Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 214 French Ministry of Magic

Late at night, on the right side of Boulevard Saint-Germain, along the Seine.

In the dimly lit square, the water taps in the circular pool spout water at a slow and steady flow, the fountain's operating speed after sunset.

The stream flows gently and quietly, with only the occasional sound of an owl flapping its wings. Centered around a Gothic lamppost, surrounded by Ottoman buildings and guarded by four sycamore trees, it forms a courtyard structure.

As one of the oldest monastery ruins in Paris, Place Furstenberg presents a scene reminiscent of pastoral poetry.

A sturdy steed carrying a carriage quietly landed. The old, dilapidated streetlights illuminated the faded inscriptions on the stone carvings, seemingly a signpost from the monastery era, pointing directly to the area where the carriages and horses of travelers were kept. From the mid-16th century onwards, this place was used to house the horses and carriages of passing travelers.

A strange-looking middle-aged man got off the train. He was wearing a long black robe with a long back. If he were walking on the street during the day, he would probably be mistaken for an eye-catching performance artist.

He walked quickly to a statue to the side, took out a thin wooden stick from his sleeve, and gently tapped it.

The ground began to tremble slightly, and a crisp sound came from afar, like the snapping of branches of a withered tree in autumn. Seventeen tree roots broke through the soil around the fountain, their tendrils glowing with a faint blue light, and merged with the statue, growing into a magnificent giant birdcage.

The divine horse dragged the carriage into the birdcage. The tree roots suddenly closed up, and judging from the sound of them colliding and fitting together, the birdcage was not made of wood, but more like some kind of steel metal.

With a soft clattering sound, the birdcage sank into the ground, carrying the carriage and the wizard on board to the French Ministry of Magic hidden underground.

Inside the carriage, Melvin stared at Mr. Grevis's outstretched hand, his eyes dark: "What investigation team? When did I join? How come I had no idea?"

“Then I can only tell them that you are not here to assist my investigators, but a black wizard who has illegally entered the country, and that you will have to cooperate with their screening process.” Mr. Grevis said, glancing out the window.

I've wronged Mr. Grevis too many times in the past, this is my way of making amends.

Melvin shrugged helplessly and shook the hand.

"Finally, I won for once..."

The elevator arrived at the Ministry of Magic's main hall. Melvin followed Mr. Grevis out of the carriage and looked around. Only then did he see the full view of the birdcage elevator. The steel was crooked like tree roots, yet it followed some kind of rule. The curves were just right, and it exuded a subtle beauty, like a work of Art Nouveau.

It was late at night, and the round hall was quiet.

The courtyard of the French Ministry of Magic is an elegant palace building, with a ceiling nearly thirty feet high, as magnificent as the Palace of Versailles. Exquisite marble columns support an arched dome, with a spherical crystal chandelier hanging in the center. The ceiling is made of inlaid green steel and silver glass, inlaid with silver runes, outlining magical creatures and astrological patterns.

A low growl with a warning tone sounded, and there seemed to be some animal guarding behind the lamppost. Someone from the French Auror stepped forward to soothe it, and behind them were several slender civets with pure black fur and silver-blue eyes with no visible pupils.

“Spirit Cat Guardian…” Melvin looked at the animal and flicked a wisp of blue flame with his fingertip, imbued with the magic gifted by the fire dragon.

"Meow~"

The little creature immediately stopped hissing, its barking became gentle and sweet, its raised fur flattened, and it sat cross-legged on the ground, its tail swishing back and forth.

The Auror in front of him smiled with pleasure, thinking that his reassurance had worked.

Mr. Grevis and Captain Auror spoke in hushed tones, seemingly reaching some kind of agreement. He then looked up at Melvin and said, "The International Affairs Department is closed for the day. They have their own things to do. We'll have to go to the archives to register ourselves. There are people on duty there. Just follow the procedures."

Melvin, of course, had no objections.

He just couldn't understand why the French Aurors would allow two foreign wizards to roam the Ministry of Magic late at night, one of whom was an illegal immigrant... Melvin couldn't figure out the answer, and could only attribute it to their trust in Mr. Grevis.

Walking down the corridor, the silver lighting wasn't dim, and there were faintly glowing runes on the floor. Portraits hung on the walls and pillars. Some were ordinary black-and-white prints, but if an intruder was detected, the print would transform into the intruder's face.

Some of them are magical oil paintings. These portraits are resting with their eyes closed, but they immediately open their eyes when they sense a noise and stare straight at the two people, which is a bit creepy.

"The British Ministry of Magic was established in the 14th century, the Magical Congress of the United States was established in the 16th century, and French wizards, by nature, cherished freedom and did not want the government to interfere with them. It was not until the end of the 18th century that the Ministry of Magic was established."

Mr. Grevis explained, "This group of wizards reveres nature, and their motto is to cast spells, incantations, and summons."

"Late 18th century...the French Revolution?" Melvin, an expert in Muggle studies, was very sensitive to these key dates, his expression slightly strange. "Spellcasting...corresponding to liberty, equality, and fraternity?"

“You’re right, Professor.”

Perhaps due to the suffocating pressure of investigating Second Salem and the Purifiers over the past year, Mr. Grevis even cracked a joke, playfully addressing Melvin as "Professor." "The organizational structure here is much simpler, with only a few departments. The Auror Bureau is similar to the Auror Office, and the Justice Division is the Enforcement Division..."

Following Mr. Auror's introduction, we arrived at the third basement level.

The archives of the French Ministry of Magic are a treehouse, a tall and deep room. The archives are locked, and can only be seen through mosaic glass. Rows of bookshelves extend to the ceiling, containing all kinds of books and documents.

The side hall next door was paved with terrazzo granite tiles, and an elderly wizard sat inside.

A light knock was made on the door, and Mr. Grevis went over to make the handover. The old wizard was initially a little impatient, but after learning that Melvin was a Hogwarts professor and had received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, the rest of the process went much more smoothly.

Registering my identity and wand, and completing the immigration procedures, the whole process took less than ten minutes.

The quill brushed across the parchment, revealing a simple portrait of Melvin, similar in style to the black-and-white portraits in the corridor. Simple lines outlined his features, hasty yet expressive, with an ink mark from the end of the wand at the bottom.

The old wizard finished processing the file, rolled up the parchment, and hung it on a tree. The vines then carried the roll of parchment to the next room.

Mr. Grevis's gaze was fixed on it, and he muttered a few words to the old wizard, seemingly making some kind of request. The old wizard's iron-grey eyes swept over him coldly, clearly indicating that things were not going well.

Grevis turned slightly to the side, revealing Melvin behind him, seemingly indicating that it was not his request, but Melvin's opinion as a recipient of the Order of Merlin.

The old wizard glanced around, then turned to Melvin, staring at him for a moment before reaching into the tree-shaped bookshelf and pulling out a file folder, which he tossed to Melvin. Mr. Grevis smiled broadly, pulling Melvin along as he explained, "I asked him to help me look into the suspicious murder cases that have happened in Paris recently—cases that the Muggle government classifies as natural deaths, but where suspicious magical traces are found in the surrounding area."

"Is this why you so enthusiastically invited me to join the investigation team?" Melvin ignored his smile. "Why not let the French Auror help you access the data?"

“Although the French Aurors value the Second Salem and the Purifiers, they don’t understand how formidable these guys are. Their investigative approach remains limited to dark wizard criminals. They only increase patrols and always reject my investigative plans. We’ve been going around in circles for several weeks and still haven’t found any leads,” Mr. Grevis said.

“Rejecting your investigation plan isn’t because we don’t know how formidable these guys are; on the contrary, it’s because we value them.” Melvin glanced at him and boarded the departing birdcage elevator. “They don’t want to provoke a group of vicious black wizards in Paris, so they plan to impose martial law and patrol for a period of time to force the Second Salem to relocate again.”

Grevis stood there, stunned.

The elevator left the magic palace and passed through a stretch of silent darkness. The streetlights of Furstenberg Square shone on me again, their faint yet clear light dispelling the chill in my heart.

The young professor's calm voice echoed in my ears: "As long as these terrorists move, wherever they go, as long as they are not in France and cannot threaten French wizards and Muggles, they have fulfilled their duty."

“No wonder they’ve been deliberately or unintentionally hindering my in-depth investigation,” Grevis murmured.

"Do you want to continue the investigation? They'll soon find out you've accessed the files, and they might file a lawsuit against you, or try to stop your investigation from progressing," Melvin asked softly.

Melvin held this stubborn middle-aged Auror in high regard. He had been fighting on the front lines for years, never complaining about his setbacks in promotion, and had simple yet righteous moral values, but he was completely ignorant of politics and human relationships.

“I will continue to investigate until they deport me back to New York!” Mr. Grevis said in a deep voice.

“It sounds like I might get involved too,” Melvin said with a chuckle. “But I did accept your invitation, so give me a double copy of the documents, Mr. Grevis.”

Grevis was somewhat touched. He used his wand to count the file folder and handed over the copy.

As Melvin put away the file folder, he suddenly remembered something and asked, puzzled, "You don't speak French, what do you need the documents for?"

“I don’t know how, but I can hire a translator.” Melvin weighed the matter in his mind, feeling it carried some weight, as Paris seemed to be in turmoil lately. “It’s late, I need to go back to sleep. Come find me at the hotel tomorrow morning. Goodnight, sir.”

Good night, professor.

A sudden burst of air crackled through the air, and the young professor vanished from his spot, leaving only the elongated shadow of the middle-aged Auror cast by the streetlights.

……

Late at night, in a hotel.

The amenities justified the suite's expensive price; the lighting was bright, the furniture was complete, and the environment was comfortable. After showering, the young professor sat at his desk by the window, with a dozen or so sheets of parchment spread out in front of him—these were the newly acquired case files.

Melvin interlaced his fingers, stared straight ahead, and read at lightning speed, occasionally pausing to ponder. But if anyone paid attention to his gaze, they would notice that he skipped over the illegible French text and only lingered on the photographic images.

“There have been fifteen murders in the last two months, and suspicious magical traces have been found in all of them. That’s twice as many as the previous two months. If it was done by those dark wizards in Second Salem,” Melvin pondered for a moment, “the French Ministry of Magic’s attempts to smooth things over are completely useless.”

The spacious suite was empty of other people. The sleepy young snake was curled up on the table, its unfocused vertical pupils slightly dilated, already deep in a sweet dream. The illusory figure above the golden cup was busy reading documents and gathering information from the outside world, completely absorbed and not even looking up, so no one echoed his sentiments.

A few minutes later, Riddle finished reading and snorted coldly, letting out a disdainful sneer: "Second Salem, the Purifiers... Ha, what a bunch of fools."

"Oh, why do you say that?"

Melvin pressed on, genuinely curious about Voldemort's views on his fellow dark wizards, particularly his colleagues in foreign lands.

"A bunch of rats from the gutter, they'll be rats no matter where they go... No, calling them rats is too kind, they're bedbugs!"

Riddle's crimson eyes were full of sneers. "They were the first wizards to arrive in the New World. If they had made good use of the situation, they could have established a wizarding-ruled Muggle kingdom, or even made the New World a magical continent. But these bugs had no long-term vision. They only betrayed their wizarding companions to make money off Muggles. They failed to rule Muggles and failed to establish their own government. They were completely destroyed by the Magical Congress that was established later."

Melvin looked at the resentful phantom and found it somewhat amusing.

As a fellow dark wizard, Riddle inevitably felt some sympathy for him.

One inherited Slytherin's magical research while in school, discovered Helbo's Horcrux-making method, and became the first dark wizard in history to forge multiple Horcruxes. He then founded the Death Eaters, but under the dual shadow of the Ministry of Magic and Dumbledore, he could only hide away after graduation to devote himself to the study of dark magic. It took him decades to become the Dark Lord who stirred up the storm.

These North American dark wizards started in the New World, where the local wizards and priests were weak and the Muggle society was chaotic and disorderly, with no decent magic schools. This blessed land, which should have been built into a wizarding paradise, was handed over to the later Magic Congress by them.

Thinking about his future self, his rise and fall, his unexpected downfall, the destruction of his physical body, and the unknown whereabouts of his remaining soul, Riddle became somewhat unbalanced.

Melvin shook his head: "Look at the files. Arresting them will make us feel better."

“Before that, I have a question.” Riddle snapped out of his reverie and looked up to ask, “How did you know I speak French? Did the diary tell you that too?”

"My guess."

"What's the reason?"

"Voldemort is a French name."

Melvin blinked, of course not telling him that this was some little-known fact he had seen in his previous life.

"..."

Riddle paused for a moment: "Let's look at the case files. Starting from April 19th, there have been 15 murder scenes with suspicious magical traces. The first one is the Hasso subway station..."

(End of this chapter)