Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 366 felt very familiar.

The green spell struck his back, and Umbridge immediately lost her balance, tumbling and scrambling a long distance. Her sleeve ripped with a tearing sound, and her ankles and knees hit the stones, sending sharp pains through her, leaving her completely unable to exert any strength.

Umbridge worked in an administrative role at the Ministry of Magic, and her dueling abilities were relegated to her school professorships a few years after graduation. Apart from some torturous curses, the only Patronus Charm she could muster was merely to prove that she met the criteria for a righteous wizard as outlined in the materials.

"Damn criminals! Is no one in Albania going to do anything about this?" Umrich gritted his teeth.

Her escape plan was completely ruined. She was still a long way from the area where she could Apparate, but the condition of her knees and ankles no longer supported her escape. Only Bertha Jorkins remained as a resource.

This ambitious journey is coming to an end. A sense of fear welled up in Umbridge's heart. She had failed to fulfill Levent's request, failed to find Peter Pettigrew and Voldemort, and even if she were to return to the Ministry of Magic by chance, there was no possibility of her regaining power!

Umbridge glanced back and saw the tavern staff slowly approaching from the darkness behind her. The tips of their wands were still glowing, clearly seasoned dark wizards who would not reveal any flaws.

Just then, a tremendous force suddenly came from the side, dragging her and Joggins into the bushes, while a dazzling fluorescent green light rose into the air and suddenly bloomed.

“The Dark Mark?” Umbridge’s pupils contracted slightly.

Before she could properly assess her surroundings, Umbridge felt herself being pulled up and carried on someone's back. The swaying and the rapidly receding branches indicated that her escape was still ongoing.

With Jorkins supporting them, the three hurried through the woods, crashing through branches and ending up with bloodied heads.

Umbridge stared in terror at the mark in the sky, then at the profile of the wizard who had carried her away. Her voice could no longer be suppressed: "Peter Pettigrew? Wormtail, who escaped Azkaban! You really are here!"

The short, plump witch was both surprised and delighted!

Wormtail was confused and uneasy, but the moment he saw the ouroboros mark, he decided to save the man. He carried the former high-ranking deputy minister on his back and ran, slightly out of breath:

"Ouroboros mark... You're one of Professor Levent's people... Also here to help find the Dark Lord? Not only are you not keeping a low profile, but you've also gotten into trouble with the tavern people?"

“We’ll talk about the tavern later. The key thing is that mark… How dare you…” Umbridge began to feel a sense of lingering fear.

"We need to attract the attention of those wizards and divert their focus so that we can save you."

Wormtail, after all, was a traitor who had once deceived the entire magical world, and he quickly came up with an idea: "The mark will mislead them into thinking there are other Death Eaters, and they won't dare to pursue too closely. Besides, this mark is conspicuous enough, perhaps..."

Perhaps this will draw the Dark Lord's attention to them.

Wormtail sighed, swallowing the rest of his sentence. He had been struggling in Albania for months, but had gained nothing. Now he couldn't even go back to the tavern. He was hungry and tired, and his voice was weak and listless.

“You’re a Death Eater, so of course you’re not nervous when you see the Dark Mark. I’m not!” Umbridge mumbled a complaint.

"Gentlemen...may I ask where we're going?" Jorgins, who had been silent the whole way, suddenly spoke up.

The insect tail immediately looked at her arms; both hands were cut and bleeding profusely, but there was no ouroboros mark as expected.

"She's a cannon fodder you tricked into coming here?" Insect Tail lowered its voice.

“I have nothing to do with her, we’re not even on the same side. I just happened to run into her tonight, and she caught me in the act of the tavern staff attacking me.” Umbridge showed no gratitude. She took this silly witch with her on her escape, just to have another human shield along the way.

"Then let's get rid of her now?" Insect Tail said viciously.

"Keep her. She might be useful on the way. She's a mentally challenged idiot, easy to fool, and she's an employee of the Ministry of Magic. Maybe she can surprise us."

As the pursuers receded into the distance, and the spell's intensity lessened, Umbridge's speech slowed once more:
“Bertha, come with us. That tavern is a den of thieves. The staff there are all dark wizards. If we go back now, we’ll definitely be murdered.”

"You know me?" A hint of surprise flashed in Joggins' eyes. She knew it! No wonder she felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

"..."

See, he really is an idiot, isn't he?

Umbridge gave Wormtail a smug look, then put on her sweet, coquettish voice again: "Of course I know you! I'm Dolores, the Senior Undersecretary of the Ministry of Magic. We're colleagues! If it weren't for your reminder, I would be dead by now. Thank you so much. By the way, what brings you to Albania this time?"

"I came to Albania because..."

Just as Jorkins was about to answer, he suddenly paused, thought for a few seconds, and then remembered: "I'm here to visit my aunt, she lives in... Albania... Oh no, I left my memo at the tavern!"

“It’s alright, it’s alright. We’ll work together from now on. I’ll take good care of you,” Umbridge said with a forced smile, her tone gentle but her face full of malicious cunning.

“Alright then…” Jorgins nodded obediently.

Her thoughts were in turmoil. Umbridge and Wormtail treated her like a fool, but she only had amnesia; her mind was still functioning normally.

Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban... High-ranking officials of the Ministry of Magic...

The two people involved gave her a strong sense of déjà vu, as if she had seen such a combination before. Although that memory had been erased, it left such a deep impression on Jorkins that it was etched into her soul.

His subconscious was constantly triggering that memory, causing Jorgins' head to throb as he searched for the source of the déjà vu.

"What is it?" Jorkins asked, his eyes filled with confusion, and he instinctively ran alongside her.

"Is he really... an idiot?"

Wormtail ran all the way out of the tavern's territory. Looking back, he had completely shaken off his pursuers. This space allowed him to freely teleport, and he should have breathed a sigh of relief, but something still felt off.

I ran until I was covered in a light sweat. A cold wind blew, and my hair stood on end. My heart felt like it was being gripped by a hand. My blood flowed faster, but my breathing became heavier and heavier, as if I couldn't catch my breath.

How could there be such heavy pressure?
It seems that something in this desolate, dense forest... has its eyes on them!

……

London, Diagon Alley.

It was evening.

In London summers, it gets dark late, and the sunset can last for several hours. After the last customers leave, shopkeepers look up at the street and see the setting sun casting an orange glow on the cobblestones, like a filter applied by a photographer.

Most shops in Diagon Alley closed down and put up signs saying "Closed." Even the busiest Gringotts gradually quieted down, and the goblins in their scarlet uniforms left one after another, leaving only a very few people on duty.

At the Prophet's office, the busiest time of the day had just begun. Reporters were comparing materials repeatedly to confirm the latest news, editors were busy reviewing manuscripts, carefully scrutinizing every word to ensure the accuracy of the news, and the female host was reciting the manuscript that had been revised many times.

"Ah, it's finally finished."

After writing the last sentence, Hermione stretched and, without even rubbing her sore eyes, hurried towards the editor-in-chief's office, clutching her carefully compiled summary. Knocking on the door, she saw the editor-in-chief sitting behind a square table. He was a middle-aged wizard in his forties or fifties, with meticulously groomed gray hair and beard, a slightly high hairline, and a hooked nose that accentuated his deep-set eyes. His wizarding robes were impeccably pressed, and a quill pen was clipped to his chest.

"Have you compiled all the data from previous Three Kingdoms Championships?"

Mr. Gu Fei looked up, casually tossed his quill pen into the inkwell, and opened the review article written by the editing assistant intern. His eyes swept over it; the dense annotations were detailed and thorough, but too verbose for the editor-in-chief.

He casually flipped through a couple of pages, not really looking at it carefully, and tossed the meticulously organized document aside.
"You're an editorial assistant, not an archivist. You need to learn to pick out useful information from thick books, instead of copying down everything you see. The origins of the Goblet of Fire, the origins of magic schools—no reader or viewer wants to read these boring clichés."

"But the Goblet of Fire has been discontinued for hundreds of years. Surely there are wizards curious about the origins of this tournament. Shouldn't we satisfy their curiosity?"

"The Daily Prophet is a news newspaper, not a popular science book. Nobody will pay for trivia from hundreds of years ago. If they're curious, they'll go to a bookstore or ask around in a pub!"

"But……"

The little witch wanted to argue further, but the news broadcast was about to begin, and Gu Fei's patience had run out: "You're an intern, not a newspaper director. Either go back and revise it according to my requirements, and submit another copy by this time tomorrow, or find someone else to do this job!"

"Understood, sir."

Hermione slunk away from the office.

She was full of joy when she first started her internship, but now she's been worn down and is feeling dejected. Hermione always has her own ideas, but these ideas seem too idealistic, too naive, or in other words, foolish to the veteran employees, and are almost impossible to implement.

The little witch thought the newspaper was a beacon exposing darkness and conveying the truth, but in reality, it was a commercial company that oscillated between Galleons and the bottom line.

During my short internship of just a few weeks, I heard too many cruel and truthful things from that editor-in-chief, Gu Fei.

Before you start writing, ask yourself: Do you want to convey the truth, or the truth you want them to believe?

"In this industry, mistakes can be corrected, but slips of the tongue can be printed."

"I'm more afraid of those who can use calligraphy than those who can use magic."

"Reports should be written for those who can understand them, and headlines should be written for those who are afraid to read them."

"..."

A busy day resulted in the editor-in-chief's rejection; tomorrow will be another busy day, and perhaps another day of rejection.

"Never mind, I'm off work today anyway."

Hermione returned to her workstation, packed her shoulder bag, and walked out of the newspaper office. Her mind was still filled with information about the Goblet of Fire, a dense, overwhelming feeling that made her dizzy.

Arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, I raised my wand to stop the Knight Bus, squeezed into the carriage with a group of wizards off work, and returned to Hampstead, getting off at the conductor's urging.

Looking up at the orange sunset, I felt a little dazed.

Hermione felt like an inanimate object, going to and from get off work like a zombie, dragging her tired body home, oblivious to the passage of time, and her eyes stinging when she saw sunlight.

Hermione pushed open her bedroom door and looked into the kitchen.

Bastian peered eagerly from the kitchen doorway. Mrs. Granger opened the oven lid, releasing a sweet aroma. She had learned how to make honey cake from a TV show, and after simplifying it for a home kitchen, you could easily make a cake that looked almost like it came from a bakery by following the steps.

This is the most relaxing time of the day, not only because I'm off work, but also because my mother always prepares a sumptuous dinner, saying it's to reward the two of us for our hard work.

"You're back! Come and have some cake!" Mrs. Granger greeted him without turning around as she heard the door close.

The simplified recipe only includes a cake base, but when served, it becomes a beautiful cream and fruit cake, topped with strawberries, mangoes, blueberries, and chocolate—added by the mother according to her daughter's preferences.

Bastian smiled at Hermione, his eyes crinkling. She didn't have a summer internship, so Mrs. Granger filled her stomach while she was practicing. While Hermione was eating, he chattered about the fun things that happened during the day.

Hermione tasted a strawberry covered in cream and felt her tired body and mind come back to life.

Just then, a dull thud came from the living room.

"Dong dong..."

The mother and her two daughters immediately turned to look, with Mrs. Granger shielding Bastian and Hermione behind her.

The fireplace in Granger's house was purely decorative; it was sealed off. The room had underfloor heating and an electric stove that emitted flames and light, which was only used in winter. At that moment, a knocking sound came from behind the fireplace.

"Dong dong dong..."

Hermione looked at the fireplace suspiciously. For some reason, she felt that the rhythm of the sound was familiar, as if someone was knocking on the door from inside the fireplace.

Without any apparent reason, she tentatively asked, "Please come in?"

A wand tapped lightly inside, causing the iron plate sealing the fireplace to tremble slightly. Suddenly, the outline of a door appeared, complete with a lock and handle. With a gentle twist, a young wizard entered.

"Professor Levent?"

The mother and her two daughters stared at him, dumbfounded, their eyes filled with the same astonishment.

Melvin closed the door, casually brushing the dust off his clothes. He was wearing a light blue long-sleeved cardigan, typical Muggle attire, and his well-proportioned figure resembled that of a clothing store mannequin.

Walking down the street, no one would guess that this is a wizard who came out of a fireplace.

"Mrs. Granger, Bastian, please forgive my unannounced visit."

Melvin looked at the little witch whose lips still had cream on them: "Mr. Gufie told me that you've been commuting by knight bus lately, so I had Mrs. Eckmore connect your fireplace to the Floo network. I happened to be at the Ministry of Magic, so I conducted the first transportation test."

Mrs. Granger was struggling to understand the meaning of these words; Bastian didn't quite grasp them; only Hermione cheered.

"Now I can sleep an extra half hour every day!"

“Can we go to Diagon Alley through the fireplace?” Bastian asked excitedly. “I want to visit Hermione’s workplace!”

"This requires Mr. Gu Fei's permission."

Melvin smiled at her and said, "Before that, we need to cure your illness."

(End of this chapter)