Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

The recorded broadcast of Chapter 374 is essentially a live stream.

"Ladies and gentlemen... welcome!"

"Hop on a fire bolt and soar into the sky anytime, anywhere. Randolph Badmore invites you to witness the newest and fastest broom in the wizarding world take the championship."

"Butterbeer, mead, flaming whiskey—whatever you want to drink! White Ink Tavern, Three Broomsticks, and Leaky Cauldron are here to recharge the wizards and witches of this match!"

"Wave your wand to cheer on the players; Grigovic Wand Shop offers a full range of custom services."

Ludo Bagman's booming commentary echoed throughout the packed stadium, reaching every corner of the stands.

The content was a bit strange, though; his fluent lips rattled off a string of advertising slogans, leaving the audience stunned and some Muggle-born wizards' ears ringing.

Seymour and Dean, sitting in the middle tier of the stands, exchanged a glance, tilted their heads, and looked on with question marks in their eyes.

"Welcome to the 422nd Quidditch World Cup Final!"

It wasn't until those words were spoken that the audience gradually came to their senses.

Unlike the Muggle World Cup, Quidditch has no halftime break. The cheerleading or mascot performance takes place at the opening ceremony, accompanied by the commentators announcing the start of the match, with the mascots of both teams making their appearance.

Bulgaria hired one hundred Veelas, who gracefully walked out of the stadium through a side passage.

She was the most beautiful woman most wizards had ever seen in their lives. She was tall and curvaceous, her skin glowed with a soft, moon-like light, and her hair flowed behind her head without any wind.

As they began to dance, the male audience members seemed to be under a spell; their eyes glazed over, their expressions filled with fascination, and a genuine joy welled up from within, their hearts and souls immersed in the enchanting dance.

Many of the male wizards were dizzy and lost control, clinging to the railings and trying to jump into the stadium.

In contrast, the Irish team's mascot displayed a different kind of appeal: a comet-like ray of light shot into the stadium, shimmering with dazzling emerald green and gold, flew around the field, and split in two, drawing a rainbow arch.

It wasn't some kind of magic, nor was it a transformation spell. Instead, it was a pattern made up of countless little goblins wearing red vests. Hundreds of goblins with small mustaches carried a small golden or green lamp and floated lightly in mid-air.

A giant clover bloomed from the rainbow bridge, and the little goblins began to take things out of the lanterns and scatter them. What fell were not rainbow candies, but clover coins, clattering and popping.

Despite being worthless, it attracted many unsuspecting fools who rushed to snatch it up.

"Now! Ladies and gentlemen, a warm welcome to both teams as they enter the field, first and foremost the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! Let me give you a grand introduction—"

"Dimitrov!"

"Ivanova!"

"..."

While the players were entering the field, Sirius Black and Mr. Weasley in the top-floor box quickly pulled the two little guys who almost made a fool of themselves back to their seats.

Harry was bewitched by the Veela's dance and foolishly wanted to join in, whether to show off or to get closer to her, it's unclear.

Ron, on the other hand, was obsessed with money. His eyes lit up at the sight of gold coins, and he didn't even want to watch the game anymore. He wished he could take off his jacket and use it as a sack to hold the money.

The two slowly came to their senses, realizing the foolish thing they had just done. Their cheeks burned and their ears turned red. They stopped arguing and lowered their heads, wanting only to dig a tunnel and crawl out.

"It's no use robbing those goblins for their worthless gold coins. We might as well place a couple of bets with Mr. Bagman," George said sarcastically from the side.

"You really gambled?" Ron's eyes widened. "If Mom finds out how much you bet, she'll break the hand that's gambling!"

“Don’t worry, we learned about risk management during our internship at the workshop, and we know that you can’t put all your eggs in one basket,” Fred said with a grin. “We only invested two weeks’ salary.”

"Why should my money be confiscated while you can do whatever you want with it..." Ron muttered resentfully, "Mom should take away your wages."

George and Fred sighed, feigning seriousness.
"We also want to hand it in."

"But they're all in the bank; you have to cash them with a check."

As Ron gritted his teeth in anger, Harry suddenly felt much better. His actions didn't seem so shameful anymore. He raised his head slightly and caught a glimpse of the house-elf behind him looking at the empty seat.

"Has Mr. Crouch not arrived yet?"

After sitting down and chatting for a few minutes, Harry already knew that this was not Dobby, but a house-elf named Sparkle, who was Crouch's butler, or rather, servant.

Despite suffering from acrophobia, she had no choice but to obey her master's orders and stand in the highest penthouse box.

I don't know if it's just my imagination, but it seems like Shan Shan keeps looking at that empty seat with concern, as if there's an unseen spectator sitting there.

Just as Harry was lost in thought, thunderous cheers and applause erupted from the audience.

After the players were introduced, the referee for tonight was the president of the International Quidditch Federation, a short, thin, bald wizard who served the ball. Bagman announced the official start of the match, and the score appeared in the mirror above:
Bulgaria: 0

Ireland: 0

The intensity of the World Cup final far surpassed that of the Hogwarts Cup. Whether it was the Quaffle or the Runner, the balls became afterimages as the players chased and struck them, making it impossible to see anything with the naked eye.

The speed at which the players flew was astonishing. The Chaser kept passing the Quaffle to other players at such a speed that Bagman could only call out their names.

"This is Mallet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Pass it to Mallet! Troy! Levsky! Moran!"

Less than three minutes into the game, the players from both sides were locked in a fierce battle. Before they knew what was happening, the entire stadium erupted in applause and cheers.

"Troy scores!"

"10-0, Ireland are in the lead!"

Bagman amplified his voice with a hysterical roar, but it was still drowned out by the clamor of the fans, and the stadium, which could hold 100,000 wizards, was trembling.

The little imp sitting on the sidelines watching the game was immediately overjoyed. It flew into the air with its little lantern and formed a giant, shimmering clover once again, while the Veela on the other side could only watch them with a gloomy expression.

"Troy! Mallet! Moran!"

As a retired professional player, Bagman undoubtedly knows the game very well, but his commentary couldn't keep up with the passing speed and could only barely name the players.

Within ten minutes, Ireland scored two more goals, while Bulgaria failed to score a single goal, bringing the score difference to 30, drawing thunderous cheers from the supporters in green jerseys.

"Dmitrov! Levsky! Dimitrov! Ivanova—"

"Oh my God!"

The Bulgarian batter, his face grim, strained with all his might, finally stopping an Irish attack. His teammates followed up, barely managing to dodge the Irish goalkeeper and score Bulgaria's first goal. "10:30!"

Bulgaria's goal failed to ignite a counterattack; instead, they faced an even fiercer attack from Ireland. With the speed advantage of their Fiery Crosses and precise teamwork, the green-clad team scored one goal after another, widening the gap between them.

When Ireland scored 10 goals in a row, bringing the score to 130, the game became more intense and brutal.

The Bulgarian players tried to seize every fleeting opportunity to deliver a physical blow to the Irish players. Quidditch doesn't have a yellow or red card system, and the referee, realizing what was happening, awarded two free throws.

Ireland seized the opportunity and extended their lead to 170-10.

With a total of 100,000 spectators present, it was clear to anyone that Bulgaria was no match for Ireland. Their only hope for victory lay with the Seeker. Still clinging to hope, the Bulgarian fans couldn't bear to watch the home team's decline any longer, so they squinted and searched for the Golden Snitch with Krum.

……

"A beautiful feint!"

"He caught the Golden Snitch! Krum caught him! The match is over!"

"170-160? Ireland has won!"

Bagman's shout was hesitant, like all the spectators present, somewhat bewildered by the sudden end of the match: "Uh, Krum caught the Golden Snitch, but Ireland won..."

"My God, I don't think anyone expected it to end like this!"

A somber murmur echoed through the stadium. These hushed discussions coalesced into a thunderous resonance. Some blamed Krum for ending the game when the score difference was too large, while others believed that the Bulgarian players had dragged the team down.

The two teams' mascots grinned and showed off, while the little imps boasted triumphantly. At one point, Veela could no longer contain herself, revealing her ferocious bird head, flapping her wings and rushing forward to fight.

The two teams landed on the ground; the Irish players were overjoyed, while the Bulgarians looked miserable.

"Now, the Irish team will circle the field with their mascot!" Bagman announced in a booming voice.

Just as the Irish national anthem resounded from all directions in the stadium, club staff scattered in various boxes in the middle tier of the stands moved against the irritable fans toward where Melvin and Wright were.

They bent over, carefully protecting the medicine bottles in their arms.

Those were medicine bottles for storing memories. From the opening ceremony to the end of the match, the memories of the entire game were stored in those wisps of misty clouds.

Avoiding the grumbling Bulgarian fans, the weeping witches lamenting Krum, and the popcorn, candy, and drinks that seemed to be thrown at him from all sides, old Will slowly made his way to the box door.

Before I could even knock, I heard a familiar voice from the side: "Leave it to me."

The young professor stood at the door, took the glass medicine bottle from his hand, unscrewed the stopper in front of him, and transferred the wisp of silver mist inside into the crystal ball.

It was a meticulously polished transparent crystal, containing dozens of similar memories, its silvery luster flowing under the moonlight.

"Am I the last one?" Old Will asked in a muffled voice, rubbing his aching legs. "Will I make it in time?"

Melvin looked relaxed, casually stuffed the medicine bottle into his pocket, and took out a gold pocket watch, waving it around: "Don't worry, we have plenty of time."

Old Will looked at the chained pocket watch, still somewhat hesitant: "Is this really feasible?"

"What's wrong with that? It's broadcast simultaneously with the match; who can say it's not a live broadcast?"

"That's good..." Old Will turned around shakily and went back the way he came.

"I should have let Wright do this errand job."

Melvin muttered something under his breath, then returned to the private box and stood in the narrow space separated by the curtains.

This wasn't his first time time travel, and this time he didn't need the time converter to guide him; he knew exactly that he was going back two hours, just before the match was about to begin.

This time converter was carefully selected by the Department of Mysteries; it is spotless, and the sands of time in the hourglass shimmer with silver light.

Melvin turned the hourglass twice, held the pocket watch in his hand, and seemed to hear the ticking of the hour hand.

The whole world began to turn upside down.

……

Let's go back two hours.

Melvin said goodbye to Wright and went behind the back curtain.

The crystal ball was already securely placed on the small square table. Melvin's dark eyes shone with a cool light, and in the vision of another dimension, the magic surrounding the dozens of door keys gradually became active.

“Let’s start with London, which is nearby.” Melvin picked up the crystal ball with his right hand, then pressed his left index finger on his worn-out boot with some disdain. Just then, Bagman began to read the advertising copy.

Melvin smiled faintly as he listened to the rapid-fire opening remarks.

"Boom..."

He immediately disappeared into the noisy stadium.

If Apparition is like stuffing a person into a rubber tube and squeezing them out, then the Portkey is like a fishhook, hooked at the navel, and then suddenly hooked forward with irresistible force, lifting the passenger off the ground as if being fished up.

A howling, cold wind swept over me, and the mountains, rivers, and forests below rushed past me, a blur of colors, obscuring everything in sight.

They found themselves standing firmly in the Ministry of Magic.

Melvin surveyed the office. The staff of the Transportation Department's Flyway Network were already waiting there. A woman was pacing back and forth in front of the desk; it was Mrs. Eckmore.

"Professor Levent".

She immediately came forward, and before they could exchange pleasantries, Melvin separated a strand of liquid from the crystal ball and transferred it into a container they had prepared beforehand.

After instructing his subordinates to immediately proceed to the Floo Network Center for the screening, Mrs. Eckmore politely asked, "Professor, would you like to stay and watch it with us?"

Melvin, holding the corner of his worn-out boot, shrugged: "I still have dozens of countries waiting for me to deliver packages."

This is the club's live broadcast plan: the footage is edited and produced during the match, and immediately handed over to Melvin, who has watched the match, after the match ends. Then, the time converter is turned back to two hours earlier, and the recorded footage is placed behind the curtain before the match starts.

Mel, who hadn't even watched the game yet, used a pre-set key to teleport back and forth between the stadium boxes and dozens of countries.

(End of this chapter)