Chapter 792: Chapter 792

“This is worse than I imagined. I thought we’d just be brewing tea, running errands, or writing some nonsensical reports like Percy,” Ron couldn’t help but complain. “But can someone tell me why we're writing essays in the Ministry of Magic?”

“Ron, what we’re doing is significant!” Hermione said seriously.

Harry remained silent, staring listlessly at the parchment in front of him, not a word written. He had witnessed the experiences of thousands of wizards in the pensieve, but none of them could help—none of them had the skill to submit articles to Muggle newspapers.

He, Ron, and Sirius, among others, had stayed overnight at the school yesterday, while Hermione had been taken home by the professors. Unexpectedly, they had met again in the Ministry atrium early the next morning. Instead of assigning them odd jobs, the professors had led them to an empty meeting room, handed them quills and ink bottles, and instructed them to write letters introducing themselves as Hogwarts students. Professor Hagrid had warned them not to reveal their names, addresses, or any confidential information.

Harry looked around. At first, it was just the three of them, but Professor Hagrid hadn't been gone long before he began bringing in more people, all their classmates.

These students could be roughly divided into two groups. The first group was associated with the Order of the Phoenix, like Neville and Ginny, and of course, him, Ron, and Hermione. The second group consisted of the families of Ministry officials—Susan Bones, Ernie Macmillan, Cormac McLaggen, Zacharias Smith (whom Harry and Ron both disliked), Draco Malfoy, and Cho Chang. She brought along her friend whose name Harry couldn't quite remember, something like Mary.

Harry turned his head, staring at Luna's bushy, pale yellow hair, wondering why she was here too. Perhaps it was because Luna's father, Mr. Lovegood, had some kind of collaboration with Professor Hagrid? He knew that the magazine "Who Decides Ancient Runes" was printed together with "Singing Counterpoint." Once, while reading an article, he found an extra page of "Singing Counterpoint" attached to it. Ron had kept that issue.

Luna looked at Harry with her light-colored eyes.

“Oh,” Harry blinked. “I heard the rooms with three broomsticks were full?” He actually wanted to ask why they were thanking Professor Hagrid, but then he suddenly remembered that the professor had lent Luna the Resurrection Stone, and it dawned on him, so he changed the subject.

“Yeah, so we stayed at the Leaky Cauldron,” Luna said cheerfully. “We were lucky; there was only one room left when we asked. Even luckier, when my dad got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he happened to see Felix outside the window. They chatted for a while, and the professor mentioned he needed a few students' help, so I came here.”

“That’s really lucky,” Harry said, knowing just how terrible the Leaky Cauldron's environment was. But he couldn’t help wondering about the purpose of the professor's visit to Hogsmeade—was it to see someone?

“How’s Aberforth?” Hermione interjected.

“He’s probably never seen so many customers in his life. Don’t know if that’s a good thing for him,” Ron frowned.

“He’s fine,” Luna said seriously. “But he's planning to sell the pub.”

“What happened?” Harry looked puzzled.

Luna shook her head slowly. “He didn’t say. I think he has more important things on his mind.”

Harry refocused on the parchment. Glancing around, he saw Hermione had already written a third of the page, and it was evident she was writing earnestly, biting her lip in concentration. Ron had only written two lines, and Harry stared at the freckles on his nose for inspiration, only to find Ron's expression changing to one of surprise, followed by a burst of inspiration as he lowered his head to write.

Harry couldn’t help but lean in curiously.

The first line was, “I have a friend.” Harry paused, then continued reading, “He’s been mistreated by those Muggle relatives since childhood—oh, by the way, Muggles are non-magical people. He's been deprived of food and clothing, and once, he was almost starved to death by his uncle. Luckily, I noticed something was wrong and flew a car to rescue him. Don’t be too surprised, even though we were just in our first year, it wasn't our first adventure…”

“Ron,” Harry protested.

“What’s wrong? I didn’t mention your name,” Ron said, grinning.

Harry sat back, sulking alone, contemplating whether he should also write an essay about ‘My Muggle Uncle and Aunt and Cousin’—if both he and Ron were chosen, they could corroborate each other's stories. But he didn't want to take advantage of Ron. After a moment's thought, he also started his letter with, “I have a friend.” ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel fire.net

"I have a friend, and his whole family are wizards. His parents have seven children, so they weren't well-off back then (much better now), but that doesn't matter because they are the kindest people I've ever met, especially compared to my relatives."

Harry paused, couldn't resist a subtle jab at the Dursleys, feeling a bit petty.

"I met this friend on the train. His twin brothers helped me with my luggage, and he was the first person my age I met in the wizarding world—" Here, Harry realized his mistake. The first person his age he actually talked to in the magical world was Draco Malfoy. So he crossed that out and changed it to, "He was the first person I met on the train, my first friend in the wizarding world. But I quickly made second and third friends..."

"At school, there's an elective course called Muggle Studies. The textbook is outdated, completely out of touch with the times. But my other friend, who comes from a Muggle family and knows a lot about these things, says it's fascinating to see them from a wizard's perspective. I've read her paper: 'Why Muggles Need Electricity?' My first friend read it too, and he asked a lot of questions, even though he didn't take the course. I think that's a shame..."

As lunchtime approached, Felix came over and went through a dozen or so letters one by one.

"McLaggen, no need to mention your dad's connections at the Ministry three times in the letter."

"Smith, your tone of superiority in your writing is too strong. I'm not sure if the readers will want to punch someone after reading it..."

"Luna, your observations are unique, detailed, but you mentioned a few unconfirmed magical creatures... oh well, it suits your style."

"Ah, Greengrass—yours doesn't quite cut it. Too formal, dissecting the differences between Muggles and wizards from both perspectives, like it's from an expert in the field. I want something written by a sixteen or seventeen-year-old, but you can try submitting it to The Daily Prophet."

"Miss Bones, your perspective as the niece of the Minister of Magic is intriguing. Maybe add a bit more, but keep it within bounds."

"Weasley, your admission of your mischief, especially those psychological descriptions, is quite brilliant. It's clear you're the mastermind—no need to change it, it's amusing. But I suggest you strike out the part where you suspect I'm the heir of Slytherin."

"Potter, I'm not sure—how did you know Mr. Weasley snores in his sleep? Oh, Ron told you... Well, Arthur's garage hides so many treasures, does Molly know?"

Felix supervised their revisions, tailor-made an introductory paragraph for each, then picked out a few and handed them to an Auror.

"These are for the headquarters of The Daily Prophet."

In the afternoon, the press conference was held in the Ministry of Magic's conference room as scheduled, and countless wizarding families tuned in to their magical radios. Felix's calm and confident voice echoed through thousands of homes:

"...We find ourselves swept up in an unprecedented era, each and every one of us entrenched in it. I hope that when we look back on this period in several years, each of us can proudly point to the world behind us and say to the future generations, 'That was the era we created.'"

Meanwhile, the front desk of The Daily Prophet also received several letters from 'enthusiastic young wizards'.

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