Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 216 Detective Grevis
10 Downing Street, London.

In some ways, this was the second most impressive room in all of Britain, with its expensive carpets kept spotless and a beautiful marble fireplace facing a framed window, which was half-open, allowing the cool summer breeze to blow in from outside.

The room was filled with the faint smell of printer ink, or perhaps the scent of power. This scent possessed an intoxicating magic, inspiring people to diligently handle government affairs, working tirelessly day and night.

The temperature was pleasant on this midsummer night. The Prime Minister sat alone in his office, reading a memo prepared by his assistant. It contained the tasks for tomorrow, the schedule for the coming week, and urgent intelligence that had just been delivered.

"Dense fog has appeared over Beihai, the cause of which is yet to be determined. A cruise ship has lost contact, and 174 tourists are missing..."

The Prime Minister forced himself to read the intelligence report despite his exhaustion, then gulped down half a cup of coffee. He was still a little dizzy, and although he still had some energy left, his aging body couldn't handle the high-intensity work.

The more he tried to concentrate on reading the words on the paper, the more his vision blurred. The letters and words seemed to distort into the gloating faces of his political enemies, and he could already hear their attacks on him in parliament:
Even if this is a natural disaster, it was caused by the Prime Minister's negligence and mistakes.

Just as he was rubbing his temples in distress, a slight cough suddenly echoed in the room.

The Prime Minister had heard the same cough before. On the night he was elected and took office, a guest suddenly appeared in the fireplace, unveiling the hidden veil of the world to him and almost shattering his past understanding.

"Wizards operate secretly all over the world, and the Ministry of Magic is the government that manages them."

"Regulations stipulate how to use flying brooms responsibly and control the total number of dangerous magical creatures, especially fire dragons and venomous leopards."

"Don't worry, I'll only bother you when I run into big trouble over there, when the accident might affect the Muggle world..."

Past memories suddenly surfaced, and the muddled mind abruptly cleared, causing the person to abruptly look up at the portrait hanging on the wall.

It was a dirty oil painting that had been sitting in the office for who knows how long, ignored by everyone. Even the cleaning staff would subconsciously overlook it when they cleaned. It depicted a man wearing a silver wig who looked like a frog from a children's picture book, and the coughing sound was coming from his mouth.

The Prime Minister tentatively asked, "Hello?"

The man in the painting turned his head and stared blankly at him: "To the Muggle Prime Minister: Requesting an urgent meeting, please reply immediately, your loyal Fudge."

"Uh... okay, I can see him."

Upon hearing that familiar name from the portrait, the Prime Minister's response was somewhat flustered. He quickly realized this was inappropriate, straightened his tie, and adjusted his expression to appear relaxed and calm—a basic skill for a politician.

Suddenly, bright green flames burst forth from the empty chamber of the marble fireplace. Under the Prime Minister's gaze, which was a mixture of surprise and fear, a short, stout middle-aged man emerged from the flames. Just like the last time they met, he wore a tall, yellow-green hat and a thin cloak.

But the Minister of Magic was nothing like his previous self; he was soaking wet, like a drowned rat pulled from the waves, water dripping from his clothes onto the office carpet.

“Oh, this is an Axminster plush rug!” the Prime Minister couldn’t help but complain, because his Chancellor of the Exchequer almost lost his job because of this rug.

Forget about the carpet, we're about to get into trouble!

Pale-faced Fudge panted for half a minute, then wrung out his cloak in a disheveled manner. "I just got back from Azkaban. You know, in the middle of the North Sea, I didn't even have time for dinner. It was a really tough journey..."

"What 'Kaban'?" The Prime Minister keenly noticed the key phrase. "Beihai!?"

“Yes, Azkaban, the wizard’s prison.” Fudge poured the seawater out of his top hat, splashing it onto the expensive carpet. “The Dementors are restless. No one has ever escaped their guard before. Calming them is torture.”

What a load of nonsense... The Prime Minister is only concerned about the cruise ship that went missing in the fog: "We have a ship that went missing in the North Sea. Did you do it?"

Fudge shuddered: "It's not us, it's the Dementors. They're hunting Sirius Black, and the mist is what they summoned."

Monsters, little gray wolves, and all sorts of other nonsense... The Prime Minister, somewhat annoyed, slammed his fist on the table and stood up: "What have you done to my citizens? Are they alright? I order you to release them immediately!"

"Calm down, Mr. Prime Minister."

Fudge sighed. "Sit down, sit down. I can explain it to you in detail. Have a whiskey."

You attack my citizens, break into my office, and you still want to drink my whiskey?!
The prime minister's eyes widened, but as he watched the man pull out his wand and conjure two glasses filled with amber liquid, his anger vanished instantly, and he suddenly found the patience to listen to him continue.

For the next half hour, Fudge poured himself a drink and started rambling on to himself.

Some words are simply incomprehensible, leaving the Prime Minister with no choice but to try to decipher their meaning by connecting them to the context. This is a basic skill for politicians.

Azkaban and Hogwarts sound like place names; one is a prison, and the other is a school.

The boy named Harry Potter seems very important; he's still in school and might be the crown prince of the Wizarding Kingdom.

A wizard named Dumbledore caused Fudge a great deal of distress, and since he couldn't do anything about it, he was probably Fudge's political enemy.

There was also a wizard named Levent, whom Fudge mentioned with a complicated tone, and based on past experience, he was probably a journalist or member of the media.

“...I have to come to you. Black is a notorious Muggle killer. If I get into any big trouble, Levent is a professor of Muggle Studies, and I suspect he is Muggle-born. He and Gufy might condemn me in the newspapers. Of course, that's not the whole reason.”

“Blake is, after all, one of the mysterious man’s men… The mysterious man is the mysterious man, how can I explain this to you?”

Fudge seemed reluctant to mention the name. He grabbed a pen from the table, wrote the name on the third quarter's financial statement, and handed it to the Prime Minister sitting opposite him.

The Prime Minister lowered his head and spelled out: "Put...put down..."

“The villain whose name we can’t even mention!” Fudge interrupted him in horror. “Dumbledore believes he’s still alive, but I think that’s just a lie he’s lying to gain support. But Black’s escape still warrants our full vigilance. Issue the warning! Contact us immediately if you have any leads! Goodbye, Prime Minister…”

What is this mess?

The Prime Minister watched him as he stepped back into the fireplace: "What about the people on our ship?"

"It's nothing serious. I just got lost in the fog and ended up in the waters near Azkaban. I got trapped by a Muggle shielding spell. I'll be back when it's light."

Fudge waved his hand and disappeared into the bright green flames.

……

"French wizards value freedom and equality. The boundaries between Muggles and wizards are not so clear. Moreover, the Ministry of Magic was established relatively late, not only later than in other countries, but more importantly, later than the enactment of the Secrecy Act."

Mr. Grevis patiently and meticulously explained, “Unlike the situation in America and Britain, the Ministry of Magic here not only informed the Prime Minister and the President of the relevant intelligence, but also established a special intelligence agent under a false identity within the security department. When necessary, Aurors can use the identity of DGSI investigators to conduct investigations.”

The French General Directorate for Internal Security, well, it's an agency like the FBI in the US and MI5 in the UK, just not very well-known. Melvin nodded and asked bluntly, "Is this why you, a veteran Auror, led me to the wrong place?"

"I am an Auror. My investigative experience is all related to wizards and magic. In cases involving the Magical Congress, whatever is needed, it can be resolved at Woolworth House: relevant evidence, the victim's body, the trial chamber, the execution chamber..."

Mr. Grevis disagreed: "How do I know that Muggles don't put the bodies in the police station, but in some forensic laboratory?"

“No wonder you can’t get promoted. You’re supposed to be a professional Auror, but you can’t even solve cases as well as I can as an amateur.” Melvin shook his head and complained, showing no regard for the middle-aged Auror’s pride. “You made us come all this way for nothing and wasted an hour.”

Unfamiliar with the layout of Paris and unable to openly Apparate during the day, the two had to take a taxi and then walk, which was time-consuming and tiring, and they were also ripped off by the drivers like Muggle tourists.

Fortunately, they didn't encounter any taxi robbers. The car drove out of the city along the main road and ran along the streets along the Seine for a while before stopping at a bridge called Astrid. The senior Auror, holding a map, insisted that the Paris Judicial Institute was right next to it.

After getting off the bus, the two of them followed the map and road signs and found their way to the entrance of the appraisal center like tourists. Of course, such judicial institutions have access control. Security guards were sitting in the booth flipping through magazines. Unauthorized personnel were not allowed to enter, and external staff needed to register.

“See, this is where DGSI’s identity comes in handy.” Mr. Grevis pulled out his badge from his pocket, and combined with his black and gray robe, he certainly looked like an investigator who couldn’t reveal his identity.

“Then go register.” Melvin gestured with his chin toward the security booth.

To their surprise, they walked up to the security booth, knocked on the door, and looked through the small window. Inside, the employee who had been flipping through pornographic magazines was still sitting in his chair with his legs crossed on the table, completely unresponsive, as if he couldn't hear them.

Could it be a deaf or mute employee?
Mr. Grevis stopped knocking and hesitated for a moment until he saw the sign on the door and realized that it was the weekend and not a working day.

Grevis hesitated before pushing open the door: "Hello, DGSI investigation."

The employee paused for a moment, glanced at the sign hanging at the door, then at his ID, and said hesitantly, "Hello, please come back next Monday?"

"This is an investigation, a murder case!" Grevis laughed in exasperation.

The staff member put down the magazine and said slowly, "This is the forensic laboratory. The cold storage inside contains 400 corpses. We conduct forensic examinations on 10 bodies every weekday. Each body is involved in a murder case."

"The case we're investigating is different! It's extremely important!"

"Which case is unimportant?"

"..."

Listening to the two men's back-and-forth debate, Melvin was somewhat speechless. He clearly saw a smile on the employee's face, as if this argument was more interesting and better at passing the time than pornographic magazines.

While the clerk was refuting Mr. Grevis, Melvin pulled his wand from his sleeve, pointed it at the clerk, and silently recited:

[Soul leaving body]

A strange warmth surged from his mind, running along his arm and wand, and into the employee's mind. This feeling was somewhat similar to the flames bestowed by a dragon. Melvin felt that the object of his magical connection could understand his intentions and obey his commands.

The clerk's eyes glazed over for a moment. He took Grevis's ID, registered it in a booklet, and handed it back: "Okay, you can go in now."

“We are here to defend Paris! The tourists and residents surrounding this place, you know about this case…”

Mr. Grevis's unfinished philosophical discourse remained unspoken, and as he watched his slacking employee suddenly transform, he felt somewhat lost. It wasn't until he was pulled into the appraisal center that he belatedly realized what was happening.

"Melvin, did you just... use..."

"Yes, the Imperius Curse."

"You're insane! That's dark magic, that's an unforgivable curse!"

"..."

Melvin turned to look at the kind-hearted middle-aged Auror, hesitated for a moment, and said, "Then ask me again, what did you just say?"

"I'm asking you, did you just use a soul-stealing curse?"

"No, you persuaded him."

"..."

Graves was furious and walked beside him, nagging and advising him all the way. He had seen many cruel and vicious dark wizards, but when he saw someone using the Unforgivable Curse, he would still patiently persuade them and truly believe in the textbook's explanation.

In a sense, this Auror was adhering to the original tenets of the Twelve Aurors.

“Evermony certainly wouldn’t have such a course. I bet you learned it at Hogwarts. It’s a school with a thousand-year history, how come they don’t pay attention to the influence of dark magic? Melvin, listen to me, dark magic really can corrupt the mind. I’ve seen many cases…”

Melvin didn't find him noisy and let him chatter on as they followed the signs to the underground cold storage where the morgue was kept.

There were no security guards outside this time, but there was a forensic assistant on duty, all alone in the morgue, writing the autopsy report with his head down, his dark circles under his eyes, as if he was about to die suddenly at any moment.

"You stay here and don't move, I'll go negotiate..."

Grevis stopped Melvin from approaching, turned and walked towards the assistant with swift and decisive movements, his expression carrying a kind of resolute determination as if facing death.

Melvin watched his retreating figure disappear into the distance, shook his head, and wondered what he was burning with passion.

By the time he finished negotiating and turned to greet him, Melvin had already located the deceased in the freezer. He opened the drawer-style freezer compartment, pulled out a folder from somewhere, and held it in his hand, examining the body.

The body, dissected and then stitched up by a forensic pathologist, had waxy white skin, bruises and dark patches covering areas without incisions, and a huge Y-shaped wound running across the chest and abdomen amidst the chilling atmosphere…

Grevis was stumped. Without professional knowledge, he couldn't even distinguish which wounds were caused by forensic examination and which were present on the deceased.

Melvin handed over a folder: "Here, the autopsy report."

"Huh? Where did you find it?"

"The computer by the door printed it itself, right when you were talking to that assistant."

(End of this chapter)