Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle.

Chapter 377 The Haunted House Opens for Business

Hogsmeade, three brooms.

The Quidditch World Cup final was being replayed on the second floor, and fans were gathered in the booths. Even though they already knew the result, they couldn't help but cheer for the exciting plays, and the sound could be felt even through the floorboards.

In contrast, the first floor was much quieter.

Tacrot sat alone at the bar, holding a beer, examining the ticket for the VIP box repeatedly, an uncontrollable smile on his face.

Why hasn't Malcolm arrived yet? He wants to show off this ticket in person.

"Ugh……"

Is Malcolm getting old? His legs aren't as nimble as they used to be.
Tacrot couldn't sit still, frequently turning back to look at the tavern entrance, picking up and putting down his beer, his smile turning into anxiety and impatience.

After waiting for nearly half an hour, Tacrot was about to give up when he saw Malcolm come down from upstairs, accompanied by several male wizards.

They were both regular customers of the three brooms. Although they weren't as close as the two of them, and weren't neighbors who graduated in the same year or lived on the same street, they were still old friends of many years and used to drink and chat together all the time.

Tacloth didn't mind that Malcolm hadn't invited him to the tavern, and immediately went over, grinning and showing off his tickets: "Look at this! Tickets to the World Cup final!"

"There are very few wizards in the entire Hogsmeade who can get tickets like this. It's a high-rise with a great view, and it even comes with a private box."

The group of people were all longtime friends and knew this guy's personality. Before Malcolm could speak, his friends rolled their eyes and laughed at Tacloth's rudeness.

"You have no idea how great the atmosphere was!"

Taclotra led them to the bar, gestured for Ms. Rosmerta to bring him a dozen beers, all on his tab, and began to vividly recount the events of the final:
"At the start of the game, Veela blew me a kiss. During the game, the players from both teams were just a few dozen feet in front of me. I could even see Krum's nose hairs, and Lynch, who walked past me with the trophy after winning the championship..."

With an exaggerated, animated expression, and spittle as thick as beer foam, Taclot seemed to know that such a display wasn't appropriate. Finally, he smacked his lips and said in a mocking tone:

"The camp order is not very good. There were two riots in a row, and my child was so scared that he cried."

“I saw the news; the situation was indeed chaotic.” Malcolm nodded.

The friends next to him chimed in:

"Yes, yes, several tents were burned."

“Some people even made a fool of themselves in front of the Veela; it was so unsightly.”

“Stan from Knight Bus, right? Hahaha, I saw it too.”

Taclot frowned as he listened to their idle chatter. What was all this about? These were all seasoned fans of decades, why wasn't anyone interested in the game?
Isn't the focus on the finals?
Shouldn't we envy his high-end tickets?

As the conversation veered further and further off track, and they continued drinking the beer he had paid for, Tacloth felt a little uncomfortable.

Only Malcolm noticed his mood and, for the sake of the free beer, said a few words to him: "This year we all watched the live broadcast on the screen, just like at the stadium, and we knew the result of the game immediately. The edited version was even better, and we could see the players' movements more clearly."

"It's different. The atmosphere is live, you get to experience it firsthand, there are no commercials, and you can hear the cheers of 100,000 fans. It's a completely different feeling," Taclot insisted.

Ms. Rosmerta happened to come over to refill my drink and casually remarked, "Even three brooms cheered; they almost ripped the ceiling off me."

"Even if the fans tore down the bar, they would still make a profit from the drinks that night, right?" Malcolm joked.

“Sigh, how much can we possibly make?” Ms. Rosmerta shook her head with a laugh. “The businesses that advertise during the live broadcasts of the games are the ones that make money.”

"That's true. After the competition, I saw that the elegant clothing store and the extraordinary clothing store didn't turn off their lights at night. The needles and threads were so fast that they left afterimages. You could hear the whooshing sound of sewing even in the middle of the night."

"Business has improved in Quidditch Street; everyone's coming to ask about the price of Firebolts."

"And then there's Honeydukes, their chimneys are overflowing with mail-order orders, and all the owls at the Central Post Office are delivering their candy. I even have to find another owl to write to my sister-in-law in Devon."

"Don't you have owls at home?"

"That still can't be used..."

As the topic of conversation veered further and further away, and no one even picked up the ticket to look at it, and no one cared about his pretentious act, Tacrot grew anxious.

Malcolm slowly sipped his beer, picked up the ticket, flipped it over to look at the price on the back, and Tacrot's initial joy was extinguished by a single sentence.

"If you put the Galleons used to buy tickets into an advertisement, then you're not showing off the tickets anymore, but the golden key to Gringotts' underground vault."

Just then, the tavern bell rang, and Mr. Froome walked in, still wearing his apron, which was covered in icing and jam.

Compared to this group of idle drinkers, Froome, who runs a candy store, is a well-known busy man in Hogsmeade. He is rarely seen in the pub, and usually only comes to have a couple of drinks on weekday evenings when Hogwarts is closed.

His appearance at the tavern at noon was completely out of character for him.

Not only did Ms. Rosmerta immediately go up to greet them, but even the patrons sitting around the bar quieted down to watch this rare scene.

"Ambrosio, what brings you to my place?"

"The candy store is too busy, and my wife and I don't have time to make lunch, so we came here to get some fish and chips to take home."

“We’ve all heard that the orders are clogging your chimney.”

"We have to thank Professor Levent for this."

"..."

Malcolm glanced at his old friend beside him. Tacloth silently lowered his head, his expression complex, a mixture of resentment and faint regret, he was extremely upset.

……

The tents at the Dartmur camp were much sparser.

After the recent turmoil, some fans who came for the game have left, while some tourists still see the game as just part of their trip and plan to explore Britain for a while after the match. Compared to the troublesome Muggle hotels and cramped wizard taverns, the magic tent is the most suitable accommodation.

The magnificent stadium was not only not demolished, but a construction shed was also erected there.

The Ministry of Magic staff had already left, and the construction was being directed by several male wizards who claimed to be staff members of the Horror Tour. The area was covered with linen cloth enlarged by transfiguration, and fences were erected from a distance with signs prohibiting unauthorized access.

This mysterious demeanor, ironically, piqued the interest of many wizards.

One hundred thousand wizards flocked to the World Cup final, and after the match, a small fraction remained at the camp, mostly from other countries—some from across the ocean, others from the other side of the world. Some foreign tourists even postponed their return trips, eager to see what this terrifying journey would turn the stadium into.
Construction lasted a week, until Hogwarts was about to start its term, at which point the fences with "No Entry" signs were finally removed and replaced with new signs:

"Terror Journey & Magic Mirror Club"

"Haunted House Soft Opening: Tickets 50% Off"

Can reporters from the Prophet's Newspaper get free admission?

Hermione stood at the end of the dew-dampened forest path, holding up her brand-new internship certificate, looking up at the witch checking tickets at the entrance of the haunted house.

Beside her was neither Cecilia, the well-known host, nor a photographer's partner provided by the newspaper; there was only a seven or eight-year-old girl, who, like her, stared wide-eyed at the ticket-checking witch.

Hermione Granger, a prospective fourth-year student at Hogwarts, finished her internship yesterday. Given the relationship between Editor-in-Chief Gufie and Professor Levent, she could actually work until the end of August, receiving two months' salary.

With less than a week left before the start of the school year, the shopping list had already been sent to Hampstead's house. Instead of spending the entire summer vacation at her desk piled with documents and ink, she brought Bastian to experience this newly built magical haunted house.

Without asking her parents for travel funds, the little witch used her internship salary to buy tickets, naturally trying to save money wherever possible.

"The Prophet's Newspaper?"

The ticket-checking witch met the two girls' expectant gazes with a gentle smile, but uttered cold words: "No."

Hermione wasn't disappointed. She was just giving it a try anyway. If she succeeded, she would save a ticket; if she didn't, it wouldn't matter.

"Do you have children's tickets?" she asked again, unwilling to give up.

The ticket-checking witch uttered an even colder statement: "No, children need a signed permission letter from an adult wizard. They cannot enter the haunted house without parental consent."

Hermione's expression froze. Before she could even worry about the ticket, she quickly looked at Bastian beside her.

During the two months of summer vacation, Hermione only had the initial hope of being at home. The rest of the time she was working her internship from early morning to late at night and hardly spent any time with Bastian. Even when her Obscurus was treated, the little girl was not as happy as she had expected.

Bastian was filled with anticipation as he finally got the chance to go on a trip before the start of the semester, and it was even a haunted house with Professor Levent involved.

Upon arriving at the haunted house, they heard heartbreaking news.

The poor little girl looked dejected, her lips pursed, her eyes filled with sadness as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

“Signing a consent form? I have experience with that…” A friendly laugh rang out from behind.

Sirius Black? Harry?

The Granger sisters turned around and saw the tall, thin wizard behind them. His neatly trimmed gentlemanly beard and weathered face exuded a unique charm. His eyes were deep and bright, and he was wearing a plaid shirt and casual pants.

Such Muggle attire was rare at Dartmoor Camp; the other wizards' Muggle outfits were all rather witchy.

"Sirius Black, the parent of these little ones, I'm taking them into the haunted house." Sirius deftly took several informed consent forms, signed his name, and also paid for the Granger sisters' tickets.

“I’m Hermione’s friend, Sirius.” Sirius extended his hand to Bastian in a friendly gesture.

"Hello, I'm Bastian..." Bastian shook hands in a daze, and two tickets were already in his hand.

Before Hermione could refuse, Sirius came up with a perfectly legitimate reason: "It has nothing to do with Harry. This is my treat for you. Consider it a thank you for coming to the tent that night to inform us of the evacuation."

Hermione thought about it carefully but couldn't come up with a flaw in her argument. By the time she came to her senses, Bastian had already led her into the haunted house area.

The tickets, printed in vibrant colors like magnetic cards, had faint Dementor patterns on their black surfaces and were wrapped in plastic film, making them look exceptionally exquisite—something that didn't seem to be produced by wizards at all.

As expected, it's another business jointly run by wizards and Muggles...

The thought flashed through Hermione's mind quickly. She had been working at the Prophet's newspaper for nearly two months and had seen reports about the magical park in Paris.

"Why does Harry look so listless and gloomy?"

Hermione pulled Bastian up the steps. They had been here once before, on the night of the final. From the outside, the venue looked the same, except that the golden exterior had been replaced with a somber gray-black.

After entering the venue through the ticket gate, Harry only greeted us briefly upon first meeting, then kept his head down staring at the ground, seemingly uninterested in the haunted house.

"Ignore him. He lost his wand that night and hasn't found it yet."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively and walked up the marble steps into the stadium: "I told him to go to Ollivander's and buy another one, but he refused, saying that every wand is unique, and that wands and wizards choose each other and cannot easily give each other up."

“Olivendell said the same thing to me when I went to buy a wand in first grade.”

Hermione sympathized with this, but offered no real comfort.

Bastian listened with great interest.

"Stop talking, let's focus on exploring the haunted house." Harry was still thinking about the lost wand, and hearing Sirius mention it made his heart ache. He decided to look for it again when they went out later.

"..."

The people next to him chuckled softly. They had reached the end of the passage and looked up at the cave entrance in front of them.

The venue is situated flat on a level ground deep in the forest, covering an area equivalent to several football fields. With the help of the Seamless Stretch Spell, its internal volume is even more considerable, and it can accommodate 100,000 people without feeling crowded.

At this point, the seats and compartments inside had been removed, and the internal structure had undergone a significant change.

Hermione and the others were certain that, at least on the night of the World Cup final, there was no such dark and narrow passageway leading into the stadium, illuminated only by the faint phosphorescent light from the gemstones embedded in the walls.

The style of the Hogwarts Philosopher's Stone and the Haunted House is vaguely discernible.

Harry withdrew his scrutinizing gaze and looked at Hermione with a hint of resentment. Back then, he was the one who followed the disheveled Quirrell, suffering all sorts of frights, while Hermione stood with the professors, watching the show from behind.

Hermione, seeing him staring at her expectantly, assumed he was seeking an explanation and pondered for a moment:

“Professor Levent told me that this dimly lit corridor is a classic stage design that combines principles of psychology and sensory control to disrupt our perception of real space and enhance immersion…”

The dark cave entrance let in cold, damp air. Harry stared at the space, feeling a strange sense of familiarity. He felt slightly dizzy, as if a woman's voice was wailing in his ear again.

(End of this chapter)