I'm the King of Curry at Hogwarts

Chapter 128 Louis, who is close to people with a billionaire

"And then there are the former members of the Order of the Phoenix, like Amelia Burns, yes, the aunt of Susan Burns from Hufflepuff." Louis scratched his chin, starting to spill his mischievousness: "I'm so close to Dumbledore, what's his is mine..."

He thought about it carefully for a moment, then laughed and said, "But there's not much to poach from the members of the Order of the Phoenix. After all, Fudge isn't stupid; he knows the specific members of the Order of the Phoenix inside and out... The real work to be done is with the people around Fudge. Let me ask Draco's father if he has any suitable candidates to recommend."

"As for adding 'sand'... we're already doing it. The classmates who graduated from Hogwarts last year and went to work for the Ministry of Magic are all people we can unite with, as are the seniors who came from Slytherin House." Louis tapped his fingers lightly on the table as he said this: "But we also need to be careful within our own team. It's always better to be cautious than to have someone add 'sand' to us and undermine us before we even have a chance to make any plans."

"What we should be aware of is that many parents are not on our side, but one thing is certain: at least our second-grade students are all from impeccable families," Louis said with a chuckle. "Of course, we're not going to exclude them entirely. If those students from families with problematic backgrounds are willing to turn over a new leaf, we welcome them all."

Catherine nodded. "In that case, I'm relieved." With that, she leaned down and kissed Louis before preparing to continue her adventure in the mirror world.

Interestingly, Louis had hoped that Catherine could outwit the Mimic, but to his surprise, she was able to sense the danger beforehand. Her fiery serpent swallowed the Mimic whole, and the poor creature was reduced to ashes before it could even scream.

That's truly tragic.

……

At noon, Ms. Rita Skeeter arrived at Hogwarts, followed by a male photographer who was as thin as a telephone pole.

Because the Daily Prophet was taken over by Lewis, Dumbledore is no longer opposed to them entering the school—no one likes a reporter who makes a big fuss, but Dumbledore still has to consider that at least the Daily Prophet is one of their people.

There's a saying that goes, "It takes only a mouth to spread rumors, but it takes a lot of legwork to refute them," and Dumbledore understood the meaning of this saying all too well.

Ms. Skeeter was quite methodical; after all, she had been a journalist for many years. Instead of interviewing Louis directly, she first asked the students and faculty for their opinions one by one. Her first interview was with Filch, who, like Joseph Milda, was a Squib. Our administrator, Comrade Filch, was very excited, passionately praising Mountbatten for being so kind, approachable, and concerned about the lives of Squibs.

Filch may be wrong about one thing: Louis is not only approachable, he is also incredibly approachable.

If anyone could truly empathize with the plight of the Squirts, it would be Filch.

In the past, when he went for a night stroll in Louis, he would say a few words to him if he saw him, but now he simply pretends not to see him, or he carries a lantern and asks Mrs. Lorris to see him off.

After all, it was common knowledge, if not universally known, that young Master Louis was terrible with directions at the school.

Filch knew he wasn't exactly handsome, so to avoid offending Louis's eyes, he had Mrs. Lorris do it for him.

Honestly, Louis never disliked Filch's appearance...

In Louis's view, he never cared what others looked like, whether they were rich or not, or whether they had a higher status than him. In any case, very few people could surpass him in any aspect, especially in terms of looks.

Sigh, it must be exhausting for someone so young to possess such undue handsomeness and intelligence.

When interviewing Hermione, Hermione even shed tears of emotion, gesturing wildly as she expressed her sympathy for the Squibs. However, just as the conversation was about to turn to house-elves, Ms. Skeeter's gaze shifted to the next person.

Almost every student, influenced by the newspaper article they had read earlier, inevitably developed sympathy for the duds.

But when interviewed, Louis's words were unlike anything he had ever said.

"Sorry, I don't have any sympathy for the Squibs." Louis's words caused a huge uproar among the students. All of them looked at him in confusion, wondering why Louis would say such a thing.

"Actually, I don't have that kind of condescending attitude of so-called 'sympathy.' I just put myself in their shoes and thought about what I would be like if I were in their shoes—that's why I had the idea of ​​changing all of this. What I want to change is not the duds, but the prejudices in people's hearts."

"Prejudice in people's hearts is a mountain, Ms. Skeeter," Louis said eloquently. "I'll say something that may not be entirely politically correct: I admit that no one can be equal, whether it's birth, money, or status."

"However, I believe even more that we are all equal in terms of personality... I sincerely hope that one day in the future, we will live in a world where we no longer judge people by their birth or social status, but by the quality of their character."

In conclusion, Louis said, "I also hope that everyone, not only those of you here, but also those of you reading the Daily Prophet, can put aside your prejudices. No one chooses to be a Squib; it's not their fault. What we can do is treat our fellow Squibs normally—Squibs are not freaks, but one of us; their current situation is closely related to any of us... I believe that the unfair treatment of Squibs is a disgrace to us wizards."

The entire auditorium erupted in enthusiastic applause. All the female students screamed and shouted Louis's name, while the male students also warmly applauded Louis.

Unlike the adult wizards, the students at the school didn't think as much. The vast majority of them genuinely agreed with what Louis said—our warden, Comrade Filch, was even more enthusiastic, clapping his hands wildly, seemingly with no intention of stopping.

Ron looked at Filch with some concern, afraid that Filch might break his arm with a sudden burst of strength.

But Filch didn't care. His admiration for Prince Louis was beyond words; he was the ultimate hero in the eyes of all the Squibs.

"Alright, alright, students, thank you all for your enthusiasm... Our reporter is going to continue her interviews." Louis also imitated Lockhart's wink, but he did it in a way that didn't look greasy at all; instead, it made him look playful and innocent.

"Finally, I would like to ask Your Highness Mountbatten, what are your true thoughts? Or rather, what kind of beliefs do you hold that enable you to possess such noble character and a pure soul?" Ms. Skeeter asked earnestly, without any hint of her intention to curry favor.

"Nec erubescere coram hominibus, nec timere Caelum," Louis replied with a smile to Ms. Skeeter's question. "These are the words of a sage named Mencius from my mother's hometown. They roughly mean that one should have a clear conscience before both heaven and man."

Since Mencius's words were meant for the British, it was best to translate them into a language that they could understand but couldn't. The phrase "Looking up, I have no shame before Heaven; looking down, I have no misfortune before man" instantly captivated the teachers and students present.

(This translation is from the "Public Education Series" published in Beijing in 1930. It is very accurate and can be used freely.)

"Um, Your Highness, could you please write this down?" Lady Skeeter showed no embarrassment as she handed the pen to Louis. "You know I'm somewhat lacking in scholarship..."

“It’s alright, Ms. Skeeter.” Louis chuckled and took Ms. Skeeter’s stenographer’s pen. “My grandfather always said that a foot has its shortcomings, but an inch has its strengths. Everyone has their own area of ​​expertise, doesn’t he?”

"Yes, yes, Your Highness is right," Lady Skeeter readily agreed.

She wrote in her notebook, "This is the family wisdom of the Mountbatten family, now generously shared by His Highness Louis."

That very evening, the latest issue of the Daily Prophet was rushed out and distributed to every wizard.

But the matter didn't end there. The next day, a large number of Squibs gathered in front of the Ministry of Magic building. Whether they were employed or not, they united together, holding banners and placards, and staged a sit-in in front of the Ministry of Magic building. Some even lay on the ground and used their bodies to form the word "protest," reminiscent of the scene in Orgrimmar where corpses were displayed to haunt the raid leader's Black Hand.

Fudge, sitting in his office, was furious.

"What are they up to! Huh? What are they doing? Is this some kind of coup?" He paced back and forth in front of his desk, gesturing angrily. "It's just a job, right? If you lose a job, you can just find another one... I think it's Mountbatten who's stirring things up! And Dumbledore too!"

"The International Law on Secrecy must never be violated!" said Umbridge, the pink toad. "The Ministry of Magic is in a difficult position, but these Squibs don't understand its predicament. They only care about their own immediate interests, and they're easily incited to cause trouble, willingly becoming pawns. I think they're not being ignorant; they're deliberately stirring up trouble!"

"Your Excellency, Minister." A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in." Fudge suppressed his anger, sat on the stool, and pressed the pressure points between his eyes with his hand.

The man who walked in was Arthur Weasley.

Holding a thick stack of letters, he strode to Fudge's desk: "These are all from wizards in the British magical world, probably... all here because of the Squib incident."

Fudge waved impatiently, signaling Arthur to put the letter down and leave quickly.

There were some things he couldn't say in front of Arthur; in his words, the Weasleys weren't "our people."

After Arthur left, Fudge opened the letters and picked through them, choosing a few from wizards he considered close to him. The contents of the letters immediately broke his defenses again.

The feeling of being betrayed and abandoned by everyone surged up inside him, and he felt as if he were Bonaparte on the island of Saint Helena.

"The situation is not optimistic, and public opinion seems to be out of our control." After all, Fouché was a minister, and after venting his emotions, he quickly began to think of remedial measures.

He realized he seemed to have fallen into Louis's trap—no, not a trap, but more like being led into the desert by Louis and then exposed to the scorching sun.

This was not Dumbledore's doing at all; Dumbledore's methods are more like water, subtly and silently nourishing the earth.

Louis's methods were different. He put everything out in the open. Whether it was opening factories or helping Squibs, he didn't actually break the International Law of Secrecy. At most, it could only be said that he was "framed." Fudge was in an even more difficult position with Louis. He knew that Louis was building his reputation in order to enter the wizarding world, but he couldn't directly oppose him. After all, Louis was genuinely helping Squibs, not doing anything bad, and all his actions were aboveboard and published in the best-selling Daily Prophet.

This is also the most painful thing for Fudge. He knows Louis's purpose and his overall plan, but now he sadly discovers that supporting Louis will not only bring him no benefit, but will also help him develop his power in the wizarding world; opposing him will only lead to public criticism and being cursed by everyone.

However, for politicians in Europe and America, face is the least valuable thing. As long as there are enough benefits, they don't care if their face is kicked in the ground.

Fudge quickly devised a way to mitigate the damage. He instructed Umbridge, "Dolores, prepare a statement to publish in the Daily Prophet, saying that I was only forced to shut down the Squirrel factory under pressure from Wizengamor, and that I have now decided not to do anything wrong again. The British wizarding world belongs to British wizards, not to some petty bureaucrat from the International Wizarding Association in Paris who can arbitrarily interfere!"

As a competent politician, he understood that not only the Muggle community but also the wizarding community had strong nationalistic sentiments. Apart from colonists, no one would like their country's internal affairs to be interfered with by others.

Fudge was clever; he not only shifted the blame to the fictitious International Wizarding Association but also declared that the "meddling" bureaucrat "came from Paris."

Everyone knows that the British dislike the French the most, at least for the past thousand years of their interactions.

"Remember, the wording of the apology must be sincere, and the latter part must first emphasize our unavoidable circumstances, then shift the focus to declare that we will no longer listen to others' opinions, understand?"

Fudge patiently explained the details to Umbridge; he was quite adept at speaking.

"Understood." Umbridge carefully wrote it down in his notebook, then turned and left Fudge's office.

The building I live in, number six, has been quarantined, and we've been arguing about it all day, which proves I haven't gone back.

Thankfully, I'm fine... but I don't have the energy to update more, sorry, this is just one update for now.

(End of this chapter)