Fuck the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy

After several mugs of butterbeer, the rage in Murphy that had been on the verge of exploding finally quieted down for the moment.

"Fuck magical disasters! Fuck Millicent!" Oden slurred.

"Yeah, fuck 'em!"

Murphy raised his mug and clinked it with his.

"Fuck Merlin! Fuck wizards!" Oden kept yelling.

"Yeah, fuck 'em!"

Murphy agreed with the toast and downed another drink.

"Fuck the Three Broomsticks! Fuck Rosmerta!"

"Yeah! Uh..."

Murphy glanced at the landlady by the bar, whose gaze had already shifted their way. The glass she was wiping looked very suitable for throwing.

"No, not that one. Fuck something else."

"Clunk." Oden fell asleep.

Murphy's mood suddenly improved quite a bit. He left his companion alone, went to the bar to settle the bill, and was just about to leave when he suddenly heard someone shout, "Hey, dark wizard bastard!"

A table of people was sitting not far from him, and several of them looked very familiar.

Shorty Dolfe, bootlicker Moore, and balloon auntie—oh no, fat-ball Belinda.

"Murphy Darkholme, I hear you got into the Ministry of Magic?"

Murphy looked at the speaker for quite a while.

"Big guy, who are you?"

The wizard's face twitched, and the scar at the corner of his eye writhed like a centipede along with it.

"Idiot! You don't even know who he is? Frez Shafiq! He's Department Head Babington's son!"

Moore snapped at Murphy while fawning at Shafiq with a flattering smile, his face constantly switching between arrogance and groveling. Murphy found it a wonder to behold.

Good grief, are you a Metamorphmagus, putting on a face-changing act here?

"Oh!!" Murphy suddenly understood. "Frez! The one I beat until he cried in third year? What? Your face doesn't hurt anymore?"

Frez shot to his feet with a bang, and the scar Murphy had left on his face seemed to ache faintly again.

"Murphy, have you gone mad? Apologize to Mr. Frez at once!" Belinda shrieked from the side.

"This isn't your office, Belinda," Murphy reminded her.

"Oh? Isn't it? Believe me, I'll have you fired tomorrow! Apologize to Mr. Frez, now!"

Murphy rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth, and decided not to let these people ruin the good mood he had finally found. He turned to leave.

"Hey! Freak! Get back here! I told you to apologize, didn't you hear me?" Belinda was actually the first to get angry. She might have drunk quite a lot today. "Don't ignore me! You can't keep doing this! You fool! You self-righteous, arrogant fool!"

Belinda's fat face shone with grease, and the way she looked at Murphy was like she was looking at a stink bug.

"You think you got into the Department because you earned a lot of Outstandings? Idiot! You're nothing! You actually wanted to join the Aurors? Wishful thinking! Your dead parents were dark wizards! You'll never pass the background check! If it weren't for Dumbledore's letter of recommendation, I'd have fired you ages ago!"

As Belinda spoke, she began to laugh spitefully.

"You think we can't understand you when you speak Chinese?"

"Quack, quack, quack, like a duck. Who knows where you learned it? Quack, quack."

Belinda's thick lips opened and closed as she imitated a duck. Moore copied her with a couple of quacks too, and then the two of them looked at each other and giggled stupidly.

"Come to think of it, this guy's got black hair too. Maybe he's some East Asian mongrel Sanders had with a Muggle Chinese woman..."

"Enough," Murphy suddenly said.

"You're ordering me around? Who do you think you are—"

"I! Said! Enough!" Murphy glared at Belinda.

For a moment, the latter was cowed by his presence and truly did not dare say another word.

"Hoo." Murphy tilted his head back and took a deep breath, then looked at Belinda with utmost sincerity. "Belinda, you are a pig."

"I pity you. I know a girl as ugly as you must have had a terrible time when you were young, and that's why you crave flattery. That's why you'd even sleep with an ugly freak like Moore, because no one loves you."

"If you weren't truly so revolting, I would pity you. Really."

"But you're honestly too disgusting. So die, sow."

"You!!" Belinda was so furious that the fat all over her body shook wildly, and she reached for her wand by reflex. But Murphy had already drawn his a step ahead of her. "Vera Verto!"

Belinda's already extremely round figure swelled up by another huge size, turning into something like a balloon as she floated up to the ceiling.

Looking at the scene, Murphy felt inexplicably refreshed.

That's exactly what suits you, Aunt Marge.

"Belinda!" Moore cried out in alarm. "How dare you!"

He charged over screaming, then Murphy smashed a fist into his face, and he clutched it in terror and burst into tears.

He had asked for the hammer, and the hammer he got. Wish fulfilled.

Murphy was happy for him.

"Reducto!" Fress seized his chance behind Murphy and cast the spell.

Murphy did not even look. With a flick of his wand, he said, "Protego!"

Then he turned and kicked Fress in the stomach, knocking him to the floor, while his left hand casually snatched up a beer mug and smashed it into the man's face.

Fress collapsed, his face covered in blood.

"Now your face is symmetrical."

"No need to thank me. It's what I should do."

Now only the last one was left.

Dolfe's face was full of terror. "I—I didn't say anything..."

"Sure, sure." Murphy patted his cheek. "Don't be scared. It won't hurt. Levicorpus!"

A dwarf was hoisted up to the rafters.

Now you can finally look down on other people.

Happy, Dolfe? Director?

For a moment, only their groans and sobs remained in the tavern. The other patrons stared at Murphy in horror, and he suddenly sighed.

"Ah. A bunch of idiots. I'm a fucking idiot too, playing with idiots for this long."

Murphy shook his head. For a second he seemed as if he wanted to laugh, but no laugh came. In the end, he took the only Galleon he had left from his pocket and placed it on the bar.

"Sorry, Madam Rosmerta. This is compensation."

With that, he Apparated out of the tavern.

Almost by instinct, he found himself on Charing Cross Road again.

It was already late at night, but London's streets were still brilliantly lit. He had just been in a medieval fantasy-style tavern, and now, seeing this bustling mundane world, Murphy felt as if he had drifted into a dream.

All at once, he felt a little lost.

Is the world I live in this brightly lit city of civilization, or that wondrous, magical village in England?

Am I a wizard, really?

Or a Muggle?

But that literary sort of philosophizing soon slipped from his mind, and he had no choice but to consider his life from here on out.

He had beaten up his immediate superior, his immediate superior's lover, the son of his immediate superior's superior, and a dwarf.

The Ministry of Magic was basically no longer an option.

As for losing that job, Murphy felt nothing but relief, along with the gleeful urge to burst into song.

But no job also meant no money.

And just now, to see his posturing through to the end, he had actually given his last Galleon to that voluptuous landlady.

Ah! That damned fullness!

Murphy felt around in his pocket. There were only three Knuts and a card.

Three Knuts!

Even a disgusting English blood sausage cost more than that!

Was he supposed to live on air tomorrow?

His head hurt!

He looked at the card again.

David Stick?

Why was this thing still in my pocket?

But immediately afterward, he clenched the business card tight.

After hitting Belinda, the irritability that had been with him ever since he entered the Ministry of Magic had suddenly vanished.

At that moment, he felt calmer than he had at any point in the past few months.

Maybe this was fate?

Originally, I just wanted to be a well-behaved wizard.

Originally, I only wanted to make myself, like them, sink into that utopian, dreamlike fairy tale.

But unfortunately.

Fate seemed to have other plans for me.

Murphy tossed three Knuts into the basin by a tramp's feet, ignoring the blank look in the man's eyes after he picked up the coins, and walked toward a red telephone booth on the side of the street.

The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy?

Fuck that!

I need to make money!

"David Stick? Pick a place. Let's talk."