Hogwarts, a Scholar Becomes a God

Over the camp at five o'clock in the morning, the thin white mist was like a veil, blowing and drifting with the wind.

Clark and the others only slept for a few hours before being woken up by Mr. Wesley.

"We have to hurry up, there will be a lot of people in a while."

He used magic to put the tent away and put it in a backpack, then took Clark and the others, and left the camp in a hurry.

On the way, everyone saw Mr. Roberts standing at the door of his small stone house, waving goodbye to them with a dazed expression, and said "Merry Christmas" vaguely.

"He'll be all right," said Mr. Weasley, as they strode toward the marshes, "sometimes when a man's memory is altered, he's a bit muddled for a while . . . It was such a big event that he forgot."

However, they still underestimated the influence of the Dark Mark. Even if they got up at five o'clock, when they approached the place where the portkey was placed, they could hear many people shouting eagerly there.

"Hey, I came first, give me the door key!"

"Don't jump in line, okay?"

"Go away, this is my position, if you don't leave, I will have to chant a spell!"

"%@...\u0026#@!@**..."

Clark and the others saw that a large group of wizards surrounded Mr. Basil, the Portkey administrator, clamoring to leave the camp as soon as possible.

Mr. Wesley stepped forward to discuss with Basil, and everyone stood in the line. Finally, before the sun rose, he got an old tire and returned to Ferret Mountain by relying on it.

In the twilight of dawn, the Wesley family, Clark and others walked through the village of Ottery-Saint Catchpole and walked towards the Burrow along the wet path.

Along the way, few people were willing to talk, because they were all very tired, and they got up early. At this moment, they just want to go home and have breakfast, and then go back to sleep.

However, when they turned a corner and the Burrow appeared in front of them, there was a shout from the path not far away.

"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness, you're finally back!"

Mrs. Weasley, who had apparently been waiting for them in the front yard, ran towards them, still wearing the slippers she had worn in the bedroom.

Her face was very pale and her expression was very tense, and the only reason she was like this was because she was holding a rolled up "Daily Prophet" in her hand.

"Arthur—I'm so worried—so worried—"

Mrs. Weasley threw her arms around her husband's neck, and the Daily Prophet slipped from her weak grasp to the floor.

Clark looked down, and the title turned out to be: "Shocked! Such a terrifying scene at the Quidditch World Cup." Below the title, there was a flashing black and white photo of the Dark Mark hanging from the treetops.

"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered in shock, letting go of her husband, and then looked at them one by one with a pair of red eyes, "You're all alive... oh, son... that's great... "

To everyone's surprise, she grabbed Fred and George and gave them a hard hug.

Because of too much force, the heads of the twins hit each other "winter".

"Ouch! Mother—you're strangling us—"

"I yelled at you before you left!"

Mrs. Weasley couldn't help crying.

"I've been thinking about this! What if You-Know-Who takes you and the last thing I say to you is that you didn't do well in your O.W.Ls? Oh, Fred...George..."

Harry and Ron couldn't help laughing to themselves.

"There, there, Molly, we're all safe and well."

Mr. Weasley comforted her, pulled the twins out of her arms, and led her towards the house.

"Bill," he said in a low voice, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says..."

They all squeezed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione offered to make Mrs. Wesley a cup of strong tea,

And added a lot of sugar cubes in it.

But before serving it, Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a little Ogden Old Stout into it—

"Molly prefers wine to sugar." Mr. Weasley said with a wink, took the teacup from Hermione's hand, and placed it in front of Mrs. Weasley.

Then Bill handed the newspaper to his father.

Mr. Weasley opened the paper and skimmed through the first page, and Percy looked over his shoulder.

"I knew it would be like this," said Mr. Wesley heavily. "The Ministry of Magic panicked...the criminals were not caught...the security was lax...dark wizards went unpunished...a disgrace to the country...who is this? Written by? Ah... of course she... Rita Skeeter."

"That woman likes to fight against the Ministry of Magic!" Percy said with some dissatisfaction, "She said last week that we should go all out to eliminate vampires, but we spent a lot of energy on pleasing foreigners. Say it's a waste of time!"

As he spoke, he couldn't help complaining to Clark, "By the way, aren't you a shareholder of the Daily Prophet? Why do you still tolerate such nonsense reporters in your newspaper?"

Clark spread his hands, "Because readers like it."

"It is not news in this world that a dog bites a man, but a man bites a dog.

Readers don't want to read those serious news. Don't you know that Rita Skeeter and Gilderoy Lockhart have been ranked first and second on the best-selling author list every year.

She is the ace reporter of the "Daily Prophet", and the sales of the newspaper depend on her. I am only one of the shareholders, but I don't have that much right to fire her. "

This made Percy speechless, but Clark still seemed unsatisfied, and continued, "Actually, the key to this problem is not Rita Skeeter, but the Ministry of Magic."

"How is this still a problem for the Ministry?" asked Percy.

"Why not? Citizens themselves have the right to speak, and the Ministry of Magic can't shut up the mouths of the public!

What you have to do is to solve the problem of arrogance brought about by the huge size, to constantly monitor the environment of public opinion among the people, to respond quickly, and to reply early.

It's not that when something goes wrong, wait until the public opinion ferments, and then come out to make up for it. This consumes the credibility of the Ministry of Magic itself.

Not only that, I found that your Ministry of Magic is still unable to calm down in handling this kind of public opinion.

In the face of doubts from the masses, you always have a natural sense of arrogance, thinking that you are officials and can ignore the opinions of the masses at the bottom.

This is not possible..."

Clark kept talking, and Percy nodded again and again, seeming to agree with him.

"If you put it this way, the Ministry does have this problem.

Perhaps I should write to the Minister suggesting the establishment of a propaganda department to deal with public opinion. "

"Come on, Percy," Bill said, yawning, "you stop talking."

"I was mentioned."

At this moment, Mr. Wesley read the end of the article in the "Daily Prophet", and suddenly his eyes behind the glasses widened.

"Where?" Mrs. Wesley took a sip of the whiskey tea, coughed and asked, "If I saw you just now, I would know you are still alive!"

"There were no names in the papers," said Mr. Wesley, "only that a Ministry official appeared shortly after the Dark Mark and declared that no one had been harmed, but declined to say anything more."

"...Whether his words are enough to quell the rumors that a few bodies were lifted out of the woods an hour later remains to be seen."

"Oh, dear," said Mr. Wesley, handing the paper to Percy angrily, "no one was harmed. What should I say? Rumors of bodies being brought out of the woods... Well, now." If she writes such a thing, rumors will spread."

"Maybe Clark is right. We really need to have our own publicity department," he sighed deeply. "Molly, I have to go to the office. This matter needs to be clarified."

"I'll come with you, Daddy," Percy said, folding up the newspaper too. "Mr. Crouch will surely need everyone to take their places."

After speaking, he rushed out of the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley looked very sad. "Arthur, you're supposed to be on vacation! This has nothing to do with your office; they can manage without you, can't they?"

"I've got to go, Molly," said Mr. Wesley, "I'm the one who made things worse. I'll go and change into my robes and go..."

He and Percy took their coats, got up and got into the fireplace, disappearing into the green flames.

As for Clark and the others, these matters have nothing to do with them. After having breakfast, Harry and the others went back to sleep, and the energetic Harry and the others even had a Quidditch match in the orchard.

For a week after this, Mr. Weasley and Percy were rarely at home.

The two of them left the house early in the morning, before the family was up, and did not return until long after supper was ready.

"It's really a mess!"

It was a Sunday night, and they were going back to Hogwarts the next day, Percy told them, sitting at the kitchen table, with seriousness.

"For a whole week I was fighting a fire. People were sending in yelling letters complaining about the safety of the World Cup and wanting compensation for their damaged finances.

But most of them want to fish in troubled waters.

Mundungus Fletcher claims a tent with twelve bedrooms and an en suite jacuzzi, but I figured out he actually lived under a sex cloak propped up on sticks night. "

Mrs. Wesley glanced at the grandfather clock on the corner, and each of the nine golden needles on it was engraved with the name of Weasley's family.

At this moment, the eight hands are all pointing to the position of "home" on the clock face, only the one representing Mr. Weasley - the longest one among the nine hands, is still pointing to "go to work".

Mrs. Weasley sighed.

"Since the day You-Know-Who fell, your dad hasn't had to work weekends," she said. "Now they're going to wear him out. If he doesn't come back soon, his dinner will be ruined."

She and Percy complained about the troubles Rita Skeeter had caused their family, and the rain outside was pattering against the living room windows.

In a corner of the living room, Hermione was sitting on the sofa, concentrating on reading "Standard Spells, Level 4". Mrs. Weasley bought a copy for her, Harry, Clark, Neville and Ron each in Diagon Alley.

Charlie was darning a fireproof hood, Harry was servicing his Firebolt, and Neville was oiling his sword and rubbing it finely with fawn leather.

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley asked, "By the way, why didn't Clark come down for lunch?"

The twins, who were buried in writing, said without raising their heads, "He is resting in his room. He said he has no appetite, so he won't eat dinner."

"How can I do that, I have to eat something." Mrs. Wesley couldn't help but wanted to get up and ask Clark to come down, but she had to stop when she saw the wall clock, "Oh, your father is back!"

Mr. Weasley's needle suddenly jumped from "work" to "on the road", and after a quarter of an hour, it tremblingly stopped at the position of "home" together with other needles.

At this time, everyone heard Mr. Wesley's shout from the kitchen.

"Here we come, Arthur!" Mrs. Wesley hurried out of the room.

After a while, Mr. Weasley carried his dinner on a tray and walked into the warm living room.

"Well, things are getting out of hand."

He was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, looking listless with a plate of cauliflower.

"Rita Skeeter has been poking around all week, searching the Ministry for any more confusion to report..."

While Mr. Wesley was chatting with his family about work, Clark was standing in front of an open window in the attic of the Burrow, looking at the distant horizon.

The dense raindrops hit the tiles above his head, making a crackling sound, interspersed with the howling and groaning of gusts of wind, which made the ghoul guarding the door restless.

However, none of this seemed to affect Clark. His empty eyes focused on a certain point in the void, as if the whole person had gone out of his body, and his consciousness was no longer here.

If you follow the direction he is looking at, through hills, mountains and plains, across rivers and oceans, you will arrive at a mysterious old castle hidden in the mirror shadow space.

And in this old castle, our Clark (Psicrystal) is doing ideological work for those wizards who were thrown into Azkaban because of trouble at the Quidditch World Cup.

"Kneel down and offer the purest loyalty to your master!"

Clark (Psicrystal), wearing a blood-red robe, strolled through the prisons, spreading his glory in the horrified eyes of the wizards in the prison.

Accompanied by his bewitching voice, these wizards, who were terrified at first, gradually lost their eyes, like puppets on strings, and knelt obediently one by one.