Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Water Margin

Chapter 284 Rufus's Snowy Christmas Night

It is said that Fudge dispatched three hundred Veelas to the front lines, which truly shocked the magical world.

You should know that these Veela have snow-white skin and beautiful faces, and their figures are alluring. How often do ordinary wizards see them?

As soon as the dance began, a strange fragrance filled the air and colorful light flowed, captivating the wizards of all nations in the allied forces.

Those with weak willpower had long since thrown away their wands and danced and jumped around; even the mature ones were drooling with envy, and had no idea what fighting was going on.

The Death Eater scouts spotted this and urgently reported to the central army that "the enemy's formation has fallen into disarray." The Death Eaters were overjoyed upon hearing this and immediately charged to the front lines to attack.

However, upon encountering hundreds of beauties dancing gracefully, these Death Eaters became weak in the knees and completely forgot about their killing plans.

Black robes and colorful sleeves were mixed together, skull masks and peach blossom faces flew side by side, the enemy and our forces were all mixed together, it was truly a demon wreaking havoc on the world, its madness frightening ghosts and gods.

Amidst the chaos of battle, a Death Eater, unable to contain his bestial instincts, stripped off his clothes and prepared to capture a Veela for his amusement.

When the bewitching maidens suddenly saw the black hand attacking, they were so frightened that "Pulling" transformed into its true form as a bird or beast and scattered and fled, thus breaking the illusion.

This scandal spread throughout the wizarding world, and everyone cursed Fudge for his incompetence, completely disgracing the British wizarding community.

"Minister, there's been a protest in Devon, and a group of wizards want you out of office."

"This is a private letter from the Bulgarian minister, accusing you of defiling the mascot of the Bulgarian Quidditch team —"

"Report, there is a letter from the International Federation of Wizards."

Fudge sat upright in his office, initially trying to stay alert. Whenever there was an urgent report, he would straighten up and rack his brains to find a solution.

But before one trouble could be resolved, another arose. His subordinates kept coming and going, chattering incessantly, spouting nothing but irritating remarks.

Finally, Fudge stopped caring and simply waved his sleeve, saying, "Get out of here. Let me have some peace and quiet. Don't report any more of this damned news to me."

The officials looked at each other, bowed their heads and held their breath, then filed away with a stack of documents in their arms.

The office was quiet for a moment. Fudge closed his eyes, intending to rest, when he suddenly heard someone say in his ear, "You seem a little confused, Connelly."

Fudge opened his eyes and saw the wise man of Wissengamo standing in front of the table.

He jumped up in a panic, his face changing color several times before finally settling into a look of fear. He stammered, "I'm sorry, esteemed sage, I... I have disappointed you."

The sage tapped his wand, forcefully pressing Fudge back into his seat, and then laughed, "Don't be afraid, Cornelius, I'm not here to blame you."

"I'm just here to tell you that there's no need to pay attention to outside opinions. As long as you have the support of Wissengamo, no one can take away your ministerial position."

Upon hearing this, Fudge was truly flattered and quickly bowed gratefully, saying, "Oh, respected sage, I really don't know how to thank you—"

Before he could utter a word of flattery, the wise man interrupted, "You only need to follow your heart's true thoughts; you don't need to worry about the rest."

After listening, Fudge pondered for a moment, then stole a glance at the sage's expression and tentatively asked, "You mean—I can do whatever I want?"

The wise man remained silent, only smiling to himself.

Seeing this, Fudge's heart churned with turmoil. He quickly swallowed, suppressing his secret joy, and asked questioningly, "But—why?"

"Why should Wiesengamo support me—I mean, my resume as a minister isn't very impressive—"

The sage glanced at him sideways and said, "Do you really want to know the answer? Even if the answer will make you lose what you currently have?"

cut."

Fudge shuddered, and his probing thoughts vanished instantly. He quickly said, "I understand, esteemed sage. I will not pursue these meaningless questions any further."

Upon hearing this, Xian's face softened, and he gently patted Xian's shoulder with one hand.

"Go ahead and do it with confidence. Trust your choices and don't worry about those ordinary wizards."

After saying that, the figure gradually faded away.

Once Fudge confirmed that the sage had passed away, he clenched his fists and punched the air dozens of times. He was overjoyed as his internal organs churned and thrashed about, yet he managed to make no sound whatsoever.

He remained silent for half an incense stick's time before his breathing calmed down. He straightened his collar, pushed open the door, and called out, "Who were those two Aurors who were responsible for escorting Sgrinder? Bring them here."

The waiting subordinate bowed in agreement and then took out a letter from his pocket. "Minister, Gringotts' reply has arrived."

They're willing to lend the Ministry of Magic gold, but the interest is outrageously high—"

In the past, Fudge would have had to scratch his head and beg in a humble manner. Now, with Wizengamo backing him up, he regarded those goblins as nothing more than dirt.

He snorted and said, "Never mind the demons. Just throw this letter away. I have my own solution."

This subordinate was a straightforward man. Seeing Fudge's arrogance, he couldn't help but raise his voice and say, "Minister, I must remind you that the Ministry of Magic's financial balance has been disrupted."

"The expenses for your few performances to entertain the troops at the front were still within acceptable limits, but military spending is a bottomless pit."

"You should know that the Death Eaters cannot be completely eradicated, and we are under constant pressure—"

This guy kept rambling on and on, when suddenly Fudge swung his hand and slammed it hard on his shoulder.

This slap completely shattered Yu Hua's words. When he looked up and met Fudge's eyes, they were cold and devoid of any human warmth.

"I don't need anyone to teach me how to do it."

"I am the minister."

Let's stop talking nonsense.

After about ten days, the matter of Fudge losing face in the British wizarding world was forgotten by everyone.

Why, you ask? Well, with Christmas approaching, who has time to gossip about the past?

At this time, the Ministry of Magic issued a red seal notice, which was posted all over England.

It is said that starting this Christmas, the Ministry of Magic will abolish the old system and stop using Galleons as currency. Instead, it will follow the example of Muggle society and use paper money, called "Gold Dollars".

"1. Each gold yuan is equivalent to three nats, issued by the British Ministry of Magic."

"Second, private individuals are prohibited from possessing Galleons, Sickles, or Knuckles. The Ministry of Magic will confiscate them by 1996."

A circle of metal barrels had already formed in front of the notice board in Hordemod Square. A man with a hoarse voice was loudly reading the notice from within the crowd.

As soon as he finished reading, a cacophony erupted all around. One person scratched their head, another stomped their feet, and everyone was chattering incessantly.

"Using paper as currency? What is the Ministry of Magic thinking?"

"Merlin's beard! This is truly the most absurd thing I've ever seen in my life—gold can't be used!"

Amidst the chaos, a sharp-eyed young man spotted a burly man standing in the crowd and immediately called out, "Sir, could you tell us about these gold yuan notes?"

The sound was like a spell to freeze people in place, and hundreds of faces turned around in unison.

Scrimgeour paused for a moment, then chuckled and said, "I'm sorry, I haven't been back to the Ministry of Magic for a long time, so I don't know as much as you do."

Having said that, he pushed through the crowd, wrapped his black robe tighter, and walked away, his boots crunching on the snow as he headed straight for the Screaming Shack.

Back in his office, Scrinker packed his bags, intending to go home for the holidays.

Just as I was tidying up, I heard a knock at the door. Before I could answer, Percy pushed the door open and entered, holding an envelope in his hand.

"A personal letter from the Minister, Mr. Scrinker."

Scrimgeour didn't take the letter, but instead glanced at Percy, frowning as he asked, "If it's a handwritten letter addressed to me, why is it in your hands?"

"The Minister just summoned me to the Ministry of Magic; he wants to reassign me to be his assistant. On my way back, he asked me to give you this letter."

Percy placed the letter on the table and said, "If you don't believe me, you can go and ask."

Upon hearing this, Scrimgeour remained silent for a moment, then suddenly curled one corner of his mouth into a sneer and said, "Congratulations, Mr. Weasley, it seems you're getting closer and closer to becoming the Minister."

Scringer's face was full of sarcasm, but Percy pretended not to see it, didn't say a word, and turned to close the door.

Once Percy's footsteps had faded away, Scringer picked up the letter, tore open the envelope, and unfolded the letter.

A quick glance revealed that the entire document merely stated things like "we must remain vigilant during the Christmas season," offering some excuse to keep Scrimgeour in the village to guard it.

After reading it, Scringer twitched his dough, then suddenly flicked his wrist, sending the paper flying straight to the fireplace, where it instantly turned into flakes of ash that swirled in the hearth.

He then opened the suitcase and took out all the miscellaneous items that he had just neatly packed, putting them back in their original places.

As the saying goes, whether you're rich or poor, you should go home for the holidays. As dusk approached, the vendors lining both sides of Hordemod Street packed up their signs, locked up their stalls, and wrapped themselves tightly in their robes to head home.

As night fell, although colorful lanterns hung along the long street, making the snowflakes look like gold and silver, the shops on both sides were dark and quiet, without a single light.

Only one window in the screaming shed was shining light; it was from the fireplace in Scrinkler's office, crackling and burning so loudly that it scorched the plaster on the walls.

Although Scrimgeour's body was burning hot, his heart felt as if it were filled with ice, empty and adrift. He could only take out his wine and drink alone to pass the time.

Unfortunately, there was only half a bottle of wine left in the wine cabinet, which was emptied in about three or four cups. Scrimgeour then took some coins from his bag, covered the fire in the stove, and put on his robe.

He took the key and strolled eastward. His footsteps trod through the snow, like scattered jade fragments, as he walked slowly, his back to the north wind. The snow was falling heavily.

After walking less than half a mile, I suddenly saw that the sign for Pig Head Bar was still lit up. I pushed the door open and found that it was still open.

Aberforth sat alone behind the counter, leisurely wiping a glass.

As the ancients said, "We are all fellow sufferers on this earth, why should we need to have known each other before?" Scrimgeour saw that the old man was also alone with his cold stove on Christmas Eve, and a feeling of warmth welled up in his heart. He strode to the counter, sat down, and said with a smile, "A glass of Fiery Whisky, please."

Aberforth glanced up, then looked down to wipe the glass. "We're closed. If you want a drink, take one home and drink it yourself."

Scrimgeour was taken aback by this rebuff, his smile freezing on his face. After a long pause, he finally said in a muffled voice, "Why are you keeping the shop open when it's closed?"

"—Because I live here."

The two couldn't agree on anything and turned away. Scrimgeour eventually grabbed a bottle of scalded whiskey, wrapped a piece of cooked beef in a lotus leaf, and, braving the snow and the north wind, dashed back to the Screaming Shack.

However, upon closer inspection at the house, one could only lament that Heaven's justice was clear, protecting the virtuous and righteous.

The heavy snow saved Scrimgeour's life; the screaming shack had collapsed under the weight of the snow.

Scrimgeour was furious, cursing under his breath: "Those damned devils! How dare they cut corners! I'll settle the score with them after Christmas!"

With nowhere to stay, he had no choice but to turn around and head back to the Pig's Head Bar, stepping through the snowdrifts he had come from, pondering how to ask Abu Fusi to take him in for the night.

To their surprise, when they arrived at the shop, the signboard lights were off and the windows were tightly shut; it didn't look like an inn at all. It was truly a case of misfortune never coming singly, and when they asked for help, they were turned away.

Scrimgeour had no choice but to turn back.

But this freezing weather was hardly a place to spend the night. He spotted the elegant wizard clothing store on the street corner, steeled his heart, silently recited an unlocking spell, and slipped inside to temporarily escape the wind and snow.

He took out ten Galleons and placed them on the counter. He found a corner to lean against, picked up the cold wine and ate it slowly, then ate the beef from his pocket with it.

Just as they were eating, they heard a series of crackling sounds outside. Scrimgeour jumped up and looked through the window. He saw that the screaming shed was on fire, burning loudly and chaotically.

But behold: the snow thwarts the fire's flames, the grass fuels its might. I worry about the wind on the grass, yet I'm amazed by the snow's unexpected gift. This fire could extinguish the light of the Aurora; this snow should chill the heart of the Black Wizard.

Scrimgeour immediately drew his wand, ready to rush out to put out the fire, but then he heard the clatter of footsteps approaching from the street. He quickly dodged and hid behind a row of floor-length robes inside the shop.

Before long, two dark figures staggered to the eaves, brushing the snow off their shoulders, their eyes fixed on the towering flames.

A male voice said from within the room, "Scrimgeour should be dead, right?"

A female voice replied, "He's definitely dead. I used the Fiery Flame Spell and also sprinkled potent hypnotic powder near his office."

"Even if he miraculously survives, just because he burned down the Screaming Shack, the minister can still find a way to give him another chance."

"To convict once."

"Don't forget, the sages of Visengam all support the minister."

The male voice added, "That's true. Let's wait a bit longer and see if we can find a bone or two in Scrimgeour."

"When we show it to the minister, he'll definitely praise us for being so capable."

Scrimgeour heard it clearly and immediately recognized it as the two Aurors who had escorted him to Azkaban before.

His eyelids twitched violently, veins bulged on his forehead, and the cold wine in his stomach was cooked by the raging fire in his heart, burning him so badly that smoke billowed from his seven orifices, and he felt utterly miserable.

He held a bottle of liquor in his left hand and a wand in his right, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the two figures' backs. Suddenly, he leaped out from behind layers of robes, raised his wand, and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light appeared, and the female Aoruo fell forward with a "thud," her body hitting the snow and remaining motionless.

The male Auror was so frightened that his soul almost left his body. He hurriedly reached for his wand, but then heard a spell.

"Extremely painful and agonizing."

Before the male Aoruo could finish his miserable scream, he collapsed to the ground as if his tendons had been pulled out and his bones had been broken, his limbs still twitching uncontrollably.

Scrimgeour stepped out of the shop, looked down at him coldly, and said, "When you worked for me, I never mistreated you. Why are you trying to harm me?"

The male Auror struggled for his life in the snow, pleading, "Boss, this isn't my fault! Minister Fudge forced me to do it!"

Scrimgeour chuckled, took another sip of cold wine, raised his wand, and said, "Fuck you."

"Avada Kedavra!"

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