A certain Hogwarts professor of runes

Chapter 686 Chaos

In a café near Paris 1, Armandine Zoe and her colleague paid their bill and came out to find pedestrians on the street all looking toward the south bank of the Seine.

"What are they looking at?" her colleague asked, puzzled.

Armandina silently raised her head, her gaze first falling on the Eiffel Tower a few kilometers away. Everything seemed normal, as if nothing had happened. Then she spotted six or seven small black dots. Were they some kind of birds? But she immediately dismissed the idea. Two of the dots were suspended motionless in mid-air. Surely no bird could do that?

In the blink of an eye, one of the stationary birds suddenly spread its wings—Amandina found it strange because it only extended its left wing—the next second, a huge green sign hung high in the sky, lingering for a long time, like frozen fireworks.

Exclamations came from afar.

"It's a person!" her colleague exclaimed, grabbing her arm tightly and saying excitedly, "My God! My God! Look—Armandina, is it some kind of large-scale outdoor magic show? Can we invite them? How did they do it? Steel wires, cables, tempered glass?"

"I don't think so," Armandina said softly.

In the few seconds it took them to speak, the six or seven small dots suddenly dispersed, scattering rapidly in all directions. One of the black dots came right up to them, becoming clearer and clearer until they could see the black robe it was wearing.

"What is he sitting on? Some kind of aircraft?" someone asked from the side.

"It's a broom! That's a witch's sorcery!" shouted a sparse-haired, disheveled man.

The man who had been flying overhead seemed to have heard them. He turned back, hovering in mid-air, looking down at the Muggles on the street below. With a flick of his arm, Armandina saw that he held a small wooden stick, and a flash of white light appeared.

The sparse-haired, disheveled man floated up uncontrollably, screaming in panic and struggling desperately.

"This is magic!" The man sitting on the broom laughed loudly.

Amandina seemed dazed, a memory vaguely surfacing in her mind. It was back in her school days, when she overheard a very handsome boy earnestly asking the teacher during an open class, "What if one day, magic really did appear in reality?"

Now, magic has truly appeared!

……

New York, USA.

François Krutoy walked along the famous Broadway, a major birthplace of American theater and musicals. He had been invited to perform there, but the performance was scheduled for tomorrow. Therefore, after being interviewed by reporters, he declined the staff's invitation to sneak out for some fresh air.

Unsurprisingly, his miraculous experience was brought up again by reporters, and as always, he remained tight-lipped, treating the events of that night at the "House of Magic" in Surrey as a secret known only to him. However, he had been collecting information on the occult for the past few years. His thought was: if the mysterious man who gave him a new lease on life wasn't a "deity," then there must exist a group of humans with special talents in this world.

After much deliberation, François concluded that the latter was more likely, because the person who healed his arm later appeared at his concert—a true deity wouldn't be so idle, would they?

Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to speak, and he doesn't know if that person understood the meaning behind his composition.

The Angel of Sorrow… the Goddess of Magic… François didn’t know what power had healed him. It might come from religion, or from the magic of a sorcerer. He had learned from many fantasy novels that sorcerers worshipped goddesses of magic…

Before he knew it, he had arrived in Manhattan and was standing in front of the Woolworth Building. Local staff recommended some well-known buildings in the vicinity, including the famous theaters.

François had heard of it. The Woolworth Building, completed at the beginning of this century, was the world's tallest building at the time, and is steeped in legend. Even disregarding its height, its neo-Gothic style possesses immense aesthetic value. Lost in thought, a group of men in black suits emerged from the manual sliding doors.

François glanced at them in surprise; his attention had been drawn to the grand revolving door, and he hadn't noticed the small door. The men moved quickly, their expressions grave, and the leader was issuing orders sternly.

François turned his back to them, pricking up his ears as some words drifted in:

"...The exposure level in the magical world is abnormal...It must be related to Grindelwald...He went to England to attend the funeral...He obtained authorization from the security chief to use force if necessary..."

François turned his head curiously. Did he hear magic? François felt a surge of excitement. He quickly followed the group, but dared not get too close, only trailing far behind. The group turned into the gap between the two buildings. He quickened his pace and saw the last person take a small wooden stick out of his suit pocket.

A magic wand? He thought excitedly, but it seemed much smaller than the ones he'd seen in comic books…

François stood at the edge of the building, taking a few deep breaths and brainstorming how to introduce himself. How about starting with "I know a friend who can use magic"? Once he felt ready, he rushed into the shadows.

François looked around blankly; all the people had vanished, and all that remained were a dozen or so bicycles lying haphazardly. He walked back and forth twice, refusing to believe it, but nothing happened, and he returned to Broadway.

The streets were bustling with people, but the person he was looking for wasn't there. He was, of course, unaware of Apparition, and even less aware that a wizarding battle was about to take place in Times Square, at the intersection of West 42nd Street and Broadway in Manhattan, not far from there.

Meanwhile, atop the Statue of Liberty on Liberty Island in Hudson Yards, a saint deftly twirls his wand, and the torch held aloft by the Statue of Liberty suddenly bursts into flame.

……

London, England.

Mr. Granger was working at his dental clinic as usual, with Mrs. Granger helping out. They had just seen off a customer, and Mrs. Granger was talking to her husband as she turned on the clinic's television.

"Hermione's coming back today, we'd better close early," Mrs. Granger said.

"I remember, I booked your favorite restaurant," Mr. Granger said, washing his hands. Suddenly Mrs. Granger screamed and rushed out in a panic, water dripping from her hands.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Mrs. Granger stared intently at the television, speechless. Mr. Granger looked at the screen; the camera swayed, only capturing half the head of the female reporter with her exaggerated blonde curls, but Mr. Granger's attention was completely drawn to the tornado behind her.

If it weren't for the Houses of Parliament being so conspicuous in the background, he wouldn't have realized the disaster was happening in London. He glanced uncertainly out the window; the weather was unusually fine, and he didn't feel a breath of wind. An urgent voice came from the television—

"Rita! Look, there's someone in the tornado—did you see them? And those two guys who flew by on broomsticks earlier?"

"I don't need you reminding me!" the female reporter shouted angrily. She then took deep breaths to calm herself before addressing the camera: "Ladies and gentlemen—it may seem unbelievable, but a tornado has suddenly appeared in central London. Uh—the cause is still unclear, perhaps due to the large temperature difference these past few days? We believe meteorologists will provide a reasonable explanation. Please don't believe rumors—oh, Merlin's beard!"

"The reporter cried out in alarm," the reporter exclaimed. But Mr. Granger couldn't blame her for her recklessness; anyone who saw it would be horrified—a young man suddenly emerged from thin air, the camera went black for a moment, and the Grangers could only hear his voice.

"Hey, watch out, need any help?"

A few seconds later, the image returned to normal, and the young man who had suddenly appeared reached out to help straighten the camera, a bright smile on his face: "Are you reporters? You must be, right? I'm available for an interview—please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a wizard, a graduate of Iphamoni School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the tornado behind me was created by me—my companions also helped; we learned combination magic at school—"

Rita Skeeter was completely stunned, as were the Grangers watching on television, and the viewers who happened to be watching were equally dumbfounded.

Rita Skeeter swallowed hard, racking her brains as she said:

"Clearly, he's a mystery enthusiast, or he's mentally unstable. This interview is over. The tornado is coming soon, and we must evacuate as quickly as possible—" She suddenly couldn't speak, her body stiffening, motionless like a stone.

Just as everyone was wondering what was going on, the camera was suddenly turned to the other side, and the young man's face took up most of the frame.

"My mind is perfectly normal," said the wizard who claimed to have graduated from 'Iphamoni'. "Let me repeat, I am a wizard. We can talk—don't worry about the tornado behind you, it won't get any bigger, and don't worry about this female reporter, a simple petrification spell. Huh? She looks furious..."

The next ten minutes became his personal performance. Thanks to him, many British people learned for the first time what a wizard was, what the Act of Secrecy was, and also learned a series of magical terms such as Grindelwald, Dumbledore, the Petrification Charm, Combination Magic, and Magical School.

"Personally, I think Ilfamori is the best magic school in the world, but the group of Brits I just met today don't think so. Oh, sorry, I forgot I'm in England now—" A violent coughing fit followed. "Objectively speaking, Hogwarts is pretty good too..."

Finally, he even took the initiative to break the spell on Rita Skeeter, allowing her to ask a few questions despite her stiff expression. He seemed to have a strong desire to perform, and if the police car hadn't arrived and his companion hadn't told him to leave, he probably could have talked on and on for hours.

……

"Is today April Fool's Day, darling?" Red-haired Rebecca asked, staring blankly at the television.

"I'd rather—I'd better check the calendar!" Jim said uncertainly.

……

Winnie Valentine rushed out of the law firm and hailed a taxi.

"Go to that famous gold and silver jewelry and crafts shop on the corner," she said hastily before the driver could even ask.

"The one called 'Future World'?" the driver asked.

"Yes—oh, wait," Winnie grabbed her hair, forcing herself to calm down. She changed her mind. "Let's go to Charing Cross instead."

"I'll listen to you."

The driver starts the car.

"You might have to take a detour—there's traffic congestion ahead, supposedly due to a rare tornado that's causing very low visibility."

"A tornado?" Winnie stammered.

"I guess the traffic reporter had too much to drink this morning. How could there be a tornado in the city center?" the driver said casually. "But the traffic jam is probably real."

……

Growing Company, Surrey.

Vernon Dursley was the sales manager at the company, responsible for selling more drilling rigs. He was unusually irritable this morning, yelling at nine subordinates in succession in his office, his shouts echoing from the ninth floor to the floors above and below. This caused him to ignore some inappropriate noise in the company. After thoroughly berating the last subordinate, further exacerbating the already strained relationships among colleagues, he closed his office door with a satisfied expression.

"Don't let anyone bother me, I have a few important calls to make," he yelled at his assistant.

Around noon, his mood improved. He stretched his overweight body in the office and decided to cross the street to buy two donuts. As he walked out of the company gate, Vernon bumped into his assistant, who cautiously told him that his wife had called him not long ago.

Fernon felt a vague unease. Penny usually didn't call during work hours, but he quickly dismissed it; she was probably reminding him to pick up his eccentric nephew from the city after get off work. The thought of it instantly soured his mood, especially since Dudley's first act upon returning from vacation wasn't to give his father a hug, but to rush into the bedroom to check if his comic books were still there. He was furious.

Vernon stubbornly believed it was a conspiracy by his freakish nephew, revenge against them. He tossed a bag of donuts and a bottle of water onto the counter.

"Two pounds and fifty pence," the salesperson said.

"Two pounds and fifty pence? Why don't you just rob me?" Vernon roared.

The salesperson shrugged.

Fernon paid with a grumbling, took out a donut and stuffed it into his mouth, while watching the television hanging from the ceiling, muttering, "Prices are rising... What are those parasites sitting in Whitehall doing... Five pence up today, ten pence up tomorrow, what's wrong with this world?" Gradually, he stopped talking, seemingly engrossed in the news on television.

He rubbed his eyes incredulously, his mouth agape, making his double chin bulge even more, and his small eyes staring blankly. Then he roared, rushed out of the store, and panted as he ran back to the company, grabbed his car, and sped home.

He drove cautiously, his eyes constantly scanning both sides of the road, lest some strangely dressed figure in a cloak suddenly appear. There seemed to be a traffic jam ahead; he slammed the steering wheel and began honking the horn frantically. "Damn it!"

He absolutely exceeded expectations; just fifteen minutes later, he had driven the car into lane four.

"Penny, Penny!" Finnon entered the house. "I saw you on TV—who are you!?" He looked at the uninvited guest with suspicion.

In the living room, Penny and Dudley sat on the sofa. Penny seemed to want to pull Dudley into her arms, but Dudley resisted fiercely. Both of them stared intently at the tall, thin man standing opposite them—unfortunately, this man was wearing the robes and cloak that Vernon hated most.

"This must be the master of the house. Hello, I'm a staff member of the Ministry of Magic, working in the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters. You can call me Dudley," the man said.

Finon stared wide-eyed, looking at the man and then at his son.

“Oh, I’ve also noticed this interesting coincidence,” the man said happily. “Your child also has this name, right? But there’s a difference; ‘Dullie’ is my surname…” The man continued, pulling a piece of parchment from his pocket. “Alas, as you may already know, the magical world has been completely exposed to the world, plunging the entire country into chaos. To prevent potential dangers, I have been sent by the Ministry of Magic to seek your advice—”

"Danger? What danger? My family wouldn't, wouldn't do that damn thing—" Fernon's face flushed red with anger, and he gritted his teeth as he uttered the word he hated most.

"--magic!"

"Don't talk nonsense," the wizard looked at him with pity, "in the eyes of other Muggles, you're one of us."

(End of this chapter)