I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 134 The Desolation at the End of the Curtain, Let's Go Home

"Oh my God, stay away from that murderer, kid." Just as Sirius was roaring wildly, a large group of people suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor.

Irving was quite familiar with the fat-faced guy in the lead.

That's Minister for Magic, Connery Fudge.

Ok?

Has this idiot taken the wrong medicine?

"Get out of here! You old bastard, what do you want?"

"Ahem!" A flash of light illuminated Fudge's embarrassed face: "Look at this kid, he's still angry."

He gave an awkward laugh, flashing a greasy smile at the group of reporters behind him.

However, this move did not completely satisfy the reporters, whose cameras were mainly focused on Irving, snapping photos of every single hair on his head.

Uh—Fudge became increasingly embarrassed, and alarm bells rang loudly in his mind.

No—something must be done.

Then, in the moment when Irving was distracted, he suddenly squatted down and gave Irving a bear hug in a seemingly affectionate manner, and kissed him on the cheek.

???

The sensation on his cheek sent a shiver down Irving's spine!

What just happened?

It seems like I was kissed by a slutty, rough guy?

I'll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch!

"I challenge you to a duel."

The little black devil suddenly burst into fake tears.

Hey sir! It's not clean anymore!

After he finished speaking, there were a few more "click" sounds all around.

The group of reporters from some unknown newspaper were like sharks smelling blood, their eyes gleaming with excitement.

Looking at Irving's mournful face, I wish I could stick the camera right up to him.

"Alright, I think everyone understands that the Ministry of Magic would never wrong an innocent person. This time, regarding—the little wizard—" Fudge, who was making his grand pronouncements, suddenly seemed to have his throat grabbed. He glanced at the child beside him with a twitching smile. He—he had forgotten what the child's name was.

However, being a seasoned politician, he gave a perfunctory answer and continued, "Ahem, the Ministry of Magic upholds the law impartially. This time, it was those few French wizards who instigated the provocation. We've already investigated and confirmed that our children acted in self-defense. As for..."

He looked around.

I'm really puzzled as to why Kyrie Irving would come here.

The Death Eaters around him looked menacing, and he was terrified just looking at them. How could a mere wizard not be afraid?

"This—it's possible that the temporary worker responsible for guarding the room with the Azkaban key was negligent, and the child came here out of curiosity. We will fire him. The Ministry of Magic will further investigate the issues of such irresponsible temporary employees and prosecute him for dereliction of duty."

???

Finally regaining his senses, Owen looked at the group of reporters, Mr. Oberon hiding in the crowd, and Professor Dumbledore with a serious expression, and instantly understood everything.

He was imprisoned in Azkaban.

Her whole body was covered in hot spots.

Foreigners (France), Quidditch, Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, duels, ambushes, victories, trials without public hearings, a thirteen-year-old boy imprisoned in Azkaban.

With these keywords listed out, which British wizard wouldn't be excited?

Some British wizards have even gone so far as to claim that the British Ministry of Magic was set up for the French—such utterly inhuman nonsense.

No one knows who leaked the news, but now newspapers all over Britain are reporting on one thing: a third-year wizard from Hogwarts was shamelessly ambushed by four or five students from Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Despite being outnumbered, the young Hogwarts wizard remained fearless and single-handedly fought off the bad boys from Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ultimately achieving a resounding victory.

However, the British Ministry of Magic threw this young wizard, who had defended the honor of Hogwarts and British wizarding, into Azkaban.

What a disgrace, how infuriating!

After all, all the wizards in Britain graduated from Hogwarts. This news was like a bomb in deep water, and with a "boom," even some old Hogwarts people who never expressed political opinions came out.

A barrage of criticisms poured into the Ministry of Magic like snowflakes.

The shouting letters sent to Minister of Magic Fudge haven't stopped since this morning.

Especially the content of those shouting letters.

It practically exhausts the entirety of the English vocabulary for greeting relatives.

From top to bottom, with his mother at the center, all eighteen generations of his relatives were within the range of the attack.

Other Ministry of Magic officials were not exempted either.

A swarm of vermin has seized a high position. When will my great British Empire be able to rise again!

Fouché must step down!

Fudge step down! Fudge step down!

A political crisis is raging across the British Isles.

In addition, there were foreigners involved this time, especially the French, who were the enemy.

The four houses of Hogwarts have never been so united as they are today.

What? You're saying Gryffindor is a bunch of brainless brutes?

What the hell are you saying, you Frenchman?

You dare call him a "brainless brute"?

Let me tell you, no one except us Slytherins is allowed to call us brave and fearless Gryffindors that.

Or perhaps—

Who do you think you are, discriminating against our Hufflepuffs?

What? You're saying they're all idiots?

No one except Ravenclaw has the right to say that.

Without some idiot from Hufflepuff, Paris, France, would be gone by now!

What? You're saying Paris was saved by the great alchemist Nicolas Flamel?

you fart!

I, Newt, am invincible! You bunch of Frenchmen have dared to tamper with history and tarnish my honor! You have no conscience at all! Brothers of Hogwarts, beat those sons of bitches! Today, I, Ravenclaw, will show you what the true weight of knowledge is!

Having said that, a Ravenclaw grabbed a magic book several feet thick and swung it at the target like swatting a fly.

Things like this have been happening all over Britain.

This was the news this morning.

It's easy to imagine that if the Ministry of Magic doesn't address this issue, England and France will be embroiled in the Hundred Years' War again in just a few days!

This is why Fudge rushed over in such a hurry.

"About Beauxbatons School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—"

Before the reporter could finish speaking, Fudge quickly interjected, "The Ministry of Magic—the British Ministry of Magic—will send a strongly worded warning letter to the French Ministry of Magic."

"They must apologize and compensate us; they bombed a park!"

Beside!

The culprit who bombed the park nodded. Ah! Yes, yes, yes! They should be made to pay compensation. Damn it, I haven't even used my power yet, and they're already crying and begging for mercy.

They truly inherited the fine traditions of France!

I'm not happy at all!

I feel absolutely no sense of accomplishment!

Fudge has always done his utmost to uphold the dignity of the Ministry of Magic.

He tried to portray himself as a loyal servant of the people in service of British wizards, but his comical, sweaty, and eager expression was quite repulsive.

However, at this moment, Irving's gaze was no longer on the greasy old man next to him.

He picked up a newspaper from the ground, which was probably brought in by a reporter from the Daily Prophet and had been dropped while he was taking pictures.

Aside from the extensive reports about him, the few words devoted to the Malfoy family's major moves.

—The last group of Lockhart's victims from overseas arrived in England. They will receive the best possible care at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries and Sicknesses.

—The Malfoy family has invested tens of thousands to establish a comprehensive accident insurance system for the magical world. Your life is in our hands. Purchase a personal accident insurance policy now for only sixteen Galleons per year.

Finally, on the front page of the newspaper, Irving found what he was looking for.

—A Ministry of Magic employee wins a major prize: Arthur Weasley, head of the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Items at the Ministry of Magic, received the Daily Prophet's annual Galleon Award.

The newspaper published a photo of the entire Weasley family of nine standing in front of the pyramid, smiling and waving enthusiastically.

He then threw the newspaper at Sirius Black, who was in prison.

The other party was initially puzzled, but upon seeing the photo...

He then understood what the kid in front of him meant.

In the photo, Ron is standing in the middle, tall and thin, with an ugly mouse perched on his shoulder.

Peter Pettigrew!!!

Sirius stared intently at the ugly creature that seemed to be swaggering and showing off.

His eyes were wide open, and he was breathing heavily.

Even the Ministry of Magic staff, who were quite far away from him, could feel his extreme anger.

"Oh! Merlin's beard!" Fudge cried out, the hatred in his eyes sending a shiver down Fudge's spine, and he took several steps back.

After the Aurors around him surrounded him, he belatedly and stiffly took a few steps forward and pulled Owen away, saying, "Stay away from him, kid."

"That's not a normal person."

"That's a madman."

Irving looked up at Fudge, who was full of vigilance.

Suddenly, I feel like I understand a lot more.

He would rather struggle in the complex game of power than understand the magnificent soul of an ordinary person.

No wonder magic is shunning him.

It's so boring, really boring.

"Professor, let's go back." He pinched Fudge's little finger so hard it almost broke, and the guy finally let go in pain. Then, he walked towards Dumbledore.

The old headmaster's half-moon spectacles gleamed as he glanced at Owen, then quickly shifted his gaze to Sirius Black and the group of Death Eaters.

The corpse lay in the damp cage.

Prisoners suffering from magical attacks.

The man was roaring with rage, like a flame in the darkness.

Suddenly—his expression became somewhat forlorn.

A heartbreaking look of worry appeared in Professor Dumbledore's melancholy eyes.

He wondered if that person had also lived such a life, as always. Forty years.

How could the damp, muddy prison conceal his golden hair? And then time stripped it of its luster and color.

He should hate me, Professor Dumbledore thought.

Then he reached out and grasped Irving's cold, barely warm hand.

He instinctively clenched his fists tighter, a bitter taste rising in his mouth, and said, "Let's go home!"

As Xiao Tianxing, who was already insane, roared, the two figures walked resolutely through the crowd toward the exit of the corridor.

(End of this chapter)