Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 369 Gamblers Never Repent
"Please, Archie, have some mercy and put your pants on!"

"Am I not wearing them now? I bought these pants at a Muggle store!"

"That's what Muggle women wear."

"Aren't they all Muggle clothes!?"

"Of course it's different! That Muggle at the door is about to leave, so wear this and don't let him suspect anything, okay?"

"I'm not wearing it! I'd rather let the healthy breeze blow on my butt!"

On the gentle slopes of Dartmur, in an open space at a corner of the camp.

The two wizards were chasing each other in a comical manner. One of them was an elderly wizard wearing a women's printed nightgown, and the other was obviously an employee of the Ministry of Magic, carrying a pair of pinstriped trousers. It was both infuriating and hilarious.

In front of another tent at an Egyptian pyramid, a little boy of about two years old squatted on the ground, holding his parent's magic wand, poking at a slug on a blade of grass. Under the influence of magic, the slug slowly swelled up, becoming thicker than a hot dog.

The little boy wasn't afraid at all; instead, he clapped his hands happily.

"How many times have I told you, you're not allowed to touch your father's magic wand!"

The boy's mother rushed out of the pyramid-shaped tent and stomped on the giant slug, squashing it with a loud pop, sending yellow-green juice splattering everywhere.

The little boy's lips trembled, and he began to sob.

Similar magical farces were unfolding all over the camp.

Children rode on toy flying brooms, gliding low, their toes lightly brushing against the dew-kissed grass.

Every now and then, you could see adult wizards coming out of their tents to prepare breakfast. Some people would look at their dew-dampened matches with worry, peering around cautiously, before finally pulling out their wands.

The shaman from Waggadu, Africa, lit a campfire to roast meat, but the flames were a strange purple, a color that didn't look like firewood could produce.

Bagman and Melvin stood at the edge of the camp, listening to the two wizards' chase, admiring the old wizard's outrageous attire, and occasionally chatting about the event's procedures and the tens of thousands of wizards who had come from all over.

Bagman shamelessly praised the young professor's wisdom, saying that it was fortunate that he had made the decisive decision to transfer Mr. Roberts that morning; if it had been delayed any longer, who knows what kind of trouble might have broken out at the camp.

Melvin remained silent throughout the tour, observing the various magical tents with great interest.

The gentle slope camp was now packed with thousands of tents, most of which looked unremarkable. Their owners had carefully read the spectator handbook jointly issued by the Ministry of Magic and the competition committee, trying to make them look as similar as possible to Muggle tents.

Some wizards went overboard, adding things like chimneys, bell ropes, or weather vanes to the tents.

Occasionally, some wizards completely disregard the rules and reveal the wonders of their magical tents, setting them up in the shape of palaces, pyramids, towers, or even manors, complete with bird baths, sundials, fountains, and everything else.

There were also some tents for die-hard fans, divided into two distinct areas.

On one side were supporters of the Irish team, all of whose tents were covered with a thick layer of clover, looking like countless oddly shaped green hills emerging from the ground.

On one side were Bulgarian supporters, with the Bulgarian flag in white, green and red colors flying above the tents, and posters of Krum's magic plaques pasted on them.

"Those lucky guys from Ireland, thanks to the Magic Mirror Club, made it to the finals."

Bagman squatted by the roadside, his robe concealing his protruding belly. He stared with round, blue eyes, his short, golden hair making his face flushed, looking like a professional player explaining inside information.

"What does this have to do with the club?" Melvin asked curiously.

"Their sponsors made a fortune with the club's help. The manager waved his hand and directly purchased seven newly launched fire bolts. Those were fire bolts, wow. With their speed advantage, they won all the matches before the World Cup. In the semi-finals, they met the favorites to win the championship, the Peruvian national team, and directly defeated them with their fast attack tactics."

Bagman chuckled twice: "But your good luck ends here."

"What do you mean?"

"Their fast attacks are indeed very impressive, but the opponent is the Bulgarian national team. The harsh environment has tempered their will, and with their tenacious and solid defense, they can completely stop Ireland's attack."

Bagman touched his nose, which had been broken by the runner, and sniffed: "If the score is close, the Seeker will decide the winner. It's not that I look down on Ireland's Lynch, but compared to the genius player Krum... tsk!"

Bagman didn't say the second half of his sentence; he simply shook his head.

"I didn't expect you to know so much about the team."

"This is nothing..."

Bagman waved his hand, a hint of smugness in his smile: "Want to place a bet on the match, Professor Levent?"

"You've already analyzed the outcome for me, why do you still want me to place a bet?"

"Betting on sports isn't just about betting on wins or losses; there are other ways to place bets."

Bagman stretched his legs, his pockets jingling loudly, indicating they were filled with gold coins.

"For example, you can guess which team will score first. Roddy Ponte bet on Bulgaria, the guy in the harem pants this morning. Considering Ireland's chasing players and fast breaks, I gave him very high odds."

"You can also guess when the match will end. You know, the shortest World Cup final in history has lasted half a day, and the longest has lasted three months. Agatha Tims Jr. bet half of her eel farm stock on the match lasting a week."

"You can also guess who catches the Golden Thief in the end and bet directly on Krum. The odds are low, but you can still make some money."

"If you're the bookmaker and there's an upset, can you afford to lose that much money?"

Melvin looked at him with a half-smile: "I remember you used to be in debt because of gambling on football, and when you couldn't pay it off, you had to do business with the club."

"Well..." Bagman chuckled and scratched his head, no longer mentioning the betting on football.

Seeing that he hadn't listened, Melvin shook his head and didn't try to persuade him further, preoccupied with Mr. Roberts's matter.

The Quidditch World Cup is a highly anticipated event for wizards worldwide, with a total of 100,000 wizards flocking to Dartmoor. To fully comply with the Law of Secrecy and control any magical leaks, Roberts may be rendered an idiot by hundreds of Oblivion Charms over the next two weeks.

Even the most skilled memory eraser cannot control the Forgetting Curse.

Besides the Oblivion Curse, the Roberts family had an even worse experience after the game. In Melvin's past life memories, the post-game brawl between fans was very unpleasant due to Bulgaria's unexpected defeat. In this tense atmosphere, Barty Crouch Jr.'s Dark Mark directly ignited the negative emotions in the fans' hearts, causing chaos and panic, resulting in a large-scale riot.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the Death Eaters who escaped trial concealed their faces, gathered a group of wizards, and used the Roberts family as toys to vent their emotions, causing a great deal of unpleasantness.

Rather than let poor Mr. Roberts suffer here, it would be better to let him take a break during the game.

However, a period of unrest is necessary.

Based on the timeline, Mr. Crouch is still attending the International Wizarding Union Conference in New York. This year, due to trade between the British Ministry of Magic and Muggles, many matters involve the Secrecy Act and need to be explained in detail at the conference, so the delegation's return trip will be a little later.

According to Bagman, Crouch has been trying his best to come back and insists that he must return to organize the competition, but he will not be able to return for another two days.

At this time, Barty Crouch Jr. should still be under house arrest at Crouch Manor, cared for and watched over by the house-elf Sparky. He only has very short periods of lucidity each day, struggling with the mind-altering Imperius Curse while plotting his escape.

Unlike the dragging progress in New York, Wormtail and Umbridge have already met in Albania. If all goes well, they have found Voldemort and will definitely be back in London before August 18th on their way back.

They needed an opportunity to let Voldemort know about Barty Jr., without affecting the club's match broadcasting plans.

Listening to Bagman's rambling, Melvin pondered for a moment: "Extend the Roberts' vacation a little longer, let them come back after everything is over. Also, has the door key I asked the Department of Transportation to prepare been ready?"

Bagman paused for a moment, then belatedly realized what was happening.

After Dartmoor was confirmed as the venue for the finals, the International Affairs Cooperation Department and the Sports Department immediately sprang into action. At that time, tickets had not yet been sold and spectators from all over the world had not yet arrived in Britain. Logically, there was no need to mobilize the Transport Department's manpower, but the young professor instructed the Transport Department to start making the door keys.

It is not a key that brings people from all over the world to Britain, nor a key that allows audiences to travel from all over Britain to Dartmoor, but a key that starts from Dartmoor and travels to all parts of the world.

The event is scheduled for ten minutes after the end of the game, and the locations include multiple locations connected to the Filo network, such as New York, Paris, Budapest, Romania, and Austria.

Including the door keys needed by the Ministry of Magic, there were nearly three hundred in total. It's unclear what all those door keys were for, which caused the staff of the Department of Transportation to work overtime for several weeks.

"The keys are all ready..."

Bagman scratched his head: "But Professor, what do you need so many door keys for?"

……

"...Dear viewers, this is Cecilia from the Daily Prophet. Today, Dartmoor is sunny and cloudless, with temperatures ranging from 11 to 18 degrees Celsius. After the morning mist in the swamp and forest dissipated, the sun has been shining on the camp. We have every reason to believe that the final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup will be held in fine weather, without any storms or heavy rain."

"The entire Irish team has arrived in Dartmoor and begun acclimatization training. Seeker Lynch was spotted outside the stadium... The Bulgarian team is still en route. According to sources, star player Viktor Krum had a dispute with his teammates, which has slowed down their journey."

"Let's cheer for the Ministry of Magic staff who have been working hard all year to build a stadium that can hold 10 spectators and guide spectators from all over the world to their camps. It is thanks to them that the final was able to be held smoothly in Dartmoor."

"The Dartmur Camp is almost full. Wizards who have purchased tickets, please head there as soon as possible to secure a good spot for your tent!"

A voice crackling with static broadcasts from the makeshift workroom set up in the newspaper's tent. Cecilia's beautiful face is reflected in the mirror. This is the Prophet's Newspaper's final round of reporters.

As night fell, the tent was a hive of activity. Reporters were busy verifying the authenticity of the news, editors were busy proofreading the manuscripts, and photographers were fiddling with their large cameras.

Meanwhile, the campsite on the gentle slope outside was bustling with activity, decorated with lanterns and colorful lights.

With the Roberts family gone, the camp is now free of troublesome Muggles and no longer bound by secrecy laws. The wizards gathered at the camp are letting loose and holding a grand party.

From the shore of the swamp to the gentle slope outside the forest, a dark mass of wizards gathered, and supporters of both teams converged from all directions as if by prior arrangement.

At first, it was just enthusiastic fans who, upon hearing that Krum had arrived, impulsively squeezed into one of the tents. Some, seeing the Bulgarian fans gathering, decided to join in as Irish fans themselves.

There are also people who aren't die-hard fans, but are just following the trend and joining in the fun.

Hermione mingled outside the crowd, gazing at the sea of ​​people, her wide eyes filled with astonishment.

There are so many wizards in the world.

I had only skimmed through the information in the book before, but I had no concept of the quantity.

The scene she had seen most of all was Lockhart's book signing, which filled the entire Flourish and Blotts bookstore, with the line of people waiting for the signing stretching all the way to the street.

But that's a small scene compared to now. If these wizards were placed in Diagon Alley, they could squeeze onto Charing Cross Street outside.

"This is unbelievable..."

Rough, loud singing filled the night sky—different languages, different tunes, a chaotic yet resounding chorus. People rode flying broomsticks, weaving through the camp, waving lanterns and torches, laughing merrily.

"Krum!"

Someone shouted loudly, and a deafening cheer immediately erupted from the crowd, who swarmed towards the tents in the Bulgarian section, forming a dense, dark mass.

Hermione saw the poster that was pasted outside the tent being torn down and falling to the ground in the crowd. It featured a young player with thick, dark eyebrows and a very gloomy face, who did nothing but blink and frown.

"Bulgaria!"

"Ireland!"

"..."

The cheers grew louder and louder, and the wizards became increasingly excited.

Hermione didn't know when things started to go wrong, but apparently someone had dropped a flask into the campfire, which exploded with a "bang," sending flames flying and setting several nearby tents ablaze.

The explosion was not serious, and the fire on the tent was quickly extinguished, but the wizards attending the party instantly lost control.

The campsite was set up on a gentle slope. Some people fell down in the pushing and shoving, and those behind them were pushed by others and couldn't stop, so more people fell down and were trampled and crushed.

The singing stopped, turning into screams and cries, and frantic footsteps pounded on the ground.

(End of this chapter)