The mastermind behind Hogwarts

Chapter 184 Magic or Sorcery? (Please Subscribe!)

"Yes, sir." Jericho became serious, picked up the documents and read, "The Magician is 33 years old this year, which is a bit old for a professional athlete, but his physical fitness and skills have never fallen behind others."

According to the information, several well-known media outlets, including Le Prophet and Le Parisien, interviewed the magician and asked him about his secrets to staying energetic.

He claimed to be a magician, and Quidditch forbids any wizard from using magic, so he used magic on himself.

He did not join any professional team, but was called up to play as a chaser in two World Cups.

He scored 236 goals, a number that might not match his afro, but Magic Johnson only played 16 games.

Jericho looked at everyone with a meaningful expression.

"Also, Magic Johnson has no record of fouls or being fouled."

Players who have faced him say they simply can't keep up with Magic Johnson. Sometimes they see him flying ahead, but they can't even touch the hem of his shirt.

Jericho put down the documents and plopped down in his chair.

"My opponent is mysterious, powerful, like a hermit lurking in the shadows," Jericho said, spreading his hands with an air of self-assurance. "Do you think he's a magician who also plays professionally, or a professional who plays magician?"

"I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill." Leon picked up the magician's file with disdain. "In my eyes, his behavior can only be described with one word."

"What?" Jericho raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me yet, let me guess." Charlie smirked. "A monster?"

"No!" Leon shouted, "The Joker!"

He raised his head and said to the crowd, "A magician? No, he's a clown!"

Jericho chuckled and tossed a stack of A4 papers to Leon: "You think you're more authoritative than the authorities? These countless seals from authoritative institutions prove the magician's authenticity."

Upon hearing this, Leon's expression turned serious. He picked up the paper, glanced at it a few times, and then threw it on the table: "What is this? A certificate from the Muggle government! That's hilarious. What use is an official certificate from the Muggle world to a magician?"

"Whoosh whoosh-"

Pieces of parchment flew onto the table and were stacked up; it turned out that Moriarty had cast a small spell.

"Stop arguing and listen to me. I have a different opinion about this magician." Moriarty's eyes were filled with laughter: "A magician who uses magic in the Muggle world but claims it is magic."

As his fame grew, the Muggle government took notice of him, noting that the Muggle Prime Minister was aware of the existence of the magical world.

I think he must have somehow fooled the Muggle government, making them believe he was using magic rather than sorcery.

What followed was simple; he obtained the proof with ease.

Moriarty picked up a certificate bearing the seal of the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and gave a playful smile.

"With the endorsement of the Muggle government, the magician disguised himself as a real magician. He used magic under the guise of using magic—of course, he wouldn't be too ostentatious, otherwise he would be easily seen through."

His staffless and silent spellcasting must be quite impressive; in short, he's a rather clever conman.

Moriarty thought of Lockhart, whose deception skills were equally brilliant. If Lockhart and the magician were to meet, the sparks that would fly would certainly be considerable.

At the same moment, a magician with long black hair, wearing a white leather coat and crocodile boots, walked out of London Heathrow Airport, looking sleepy.

"Beep beep beep! Beep beep beep!"

A sharp, piercing ringtone sounded from the right pocket of the leather coat.

The magician's expression instantly turned serious. He took out a rectangular object that looked like a black brick from his right pocket and placed it on his ear.

A deep voice came from inside the dark rectangular box: "Have you landed?"

"Ah, boss. I just got off the plane." The magician rubbed his eyes, squinted at the sky, and the sunlight was so bright that he immediately closed his eyes. "The British morning sun, full of vitality, made me dizzy for a moment."

The voice inside the dark rectangular box seemed to be choked up. After a while, the guy called "boss" gritted his teeth and said, "It's noon in England now. Be serious! Otherwise, I'll sink you into the Mediterranean to feed the sharks."

The magician was unfazed by the threat and joked, "Well, well, don't worry, boss. I'll go to the Ministry of Magic first to meet up with my teammates. Then I'll take a nap and adjust to the time difference."

"Beep beep beep..." A busy tone came from the dark rectangular box.

"The boss's dead," the magician said, startled. He then put the item back in his pocket, feeling the leather jacket become heavier. He pursed his lips and muttered in a slightly sarcastic tone, "Alchemy phone, the organization's stuff, tsk, always unreliable."

The magician crossed the road and streets, handing out £100 coupons to everyone and smiling as he told passersby, "I'll be performing at the London Magic House at 11 pm on November 21st."

But few people were interested in him, and the coupons were carelessly thrown on the ground.

"Swish swish swish swish..."

The coupons turned into a huge pile of playing cards, concealing the magician's figure. Only when the cards scattered did passersby realize that the magician had disappeared.

"Snapped!"

The magician Apparates to the outside of the Ministry of Magic, enters the main hall of the Ministry of Magic through a telephone booth, takes the elevator to the third floor, and finds the headquarters of the British and Irish Quidditch League, which he has visited countless times.

He pushed open the door and entered. Inside, there was a large table surrounded by a group of wizards, all of whom were his teammates.

"Uncle, you've finally arrived." A burly male sorcerer greeted the magician. He had a distinctive feature: his nose was so red it looked like he was wearing lipstick.

The magician pointed a finger at his nose from a distance: "Red nose, blue nose, green nose, black nose, guess which color it is this time?"

"Heh," Red Nose grinned, "I cast a spell on my nose that will never fade. I love my red nose."

"Please make yourself at home," the magician said without turning his head. He walked over to the man with the afro and greeted him like a black man.

The two bumped hands, and the man with the afro grinned and said, "Hey, you're here."

"Hey, how are you?"

"Hey bro, how are you?"

"Hey, listen up, this is 100% grass-fed Kobe beef from Japan, want some?"

The man with the afro picked up the silver plate in front of him and handed it to the magician.

"Wow! Who bought this for you?" the magician joked. "I know you use all the money you earn from playing basketball to hold rap concerts, where did you get Galleons to buy top-quality beef?"

"Obviously, it was our Director Ludo who treated us." The man with the afro shrugged.

"Tsk tsk, powerful and influential officials in the Ministry of Magic," the magician remarked inexplicably, then suddenly had a whimsical idea: "What do you think about me putting on a magic show at the Ministry of Magic?"

"Not so great, buddy," Roman said. "That's enough catching up, everyone sit down."

Our opponents this time are quite formidable. Although the official announcement calls it a warm-up or coaching match, don't underestimate them. I'm telling you this beforehand!

"Pete, send them the information." Roman gestured to his vice-captain, and after the team members received the information, Roman's face was filled with unprecedented seriousness.

The man with the afro and the man with the red nose exchanged glances. The last time Roman had shown such an expression was on the eve of the World Cup match against the United States.

Does the captain think that the Hogwarts Dream Team is as strong as the US team?

"Let's look at the first person, the captain of the Hogwarts Dream Team, Moriarty Slytherin!" Roman looked around: "The famous current head of the Slytherin family, I think you are all familiar with him."

"Ah, ah, that's right! I personally admire him very much." The magician said with a smile, a meaningful glint in his eyes.

At the same time that the national team was analyzing the Hogwarts Dream Team, Moriarty's side had already finished analyzing their opponents. From among many players, they selected a tall Ravenclaw seventh-year boy as the Dream Team's goalkeeper.

(End of this chapter)