Merlin's You-Know-What

"Sorry, we're not hiring..."

"Sorry, we don't need shop assistants..."

"Ten O's in your O.W.L.s, seven O's in your N.E.W.T.s... These results look fake..."

"You're already employed at the Ministry of Magic? And you're applying to be a shop assistant? Why?"

"This is Essence of Dittany? Customers will think this brewing method is unprofessional. Sorry, you can go.69ꜱʜᴜx.ᴄᴏᴍ"

"Your father is Sanders? That dark wizard? Get out of my shop!"

"No one calculates better than goblins. Gringotts doesn't need wizards who think they're clever!"

"The main duty of this position is cleaning up animal dung. Daily pay is two Sickles..."

"Bartender? What's that, mixing boogers into beer?"

"Motherfucker!"

Walking out of the Leaky Cauldron and standing on Charing Cross Road, Murphy couldn't help swearing.

Bloody Diagon Alley.

Bloody wizards!

They were all a pack of arrogant, stubborn, unreasonable idiots!

Phew!

Letting out a long breath, Murphy calmed down a little.

Finding a job in the wizarding world was fucking impossible!

Because magic existed, Diagon Alley—supposedly the most upscale commercial street in all Britain, where flagship stores of every major chain brand should have gathered—didn't even have a single decent position.

After all, magic was so convenient that shop owners could handle the vast majority of the work alone, with absolutely no need to hire anyone.

Only places like apothecaries, which required professional skills, might recruit shop assistants.

But they looked down on Murphy's technique.

"Muggle distillation is clearly far more efficient than cauldrons! And my Essence of Dittany is more than three times as effective as the traditional brewing method!"

Fuck!

Stubborn, brainless fools!

Cursing that blind shop owner furiously in his head, Murphy quickened his pace.

The job hunting just now had already wasted too much time. He was nearly late for work.

Although he was already utterly sick of that job, at least it still paid him a salary.

Besides, he really didn't want to keep listening to that fat woman's snide remarks.

Damn Floo Network Authority! If they hadn't kept—

"Screech—" An ear-piercing sound of brakes interrupted Murphy's muttering thoughts, followed by a "bang."

Murphy turned his head instinctively and saw a red Ferrari F40 swerving as it struggled to stop. In front of the car, a small figure rolled across the ground many times before coming to a stop in front of Murphy.

"Ah!! Lisa!" a woman screamed, throwing herself toward the figure on the ground.

A pale-faced man with a mohawk also got out of the Ferrari.

"It was her, she ran out..."

A car accident.

A Muggle car accident.

Murphy was a little stunned too. He glanced at the injured little girl.

One of her legs was bent at a strange angle. Broken bone even protruded from the outside of her thigh, and blood was gushing out.

"Her artery's ruptured! Stop the bleeding!" a woman shouted.

She seemed to be medical personnel. She reacted quickly, pulling over a cloth towel to bandage the injured girl while instructing the girl's mother to press down on the blood vessel.

"I'm a nurse. Hurry, call an ambulance! You, come help! Press here first..."

The nurse directly ordered Murphy, who was standing to one side. He froze for a moment, but did not object.

Taking a towel someone beside him handed over, he pressed it against the wound as instructed. Yet blood still poured out, and before long it had soaked through the towel.

"No good! There are too many bleeding points. This won't stop it at all!"

The female nurse spoke anxiously, but she had no better options. She could only tell Murphy to press harder.

"As long as the bleeding is stopped, that's enough?" Murphy suddenly asked.

"Yes. With this much blood loss, if we don't stop it, she might go into shock before the ambulance arrives. Do you have a way?"

Murphy said no more. He tossed aside the blood-soaked towel, took out a bottle of Essence of Dittany he had made during his interview for an apothecary assistant position in Diagon Alley, and poured it directly onto the wound.

He had bought the ingredients for this bottle of essence himself, so naturally he had brought the finished product back with him.

A wisp of white smoke rose, and the terrifying wound began healing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"What kind of medicine is that?" the nurse gasped, stunned.

Murphy did not answer. He only said, "This can only heal her wound. It might cause the tissue to knit together out of place..."

As he spoke, Murphy handed the remaining Essence of Dittany to the nurse. "Forget it, take the rest too. If taken directly, it works on internal injuries as well. If there's internal bleeding and it's urgent, you can try it. Also, after the surgery, drip some on her. It can prevent scarring while she heals."

With that, Murphy made to leave.

Compared to a life, a bottle of Essence of Dittany was nothing, but he had no way to explain the medicine. Better to slip away as soon as possible.

"Wait."

The Ferrari owner with the mohawk blocked Murphy's way.

"That medicine you used just now—I've never seen any drug with that kind of effect..."

"Move." Murphy had no time for some rich Muggle brat.

"Wait, wait. I'm a director at Jelida Pharmaceuticals. My dad owns the company. That medicine of yours, if—"

The man with the mohawk looked extremely excited, and even grabbed Murphy's clothes.

"I said get lost!"

The mohawk flinched at the look in Murphy's eyes, hurriedly pulled his hand back, and raised it in surrender.

After Murphy had gone some distance, he called after him from behind:

"If you're willing to sell the formula, contact me! We'll pay you a lot of money..."

"Heh. Muggles." Murphy snorted without looking back.

Sell a potion formula to Muggles?

Never mind the ingredients and the brewing process—did they think the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was just for show?

After walking another block, Murphy found the red telephone booth.

After he dialed 62442, a woman's voice sounded inside the booth. "Name and reason for visit?"

"Murphy Darkholme. Work."

"Oh, poor lad. Belinda still hasn't processed your employee permit?"

"Merlin's asshole, no!"

"All right. Please enter."

The floor sank, turning into an elevator, and carried Murphy straight down to the Ministry of Magic's atrium.

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, Murphy saw a short bald man walk out of the fireplace opposite, solemnly straightening his robes while straining onto his tiptoes to make himself look a little taller.

"Hey, short—cough, Dolfe!" Murphy went up and patted the short man on the shoulder.

"It's Director Dolfe, boy!"

"Has my Floo Network application for my fireplace been approved?" Murphy asked.

"It's going through the process. What's the rush?"

"I have to walk three blocks to work every day. You tell me if I'm in a rush."

"You can use Apparition to come to work. I remember you have a license."

"My employee permit still isn't ready. If I use Apparition directly..."

"It's illegal. Yes, I helped draft that law. It was intended to strengthen the Ministry of Magic's—"

"So I only have the Floo Network," Murphy cut off his rambling. "Where exactly is the application stuck? It's been a month!"

"Your fireplace is troublesome. You know that, because of your parents. This fireplace was removed from the registry before. To restore its registration requires a lot of procedures..."

"How much longer?"

"Maybe a month, maybe two. If other matters get busy, maybe three or four months..."

"Fuck!" Murphy could not help swearing.

"What?"

Murphy had used Chinese, so Dolfe did not understand.

"Your mother's damn legs! I'll screw your immortal ancestors! You dwarf! Moron! Pig who only eats and never works!"

It was still Chinese.

"Are you insulting me?"

Murphy turned and left. He did not want to stay beside this dwarf for another second.

Goddamn it!

Ever since graduating from Hogwarts and joining the Ministry of Magic, Murphy's temper had worsened by the day. His whole person was like an irritable porcupine. Just now, he had nearly lost control of his anger and almost slapped that ugly face that looked suspiciously goblin-blooded.

"Whew. Calm down, calm down..."

Wizards were all idiots, wizards were all idiots...

Forgive them.

With brains like sardines, just staying alive was hard enough for them.

Be magnanimous, be magnanimous.

After talking himself through it, Murphy's mood recovered a little.

Then he turned his head and saw someone else.

"Director Scrimgeour!"

I suddenly noticed a few words in this chapter title got censored, so I'll fill in a bit here, otherwise it feels kind of weird.