Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Water Margin

Chapter 271 Rufus accidentally enters the interrogation room

Picking up where we left off, Ron, though still smiling, wore a faint, paper lantern-like light.

Harry and Hermione are both very perceptive; how could they not see that his smile was forced?

Seeing the tense atmosphere, Hermione glanced at Harry and gently steered the conversation away.

"By the way, Harry, when did you talk to Madam Ravenclaw about this?"

"How come I've never heard you mention this before?"

Harry replied, "If we trace this back to its origins, it goes back to when we returned from the Black Forest of Albania."

"That night, I was talking with my sister Rowena, and the topic of the prophet came up, and that was the end of the conversation. At the time, I just thought it was casual conversation and didn't think much of it."

""

"If my elder sister hadn't spoken up about this today, I'm afraid those words would still be buried deep inside me, never to see the light of day."

Hermione raised an eyebrow upon hearing Harry's words, her expression becoming serious. She asked suspiciously, "Why are you asking Madam Ravenclaw this? What did you see in the Albanian forest?"

These words struck like a gavel. Ron, who was lost in the past about Percy, suddenly snapped out of his reverie, a strange look appearing on his face.

"Oh yeah, Hermione, I almost forgot. Why were you burning paper money in that hollow tree? Who were you mourning?"

As soon as the two started talking, their eyes, like four lanterns, shone directly on Harry's face, determined to get to the bottom of things.

Harry was afraid that revealing Yuan Tiangang's name and all the old stories would invite a lightning tribulation and harm his Hogwarts brothers and sisters.

He then made up a pretext, saying, "It was just a casual conversation at the time, and I was asking Sister Rowena for a few words of advice. It has nothing to do with the business in the Albanian Black Forest."

Seeing that Ron was about to press further, Harry changed the subject, cutting him off with, "Brother, is the Animagus potion ready yet?"

"It's raining heavily today, with thunder and lightning incessant; it's the perfect opportunity to transform. Wouldn't it be a pity to miss it?"

Upon hearing this, Ron scratched the back of his head and stammered, "Ah—my potion is ready, but I don't plan to drink it now."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "You want the Resurrection Stone?"

She saw right through Ron's thoughts, and a hint of embarrassment appeared on the man's face as he awkwardly said, "After all, you two both used the Deathly Hallows to transform."

Harry clapped his hands and laughed, "Brother, you're right! When you get the Resurrection Stone and choose a place to transform, you'll need to find a secluded spot so I can protect you."

"That Grim Reaper really dares to show himself! I'll definitely grab this bastard and ask Voldemort where he got his good fortune from."

""

Ron nodded quickly. "That's right, that's exactly what I meant."

After some further discussion, the group followed Harry's instructions and went their separate ways to prepare. They were ready to lay a trap and lure Scrimgeour into it.

Meanwhile, Scrimgeour, upon waking, felt a splitting headache. He quickly realized that Harry had been drinking with him.

He was suddenly startled, and cold sweat broke out on his back. He tried to recall the conversation he had made while drinking, but his mind was a complete mess, and he couldn't piece together even a single coherent sentence. He had forgotten it all.

The man felt uneasy, fearing that he might accidentally reveal some secret while drunk. So, when Harry came to Hogsmeade, he pretended to bump into him and drank with him a few more times.

He probed Harry's expression and saw that Harry's answers were normal and flawless, which put his mind at ease.

After some time, he forgot all about the incident and completely forgot about it.

That day, he was reviewing documents in his office when he suddenly heard a knocking on the door. A young Auror rushed in to report.

It is said that a student was seen arguing with a scarecrow in the field, and it looked like they were about to fight. The Auror on patrol and the goblin tried to persuade them for a long time, but to no avail.

Scrimgeour was taken aback, and asked doubtfully, "Arguing with a scarecrow? Are you sure that student wasn't drunk?"

Auror said, "That student doesn't look like he's been drinking, but the scarecrow is definitely alive."

Scrimgeour was puzzled, so he immediately lit the Auror's sword and headed straight for the wheat field.

Upon arrival, they saw a group of people gathered in a circle, with shouts and curses rising and falling within. Listening closely, they realized it was two voices, one old and one young, intertwined.

"Get that owl away! It's trying to peck my eyes!"

"It only stood on your shelf for a moment, Professor Celticburn!"

Surrounded by demons, all lazily crossed their arms. Some were picking their nails, others were wiping their weapons, verbally offering advice but their expressions were more like those of spectators watching a play.

"Stop arguing."

"Even though black magic is now permitted, it cannot be used indiscriminately."

"Please don't let them fight."

Hearing the goblins fanning the flames around him, Scrimgeour's eyes twitched. He immediately pushed through the crowd, strode in, and said in a deep voice, "Now, can someone explain to me in detail what happened here?"

A villager nearby recognized Scringer as the sheriff and went up to him to talk to him.

Listen, dear reader: A student rented an owl from the Owl Post Office. As soon as he got rid of it, the owl fluttered over to the wheat field and landed right on the wooden frame on Celticburn's shoulder.

The old man was startled and brandished his claws for a while, which frightened the owl so much that it flapped its wings and fled. The two then began to argue.

After hearing the whole story, Scrimgeour's eyes widened as he looked at each of the Aurors, and he said incredulously, "You can't even do something like this right?"

"They actually want me to handle this?"

An Auror stepped forward and whispered, "Boss, the owl wasn't caught, so someone has to pay the post office compensation."

"The students and the scarecrow both believe that the other party should pay compensation, while everyone else and the fairy are unwilling to be the sucker."

Upon hearing this, Scrimgeour felt as if the sun was throbbing wildly.

In such cases, even if both sides have their own version of the truth, it would be difficult to reach a clear conclusion even if the matter were taken to the courtroom.

Scrimgeour had no time to waste on such trivial matters. He steeled himself and shouted, "How much is this owl? I'll pay for it!"

Upon hearing this, Seamus immediately abandoned Celticburn and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Fifteen Galleons!"

Scrimgeour's cheek muscles twitched, and he painfully pulled out fifteen Galleons from his pocket, tossing them to Seamus. "Go pay the post office staff."

He then appointed another Auror to accompany him as supervisor before dismissing the others and turning back towards the Screaming Shack.

After walking less than half a mile, they saw a male wizard leaning against a wall by the roadside. His wizard's hat was askew and about to fall off, and his robe was tattered. A white cloth was spread out in front of him, and a dagger lay across it.

The man lowered his head and muttered to himself, "No one knows its value. What a pity for my magical artifact."

Scringer ignored him and walked away.

The man behind him spoke up: "It's a pity that no one can even recognize a magical weapon forged by fairies—what a pity!"

Scrimgeour didn't stop, and just as he reached the street corner, he heard the man shout, "I thought people from the Ministry of Magic would be more knowledgeable, but I didn't expect them to be no different from these Hogsmeade bumpkins."

Upon hearing this, Scrimgeour turned around. Seeing him looking, the man held up his dagger and flashed it twice in the daylight, its cold gleam truly chilling.

Scrimgeour rushed forward. "May I take a look?"

The man handed it over, and Scrimgeour took it and examined it carefully. He saw:

Its clear light is dazzling, its chill penetrating; the blade is like thin ice, its patterns like winter frost. The short handle is wrapped with silk, the tip a single silver star.

Its sheath conceals the shadow of a fish's intestines, its body holds half a shimmering moon. Though not a divine weapon capable of slaying dragons and breaking rhinoceroses, it is certainly not something that can be forged from ordinary iron.

Although Scrimgeour was not an expert on weapons, he recognized that this object was anything but ordinary.

He then asked, "You said this is a magical weapon crafted by fairies? What makes it special?"

The man pursed his lips and whistled, and the dagger suddenly rose into the air, circling around Scrimgeour like a living thing.

The man laughed and said, "Although this dagger is only slightly sharper than an ordinary knife, it can obey your will."

"Think about it, sir. If you fight with the Death Eaters, they certainly won't be on guard against the fact that you also have a flying dagger."

Scrimgeour's heart skipped a beat, and he thought to himself: Harry seems quite interested in these magical gadgets. It looks like I won't need to pick out a Christmas present for him this year.

Thinking of this, Scrimgeour asked, "How much do you want for this dagger?"

The man said, "One hundred and fifty gallons will do."

Upon hearing the price, Scrimgeour was taken aback and asked in disbelief, "One hundred and fifty Galleons? That's so cheap?"

"If it's a magical weapon, the fairies' processing fee would be at least three or four hundred Galleons, right?"

Seeing that Scrimgeour was a man of some knowledge, the man dared not hide anything any longer and said truthfully, "Alright, sir, there is a very small flaw in my dagger, please believe me, only a tiny one."

"You have to carry it with you at all times; if it's too far away from you, it will break on its own."

Knowing how many strange things happen in the magical world, Scrimgeour, though finding the rules of this dagger peculiar, didn't delve into it and simply waved his hand, saying, "I'll buy it."

"But I don't have that much money on me. Come home with me and get it."

The man readily agreed, and the two walked one after the other towards the screaming shed. On the way, Scrimgeour asked, "Where did you get this dagger?"

The man said, "This is a family heirloom, but I'm facing some difficulties now, so I have no choice but to sell it."

Upon hearing that it was a family heirloom, Scrimgeour assumed he was from some impoverished noble family and, out of curiosity, inquired, "Who were your ancestors?"

The man shook his head repeatedly, "Sir, please give me some face."

Scrimgeour heard this and never asked again.

The two arrived at the Screaming Shack, where Scrimgeour retrieved his money bag from his office and counted out 150 Galleons. He exchanged the money with the man, and the deal was done.

After the man left, Scrimgeour was alone in the room, playing with the dagger. He whistled as before, and with a thought in his mind, the dagger spun as if it were his own arm, moving with perfect fluidity.

The more he looked at it, the more he loved it; how could he bear to give it away? He immediately tucked it close to his body into the inner lining of his waist pouch, pressed it down with his hand, and chuckled to himself:

It seems we still need to pick out a Christmas present for Harry.

The next day, around 9 AM, he was sitting in his office processing official documents when Percy suddenly rushed in and announced loudly, "Sheriff, Minister Fudge wants you to return to the Ministry of Magic. He says he has something to discuss with you."

Scrimgeour had no suspicions. He simply asked, "When?"

"Now."

Seeing Fudge's urgent urging, Scrimgeour hastily straightened his robes and followed Percy into the fireplace. Seeing the green flames rise, the two returned to the Ministry of Magic.

Upon arriving at the department, Percy led Scrimgeour directly to the elevator. Seeing Percy press the button for the ninth basement level, Scrimgeour frowned and said, "Didn't you say the Minister wanted to see me? Why are we going to the Department of Mysteries?"

Percy shook his head and said, "No, Sheriff, we're going to the Sixth Trial Chamber. Minister Fudge wants to see you there."

It should be noted that the trial chambers are all located on the tenth basement level. The elevator only stops at the ninth floor, and the remaining floor must be reached on foot. The place is heavily guarded, and even when there are no trials being held, anyone entering must remove their wands or other magical weapons.

Scrimgeour, without saying a word, took out his wand from his pocket and handed it to Percy.

"Then I'll trouble you to keep it safe for me, Mr. Weasley."

Percy took the wand with both hands, nodded and smiled, "Of course, sir. I'll wait for you here."

After the elevator stopped, Scrimgeour walked down the stone steps alone to the tenth underground floor and headed straight for the sixth courtroom.

He pushed open the door and entered, only to find the room empty and deserted, not a soul in sight. He chose a seat in the front row of the gallery and waited, wondering to himself what Fudge was up to this time.

But this wait seemed to have vanished without a trace. The clock on the wall ticked away, and after half an hour, not a messenger had come to deliver the message.

Scrimgeour and the others were getting impatient, and the courtroom was unbearably hot, so he took off his robe and draped it over the chair.

As he loosened his robe, a sudden glimpse of the dagger on his belt startled him.

Damn!

I forgot about this dagger!

He broke out in a cold sweat and was about to turn and rush out the door when he heard hurried footsteps down the corridor. Looking up, he saw none other than Fudge.

"Ah, you've come, Scrimgeour."

"Please sit down. I've come here because I want to—wait, what's that on your waist?"

Scrimgeour raised both hands and said in a deep, urgent voice, "Minister, I..."

"Help!

"Arrest him!"

"He's trying to assassinate the minister!"

Before Fudge could finish speaking, the doors to the Sixth Trial Chamber burst open. A dozen or so black-robed wizards stormed in, swarming forward and dragging Scrimgeour by the skin of their teeth. They moved like eagles chasing swallows, like tigers devouring lambs.

In the blink of an eye, Scrimgeour was firmly held in his grasp. The dagger at his waist was also snatched away.

At this moment, only one sentence remained in his mind.

damn it.

As the saying goes: Even the most cautious and meticulous person can make a careless mistake; a man of fierce courage and determination lost his life to a dagger. The officialdom is always treacherous, and the tricks of villains are more deadly than weapons. What will become of Scrimgeour's life? We'll find out in the next installment.

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