0312 Fame & St. Mungo’s

The Anti-Dark Magic League, citing Bryan as their honorary vice-chairman, sent five formal letters to the British Ministry of Magic within three days, ‘forcing’ Bryan to fulfill his duties and give a speech at the annual Defense Against The Dark Arts Forum held in Munich.

The Wizarding Weekly, unable to meet Bryan in person, could only use the photos taken by journalists during the press conference as the cover of their magazine, and declared it the most charming smile. 

It seemed that overnight, Bryan’s name became known to everyone.

Meanwhile, in an interview with Bryan’s former classmates, the Daily Prophet learned that Bryan Watson was an orphan who grew up in an orphanage and could only graduate from Hogwarts with the help of the school’s scholarship fund. This information, combined with his generous donations, further elevated Bryan’s reputation.

Some even suggested nominating Bryan as the next Minister for Magic after Fudge.

Of course, such suggestions were merely for show. Apart from having a certain market among the general public, it was not taken seriously within the British Ministry of Magic. Even Fudge, who was very protective of his position, didn’t pay much attention to it.

Except for rare exceptions like Dumbledore, it was not easy for an “outsider” who had never worked in the Ministry of Magic to enter this circle. Regardless of how high the public’s voice was, you had to gain the support of several pure-blood wizarding families.

While the ordinary Wizarding folks may think that half-blood and Muggle-born wizards have become the mainstream in the Wizarding World recent years, as there were many ordinary wizards in the Ministry of Magic, the truly intelligent people knew that many things had not changed and may never change.

Most high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Magic were still from Noble families, and those “sacred pure-blood” individuals who rarely appeared in public still controlled the daily lives of ordinary wizards, albeit more discreetly now.

Another trouble for Bryan was the emergence of numerous magical prop factories, all hoping that Bryan Watson would endorse their products. 

These giants of the Wizarding world were backed by pure-blood wizarding families and often engaged in exchanges of interests with Ministry officials.

Companies like Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, Butterbeer, Cornflower, Comet Trading, Cleansweep Broom Company, the restructured Universal Broom Ltd., and Nimbus Racing Brooms all offered generous incentives and sent messages through the Ministry of Magic, hoping to secure endorsement deals with Bryan.

If Bryan wished, he could become a millionaire overnight, but he declined all these offers without exception, as they were only burdens to him.

Magic was the most important thing, and Bryan never forgot that.

To avoid harassment, Bryan stayed in the hotel room in London that the Ministry of Magic had arranged for VIPs for five days straight without going out. During these five days, he was busy doing one thing: writing replies to the letters.

While most of the letters were of no value, a significant portion could not be ignored.

Meanwhile, at the Ministry of Magic, Fudge, who had been the Minister for over a decade enjoyed the treatment that he had never experienced before during these days. Wherever he went, people would congratulate him on the achievements of the Ministry of Magic with a respectful tone. This made Fudge even more grateful to Bryan.

The Ministry of Magic had taken advantage of Bryan, and the high-ranking officials knew this very well.

If it weren’t for Bryan, they would still be deeply entangled in the scandal of Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and the imminent revelation that the real culprit behind the Potters deaths was Peter Pettigrew, not Sirius Black.

At first, Fudge believed that he had compensated Bryan well enough for his “loss,” and even thought it was too generous. But seeing the Ministry’s soaring approval among the public, Fudge knew that he still had a long way to go to repay Bryan’s favor.

*Scenebreak*

As Bryan left the hotel where he was staying, he employed a small trick – he changed his appearance. The reason for doing so was to avoid unnecessary trouble. 

Though he had not left his room these past few days, through letters and the various newspapers delivered promptly each morning, he had a general idea of the great reaction he had caused in the wizarding world.

Truth be told, Bryan did not aspire to become a celebrity. He much preferred living in the shadows, operating with ease. However, ever since that night by the sea when he destroyed the cave where Voldemort had hidden one of his Horcruxes, he understood one thing.

On the day Voldemort inevitably returns to the wizarding world, his wicked soul stirring up trouble once more, merely standing aside would only be a nice dream, even if Voldemort did not come after him directly. 

In reality, he could not bear to remain a passive spectator as countless innocent wizards and unsuspecting Muggles tragically perished, their fates echoing the tragic plight of the Inferi that slept in the murky depths of that accursed lake.

‘Was Voldemort terrifying?’

For ordinary people, this was a question that needed no contemplation to answer. But for Bryan or Dumbledore, the answer was- not terrifying, but extremely vexing.

Once the embers of conflict were stoked anew, it was highly probable that the ensuing confrontation would escalate into a protracted and drawn-out war. The ultimate outcome would not be determined by a singular duel, but rather by a cataclysmic confrontation between two or more colossal factions vying for supremacy.

Leading the charge under Voldemort’s wicked banner were the radical pure-blood families, their ideologies deeply entrenched in the archaic notion of Pure Blood Supremacy, and the dark creature groups that had long harbored a deep-seated dissatisfaction with the wizard-governed order of the Wizarding world. On the opposing side stood the forces represented by Dumbledore, their unwavering resolve centered on the gradual and peaceful reformation of the Wizarding world. Additionally, there existed the ‘conservative’ faction, its voice amplified by the current Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, whose stubborn adherence to the status quo rejected any semblance of change and yearned for a regressive return to the antiquated traditions of the Middle Ages.

As these three colossal powers clashed in a maelstrom of ideological conflict, Bryan was acutely aware that he must ensure that his independent voice could resonate across the tumultuous battleground. Otherwise, to put it unkindly, he would become little more than a ‘super mercenary’ at the beck and call of either Dumbledore or the Ministry.

And to achieve this pivotal objective, he had to make certain ‘sacrifices’.

St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was not a great distance from the Ministry of Magic, but unlike the Ministry, it was not constructed beneath the earth’s surface. This architectural deviation was borne of necessity, as an underground structure would not be conducive to the hygienic standards required, and many patients necessitated adequate exposure to the rejuvenating rays of sunlight – one could not simply fool them with sunlight streaming through illusory windows.

However, in terms of the architectural design and stye of entrance, St. Mungo’s bore a striking similarity to the Ministry.

St. Mungo’s had been strategically established on a bustling Muggle commercial thoroughfare within the pulsating heart of London’s vibrant district. The spacious road was lined with a myriad of Muggle clothing stores and chic boutiques, ensuring a constant ebb and flow of pedestrian traffic.

“How strange, the rental costs in this prime location must be exorbitant, yet this establishment has never opened its doors for business—”

A Muggle woman, her arms laden with an array of shopping bags, passed behind Bryan. Despite his meticulously altered appearance, there was a strange aura surrounding Bryan that compelled the woman to cast a second, lingering glance in his direction, prompting her perplexed complaint regarding the store he was intently observing.

Before Bryan stood an antiquated red brick department store bearing the faded moniker “Purge & Dowse, Ltd.” Its dilapidated and deserted appearance, reminiscent of the telephone booth entrance to the Ministry of Magic, exuded an air of neglect and abandonment.

The window display held a mere handful of broken mannequins, their wigs askew in varying states of disarray, frozen in poses that evoked a sense of inadvertent whimsy, clad in garments that had long since fallen out of fashion’s fickle favor at least a decade prior. A dusty sign proclaiming ‘Closed for Renovation’ hung precariously upon the grime-encrusted door, its once vibrant letters faded by the passage of time.

Though Bryan knew the location of St. Mungo’s, he had never ‘visited’ as a patient before. His skill in potions was exceptional – he tended to any backlash from failed experimental spells or careless injuries from missions in the underworld himself.

After casting a furtive glance around his immediate vicinity and a moment’s deliberate pause, Bryan leaned towards the most unsightly and ill-kempt of the mannequins.

“Ahem, I am Bryan Watson from Hogwarts, here to visit a student and colleague of mine.”

The mannequin in the window gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and beckoned with its conjoined fingers. Immediately, Bryan’s heightened senses perceived a palpable shift in the spatial continuum before him as an invisible portal or door opened within his field of vision.

Outside was a bustling street, while the St. Mungo’s reception area was just as noisy. Many queuing patients made very strange sounds – Bryan’s attention was drawn to a sweat-drenched witch who appeared to have fallen victim to a catastrophically misapplied human transfiguration spell. Her once-feminine visage had assumed a disconcertingly square aspect, puffing plumes of steam from her mouth while emitting shrill whistles akin to a kettle reaching its boiling point.

This unfortunate witch was feverishly fanning herself with that day’s edition of the Daily Prophet, the front page of which bore a photograph of Bryan himself, captured during the press conference he had attended a mere few days prior.

The people here were either suffering pain or busy with their own affairs, with no one paying mind to an ordinary-looking wizard’s curious glances.

At the forefront of the queue stood the reception desk, staffed by a chubby blonde witch who largely disregarded the inquiries of the patients, impatiently gesturing towards a signboard displaying directions beside her while her chubby hand clutched the latest issue of Witches Weekly in a white-knuckled grip.

In her sparse moments of respite, the chubby blonde Witch would gaze dreamily at the cover of the magazine, which featured a Handsome young wizard of towering stature.

Bryan shuddered involuntarily and swiftly averted his gaze, a palpable sense of discomfort washing over him.

He did not ask which room Draco Malfoy was in. He just glanced at the signpost and knew that he should go to the Spell Damage Ward on the fifth floor.

Following the stumbling patients, Bryan exited the reception area and passed through a narrow corridor lined with portraits of famous Healers on both sides, and even saw a portrait of Audrey Fawley inside.

Strings of crystal bubbles drifted below the ceiling resembling soapy orbs containing illuminating candles. Healers’ offices on either side saw a steady stream of unfortunate witches and wizards – as Bryan passed one door, a waft of yellow stench billowed out accompanied by muffled wails from behind the closed door.

Come to think of it, except for when he lived in an orphanage in his early childhood in this life, he hadn’t set foot in a hospital for over a decade. Of course, the Hospital Wing was a different story.

By the time he reached the fifth floor, Bryan had detected Draco’s magical aura amid the chaotic magical environment. He was in the room at the far end of the long corridor, separated from the chaotic environment by a large golden wooden door. A chubby, middle-aged wizard stood sentry nearby, his attention focused on perusing that day’s edition of the Daily Prophet.

Among the elite echelons of pure-blood wizarding families, the Malfoys were regarded as possessing wealth of an exceptionally prodigious magnitude.

It was a foregone conclusion that Lucius Malfoy would never subject his son and heir to such indignities as being crammed alongside the ‘lesser folk’. It was entirely foreseeable that Draco would be attended to by St. Mungo’s most accomplished and esteemed team of Healers.

“Pardon the intrusion—”

Bryan rapped his knuckles against the wooden desk before the middle-aged wizard, prompting the slightly vacant, bewildered eyes to rise from the newspaper. Adopting a polite demeanor, he addressed the wizard:

“I’ve come to visit Draco Malfoy. Might I trouble you to open the door?”

“Oh!”

The middle-aged wizard flustered as he rose to open the door as if to comply with the request, but as his hand reached the lock, he snapped back to his senses. He turned to scrutinize Bryan’s altered appearance warily.

“Do you have a prior appointment and permission, sir? If not, then by the rules, I cannot let you in!”

“Ah, my sincere apologies, it was a spur-of-the-moment idea…-I did not give advance notice,” Bryan smiled. “Well then, could you relay a message for me? Merely Inform Mr. Malfoy that I am the professor from that boy’s school who taught him the Levitation Charm hands-on, I believe he will grant me admission upon receiving such a message.”

‘The Levitation Charm taught hands-on?’

The middle-aged security wizard fixed Bryan with a suspicious glare, muttering the words beneath his breath. But then, his eyes widened with unmistakable excitement as he waved the newspaper clutched in his hand excitedly at Bryan.

“A professor from his school- you must mean Hogwarts, then! Surely you are acquainted with the esteemed Mr. Bryan Watson? he’s quite famous, isn’t he? I mean, erm, perhaps it’s too much to ask, but could you please get his autograph for me? I wrote him a letter, but alas, three entire days have elapsed without any response!

Oh, I miss those days before Lockhart’s regrettable incident, when he would never keep me awaiting more than a single day!”

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