A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

The Ministry of Magic.

Felix pushed open the door of the telephone booth and watched it rise to the surface, joining the crowd as they made their way to the atrium.

"Mr. Harp, greetings."

"Mr. Harp, congratulations."

Felix nodded in response one by one. After giving a speech at the Ministry of Magic, he had gained several acquaintances. He walked confidently to Room Three in the Visitor's Area, where an elderly wizard sat alone. With shaky movements, the old wizard raised his head. "Felix Harp?"

"Are you... Augustus Gray? I remember you from the Order of Merlin ceremony in Bellby."

The old wizard grinned, his mouth devoid of teeth. "Rare indeed, to see an outstanding young man before I retire."

"You're too kind, Mr. Gray," Felix said with a smile.

The two chatted, with Augustus Gray having worked in the Wizengamot Office of Magical Law Enforcement for seventy years. He handled routine paperwork and had risen from a reckless young man to the head of the office. He was well-versed in the workings of the Ministry of Magic, knowing many anecdotes and gossip.

"...That young girl, Berta, so innocent and helpful. She asked me if I needed a walking stick..."

Felix blinked. "Berta Jorkins? I think I've heard that name."

A cheerful voice came from behind them. "Ha~ What are you discussing?"

Felix turned around to see a large wizard. It was evident that he had once been tall and strong, but he was now on the decline, his figure more round, making it hard to associate him with the word 'burly.'

His gestures were grand, with his arms swinging as he talked. His voice was full of emotion, incredibly engaging.

"Hello, I'm Ludovic Bagman. You must be Felix Harp? I've heard about you from people in the department—Arthur, Arthur Weasley. I don't know if you're acquainted, but he was quite impressed by your last speech." Bagman shook his golden hair and leaned in close, whispering, "Well done, I mean, I also can't stand McNair, really can't stand him..."

Felix spoke mildly, "Mr. Bagman, I just gave a regular speech—"

"Yes, yes," Bagman eagerly interrupted, his face lighting up, "Who's to say otherwise? I wasn't at the department then, I had a fan gathering, these people are so enthusiastic... Merlin, I love them, but, well, I knew what it was all about from the first time I heard, you know, I'm quite familiar with some pure-blood families, through my father's connections... they told me quite a bit."

Felix smiled, "I'm curious to know what they said."

"Cough cough, I can't say, I promised them, but," Bagman paused for a moment, unable to restrain himself, and then said mysteriously, "You have quite a reputation in the pure-blood circles, they hold you in great awe, I think even more than they do Barty Crouch, speaking of which—"

He suddenly called out into the distance, and Felix followed the sound of his voice to a man around fifty years old, standing straight, movements rigid, his spotless robes without a single crease.

Crouch walked over, moving in a perfectly straight line. "Bagman, hello." Crouch spoke politely, his short beard immaculate, as if it had been trimmed with a ruler. "I've been looking for you, work-related matters."contemporary romance

"Let's set work aside for a moment and have a chat," Bagman said enthusiastically. "Allow me to introduce you. This is my new friend, Felix Harp, today's star, a unique talent in the field of memory treatment!"

Crouch calmly extended his hand. "Hello, Mr. Harp, a pleasure to meet you. However, I'm pressed for time; I have a meeting with the Bulgarian Minister about the Quidditch World Cup shortly."

"Hello, Mr. Crouch, if you have matters to attend to, feel free to leave at any time."

"Absolutely," Bagman said with a beaming smile. "Who else but you can understand their convoluted and eccentric accents? You've really gone through a lot..."

"You're joining me too, Bagman. There's a lot of work over there that needs attention. Otherwise, it's two hundred grains of sand; the numbers keep growing, and I'm stretched thin."

"I know," Bagman said awkwardly, but he quickly found a reason. "I'm occupied with something else, not the Quidditch World Cup. You know, communication with the United States isn't as smooth. They want to change the rules, but who am I? I certainly won't compromise—"

Crouch raised an eyebrow. "We promise not to reveal any details before the official announcement."

"Oh, details!" Bagman waved his hand dismissively. "But the event is happening at Hogwarts during our holidays. We have to talk to them about the details—see, I bet Harp here knows something."

He turned to Felix with anticipation. "You must know. Some things are inevitable. Dumbledore has held several meetings, vetoing some interesting proposals."

"Are you talking about the Triwizard Tournament?" Felix asked.

He found it strange; it seemed that Ludovic Bagman and Barty Crouch were simultaneously responsible for the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament. An odd arrangement, one that might lead to more internal conflicts. What was Fudge thinking?

As for the Triwizard Tournament, he was familiar with it. It was a friendly competition between the three largest European wizarding schools—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang—lasting for many years. It had been discontinued due to high casualties, but—

"The Triwizard? Now it's the Quadwizard, or perhaps more. Old Fudge wants to bring in more people, like that Vagadu from Africa. Honestly, I think he's gone mad."

"Bagman!" Mr. Crouch's tone was stern. "We should change the topic."

"Oh, uh, alright." Bagman was somewhat flustered, shrinking back and shrinking his shoulders. "As you wish. Let's talk about today's star then, my good friend—Felix Harp."

His eyes lit up. "The youngest ever recipient of the Order of Saint Mango's Healing Medal. Not an easy feat. I always remember it being old men, I mean, experienced healers."

"...And the Merlin Medal, I'm not sure if he's the youngest." He looked at Barty Crouch.

"I believe that was Peter," Crouch said slowly. It was clear he didn't want to discuss the topic.

"Admirable, he was a hero," Bagman said, his tone less respectful. "But Mr. Harp is no slouch either, and he's only—" he glanced at Felix, who succinctly stated, "23 years old."

"Exactly, 23 years old, and accomplished through genuine skill. Memory injuries, I'm not very familiar with that area. It's about treating memory deficiencies, right? I think Berta Jorkins could use a visit; her actions are truly headache-inducing. She couldn't even find a venue, spent a week wandering around."

Barty Crouch didn't speak, maintaining his stern expression.

"What do you think, Barty? She should be at the department today. It's best to have her drop by..."

"She's not here," Crouch said stiffly.

"What?"

"She's not here; I approved her vacation. I told her to take a break."

"Well, um, but she's under my purview, Barty..."

Barty Crouch suddenly became irate. "Then you take responsibility. Use the time you spend meeting fans to take care of venue matters instead of leaving everything to me."

Bagman's momentum immediately waned, like a deflated balloon. "I didn't mean that. Okay, you're right. Let her have a break, one more person won't make much of a difference..."

Crouch left in haste, and Bagman looked somewhat uneasy. He chatted awkwardly for a few more moments and then excused himself. "I better talk to the Americans again. Honestly, their ideas aren't... aren't that outlandish."

More and more people flooded into the reception room, and Felix had to greet each one, exchanging empty words. It took him quite a while to finally dismiss Cornelius Fudge. Fudge, whether due to some peculiar medication or not, was persistently introducing him to high-ranking officials in the Ministry who were part of the pure-blood faction. Fortunately, he recognized some familiar faces.

"Phileas, Mirabel, Zephyrus, and Damocles, are you all together?"

"You'll be quite busy today," Damocles Belby said understandingly. "We'll pass the time on our own. It's been a while since we've all been together; there's much to catch up on."

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