was enough to enrage the drinkers, who joined in condemning the foolish minister.

Ms. Rosmerta stood behind the bar, silently wiping the glasses. If she remembered correctly, it was Dumbledore who had recommended Cornelius Fudge.

"Damn it! I'm sending a howling letter to the Ministry of Magic as soon as I get back!"

"I'm going to stuff a smelly sock in the letter!"

"Stinky dung beetle!"

The patrons shared common topics and the same targets of their curses, and the atmosphere in the pub quickly became lively. In this excited scene, beer sold very well, almost as well as a great football match.

They were busy until late at night before finally seeing the customers out.

Worried that someone might be drunk and passed out on the roadside, Ms. Rosmerta instructed the waiter to take them home. They were all nearby residents, and it was only a few steps away, not too far.

By the time I finished cleaning the room, it was already late at night.

After washing up, Rosmerta returned to her bedroom to rest, but she couldn't fall asleep no matter how hard she tried. The contents of the newspaper and the curses of the drinkers kept replaying in her mind.

According to the plan disclosed in the newspaper, connecting small mirrors with the Floo network would allow wizards to watch various images from home, which was not a good idea for tavern owners.

This reduced the tavern's appeal to customers.

But thinking about it carefully, even these audience members support Professor Levent, so are the people from the Magic Mirror Club going to back down?

With that in mind, Rosmerta sat up, took out the materials for making the Howl Letter from the drawer, and began to get busy.

……

The next morning, in the main hall of the Ministry of Magic.

Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the fireplace, looked down at the gleaming floor, admired his attire, straightened his dark green top hat, adjusted his bright red tie, and shook his pinstripe suit, feeling extremely handsome.

If he were a few years younger, he wouldn't be any worse than that foreign professor at Hogwarts.

Green flames continued to leap from other fireplaces, and staff members arrived at the Ministry of Magic one after another, stopping to greet Fudge as they passed by.

Fudge nodded to them with a kind smile.

It was rush hour, and the crowds were dense. The greetings that rose and fell sounded particularly pleasant, with a mesmerizing rhythm that Fudge called the Power Sonata.

I walked past the fountain, went up the elevator, and arrived at my office.

Soon, documents from various departments arrived. Before he could even begin his work for the day, the minister's assistant hurriedly knocked on the door and said somewhat awkwardly, "Minister, there's a letter for you."

"Hmm?" Fudge frowned. "If there's no letter one day, you're not a new intern. Don't you know how to handle it? Or did you lose your mind during the holidays?"

As Minister, overseeing the entire Ministry of Magic, which manages the entire British wizarding world and thousands of wizards, he naturally receives letters from people. In the past, these letters were selected by his assistant.

If it's from a famous wizard, the head of a pure-blood family, or the Ministry of Magic of another country, he'll open the letter and take a look.

If it was an unknown resident, they were simply thrown into the fireplace and burned.

“But…” the assistant lowered his voice and placed a stack of red envelopes on the table, “These are shouting letters.”

"Roaring Letter!"

Fudge's eyes widened, his expression turned terrified, and he leaned back, trying to get away from the envelopes.

"Minister, only the recipient can handle these screaming messages. Open them, or they'll explode..."

Some of the envelopes were already smoking from the corners and were trembling slightly on the table.

Fudge's lips and eyes twitched, but he still had to reach out his trembling hand and tear open the red envelope.

"Why? Why! Why did you reject the Magic Mirror Club's proposal?! Why did you reject the FiluNet upgrade?!"

A deafening roar immediately filled the entire office, shaking the dust off the ceiling and making the floor tremble.

“Wesengamour should dismiss you. If you dare to walk in the street, I wouldn’t be surprised if they threw dragon dung in your face!”
"You probably haven't even considered the thoughts of us ordinary wizards! Who do you think you are, Cornelius Fudge..."

Fudge's ears were ringing, and the tinnitus made it impossible for him to hear the next few sentences. He was a little dazed. His assistant's mouth was moving, as if he was saying something, but he couldn't hear anything. His mind was blank.

There were dozens of such shouting letters on the table.

(End of this chapter)