Chapter 786: Chapter 786

A few seconds later, the screen returned to normal, and the young man who had suddenly appeared reached out to help adjust the camera, his face adorned with a brilliant smile. "Are you journalists? I suppose you are? I'm available for an interview—allow me to introduce myself. I'm a wizard, graduated from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The tornado behind me? I conjured it myself—with some assistance from my companions. We studied combination magic at school—"

Rita Skeeter was dumbfounded, and the Granger couple in front of the TV were equally astonished. The audience who happened to be watching in front of their TVs were also stunned.

Rita Skeeter swallowed hard, wracking her brain to say, "Obviously, this is an enthusiast of mysticism, or perhaps he's not in his right mind. The interview ends here; the tornado is approaching, and we must evacuate quickly—" She suddenly couldn't speak, her body stiffening like a stone.

Just as everyone was astonished, the camera was forcibly turned to the other side, with the young man's face occupying most of the frame.

"My mind is perfectly normal," the wizard claiming to be an Ilvermorny graduate said. "Let me reiterate, I am a wizard. We can chat—don't worry about the tornado behind me; it won't grow any larger, and don't worry about this female reporter; a simple petrification charm. Oh? She looks furious..."

The next ten minutes became entirely his personal showtime. Thanks to him, many British people learned for the first time what wizards were, what the secrecy laws were, and learned about Grindelwald, Dumbledore, the Petrification Curse, combination magic, magical schools, and a series of magical terms.

"I personally think Ilvermorny is the best magic school in the world, but the group of Brits I just met today doesn't seem to think so. Oh, sorry, I forgot I'm in Britain now—" a fit of intense coughing. "Objectively speaking, Hogwarts isn't bad either..."

In the end, he even voluntarily lifted the curse on Rita Skeeter, allowing her stiff expression to ask a few questions. He seemed to have a strong desire to perform; if it weren't for the arrival of police cars and his companions calling for him to leave, he probably could have kept talking for hours.

"I'd prefer—I better check the calendar!" Jim said uncertainly.

Winnie Warrenton rushed out of the law firm, waving to hail a taxi.

"To the famous jewelry and crafts store on the corner." Without waiting for the driver's inquiry, she hastily said.

"The one called 'Future World'?" the driver asked. Tʜe sourcᴇ of thɪs content ɪs NovelHub(.)net

"That's right—oh, wait," Winnie grabbed her hair, forcing herself to calm down. She changed her mind, "Let's go to Diagon Alley instead."

The driver started the car.

"We might have to take a detour—there's a traffic jam ahead, reportedly due to a rare tornado wreaking havoc, visibility is low."

"A tornado?" Winnie stammered.

"I reckon the traffic reporter must have had a bit too much to drink early in the morning; how could there be a tornado in the city center?" the driver said casually, "But the traffic jam should be real."

Surrey, Grunning's Company.

Vernon Dursley worked as a sales manager at this company, responsible for selling more drilling rigs. He seemed particularly irritable this morning, snapping at nine subordinates in his office one after another, his yelling even reaching the upper and lower floors. This caused him to overlook some inappropriate noise in the company. After berating the last subordinate, making the already tense colleague relationships even worse, he closed his office door contentedly.

"Don't let anyone disturb me; I have some important calls to make." He shouted at his assistant.

Close to noon, his mood improved, and he stretched his obese body in the office, deciding to buy two doughnuts across the street. As he walked out of the company's gate, Vernon bumped into his assistant, who cautiously informed him that his wife had called not long ago.

Vernon felt a slight unease, as Petunia rarely called during work hours, but soon he shrugged it off. It was probably a reminder for him to pick up their oddball nephew from town after work. The thought of it instantly soured his mood, especially since Dudley's first action upon returning from vacation wasn't to give his old man a hug but to rush into the bedroom to check if his comic books were still there. It infuriated him.

Vernon stubbornly believed it was a conspiracy by that oddball nephew of his, a retaliation against them. He tossed a bag of doughnuts and a bottle of water onto the counter.

"Two pounds fifty pence," the cashier said.

"Two pounds fifty pence? Are you trying to rob me?" Vernon bellowed.

The cashier shrugged.

Grumbling, Vernon paid the money, took a doughnut, and stuffed it into his mouth, all the while watching the TV hanging from the ceiling. He muttered, "Prices going up... What are those parasites in Whitehall doing... Five pence today, ten pence tomorrow, what's happening to this world?" Gradually, he fell silent, seemingly drawn into the news on TV.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, mouth agape in exaggeration, making his double chin protrude even more, his small eyes fixed intently. Then, with a loud yell, he rushed out of the shop, panting heavily, and ran back to the office to get his car and head home.

As he drove, he carefully scanned the sides of the road, fearing that someone dressed in strange clothes and a cloak might leap out. Traffic seemed to be congested ahead, and he abruptly turned the steering wheel, honking furiously. "Damn it!"

He drove aggressively, and in just fifteen minutes, he managed to maneuver his car into the fourth lane.

"Penny, Penny!" Vernon burst into the house. "I saw on TV— who are you!?" He looked at the uninvited guest in his house with caution.

In the living room, Petunia and Dudley sat on the sofa. Petunia seemed to want to embrace Dudley, but he resisted vigorously. Both their eyes were fixed on the tall, thin man standing in front of them—unfortunately, the man was wearing the robe and cloak that Vernon detested the most.

"I suppose this is the master of the house. Hello, I am a Ministry of Magic employee, working in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You can call me Darius," the man said.

Wide-eyed, Vernon looked at the man, then at his son.

"Oh, I also noticed this interesting coincidence," the man said cheerfully. "Your child is also named that, right? But there's a difference, 'Dudley' is my surname..." The man rambled on, taking out a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Well, perhaps you already know, but the magical world is completely exposed to the eyes of the world, and the entire country is in chaos. To prevent potential dangers, I have been appointed by the Ministry to seek your opinion—"

"Danger? What danger? We're not, not those damn—!" Vernon's face turned red, showing immense anger. Through gritted teeth, he uttered words that he loathed:

"Don't talk nonsense," the wizard looked at him with pity. "In the eyes of other Muggles, you're one of us."

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