0362 Another Admirer

The night had begun with a gentle pitter-patter of rain droplets pouring from the inky black sky, but as the hours ticked by, the heavens unleashed their fury in the form of a torrential downpour. Streaks of blinding lightning illuminated the turbulent waters of the black lake, their jagged tendrils slicing through the darkness like ethereal swords. This sudden onslaught of nature's wrath sent shockwaves rippling through the murky depths, disturbing the slumber of the colossal squid that dwelled within.

The massive creature, its tentacles as thick as ancient oak trunks, thrashed about in a frenzy, propelled by the raging winds and the pummeling rain. Its gigantic bulk displaced vast quantities of water, causing the water to rise and surge forth, flooding the lawns that surrounded the majestic castle grounds.

Filch, who was on night patrol and witnessed this scene, was at a loss for what to do. He had no choice but to take the risk of waking his immediate superior.

To prevent the young wizards and witches from awakening to the nightmarish sight of Hogwarts Castle submerged within the depths of the lake, Bryan had no choice but to venture forth into the storm. He engaged in a 'pleasant' 'negotiation' with the rampaging giant squid. With the situation resolved, he then spent some time meticulously repairing the battered embankment. In short, he almost didn't sleep all night.

This night's wild events directly triggered Bryan's delay in arriving at the Ministry of Magic by the appointed hour of 8 a.m. the following day.

The entire months of March and April were probably a disaster that the ordinary employees of the Ministry of Magic would never want to revisit.

First, Bryan Watson had eradicated the most wicked and feared werewolf pack that had plagued Magical Britain. Hot on the heels of this triumph came the capture of the infamous Sirius Black, the Azkaban fugitive whose daring escape had sent shockwaves through the wizarding community.

And as if these seismic events were not enough to shake the very foundations of the Ministry, the shocking revelation that Peter Pettigrew, once glorified as a hero and bestowed with the Order of Merlin, First Class, was in fact a traitorous murderer, followed swiftly by his trial before the Wizengamot court.

Any one of these momentous occurrences would have been sufficient to fuel discussions and debates for an entire year in past, yet here they stood, these earth-shattering events that had intensely impacted the entire European wizarding world, compressed into the span of a mere month or two. It can be imagined how much unnecessary trouble this brought to the officials of the British Ministry of Magic.

Now, with these matters finally concluded, Rufus Scrimgeour and his subordinates remained entangled in their investigation, their efforts focused on uncovering the identity of the individual responsible for tampering with the Portkey leading from the Department of Mysteries to Azkaban, an act that had resulted in Pettigrew's untimely demise. However, this particular case held little relevance for the vast majority of Ministry officials.

Now, they could return to their routine, leisurely yet busy work.

The previous night's storm had overwhelmed even London's drainage system, leaving the city's streets and alleyways awash in murky, stagnant pools. As Bryan Apparated into the secluded alley that housed the Ministry's telephone booth entrance, he was surprised to find these deserted alley flooded with murky water up to his ankles.

"Oh, damn!" he exclaimed, his brow furrowing as he surveyed the veritable 'ocean' that lay before him. "I hope the Ministry of Magic hasn't been flooded."

Although the entrance telephone booth looked shabby on the outside, it was still reliable. Bryan successfully entered the Ministry of Magic's entrance hall.

Even on the most ordinary of days, the Ministry was a disharmony of sound and motion, with every individual present wearing an expression of urgency as they hurried about their tasks. The relentless rain appeared to have exacted its toll on the Ministry as well, as Bryan emerged from the fireplace, he bore witness to a scene of disarray. Numerous fireplaces on his left, right, and across from him stood inoperative, their hearths dark and cold, while a young staff member was frantically trying to stop the rainwater seeping from the fireplace walls from making a mess of the grand hall.

It was at this moment that a pale, middle-aged wizard emerged from one of the few functioning fireplaces directly opposite Bryan's position. His disheveled appearance, marred by two large black eyes and mud-caked leather shoes, as if he had just trekked through a muddy field.

"Couldn't you avoid making a mess, Dirk!" yelled Twycross, the wizard overseeing the repair efforts, his voice trembling with barely contained rage as he surveyed the trail of muddy footprints left by Dirk Creswell.

"I've spent all morning dealing with issues that have nothing to do with me – first the Minister's office was flooded, then the Deputy Minister's. Everywhere has problems. I've had enough!"

"Let me tell you what a real problem is, Wilkie!" The panting Creswell suddenly regained his energy, glaring at the accusing Twycross Wilkie as he panted like a winded ox.

"One storm ruined half a month of our hard work - the woods turned into a swamp. Over a dozen blokes working overtime to set up the stands were sent to St. Mungo's. I spent all night in the pouring rain checking if any other areas might collapse too. I went through this ordeal just so you'd have somewhere to park your arse while watching the Quidditch World Cup this summer, Wilkie. This wasn't even my job, and now you're yelling at me over a bit of mud!"

"Oh—" Twycross's momentum faltered, his indignation deflating like a punctured balloon. "Thank you for your selfless efforts, Dirk. I just, erm—"

It was at this juncture that Twycross's gaze landed upon Bryan, who had been observing the exchange from the sidelines. Initially failing to recognize the wizard, Twycross rolled his eyes impatiently. "You'd best be on your way, sir. This is no place to be gawking with the entrance in such a state."

Bryan raised an eyebrow but remained silent, while Creswell's eyes suddenly widened with dawning realization. The fatigue and resentment that had so recently clouded his face vanished, replaced by an expression of unabashed excitement. He rushed over and seized Bryan's hand enthusiastically, his grip firm.

"Good heavens, if I'm not mistaken - oh, how could I be mistaken!" Creswell beamed, vigorously shaking Bryan's hand as if attempting to dislodge it from its socket. "Mr. Watson, I'm one of your biggest fans!"

"Oh, thank you--" Bryan offered a modest smile, attempting to extract his hand from Creswell's grip, but the wizard held fast, taking the initiative and guiding the bewildered Bryan towards the lift area.

"Which floor for you, Mr. Watson?" Creswell inquired eagerly, his finger jabbing the lift button with an almost manic enthusiasm as they stepped inside the awaiting carriage.

"Umm—" Bryan paused momentarily, casting his mind back. "Actually, I'm headed to Mr. Crouch's office. We had an appointment."

"Ah, level five then!" Creswell exclaimed, launching into an energetic description of the locations of the Ministry's various departments, scarcely pausing for breath.

Throughout this twisting journey, Bryan remained a silent observer, content to let Creswell's seemingly inexhaustible well of words flow unimpeded. Yet, amidst the flood of information, the wizard named Dirk Creswell managed to convey his own identity and background with remarkable clarity.

"--I'm also from Slytherin," he said as they reached level five and he gestured towards Crouch's office door. "Though my Head of House at Hogwarts was actually Professor Slughorn. We frequently exchanged letters discussing wizarding affairs, and just recently when discussing Fenrir Greyback, he expressed his regret to me--"

Noting the puzzled expression that flashed across Bryan's face, Creswell swiftly clarified, "It's about you, Mr. Watson, not Greyback. Professor Slughorn felt he should have held off retiring a bit longer so he could have been your Head of House, instead of letting Severus Snape take advantage!"

"Heh heh, please convey my gratitude for his kind sentiments," Bryan chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he came to a halt before the office door that marked his destination. "I believe this is my stop."

"Allow me to knock for you!" Creswell exclaimed, bounding ahead before Bryan could protest, his knuckles knocking smartly against the sturdy oak.

"You're late," came the curt response from within, the voice laced with a distinct undercurrent of irritation.

This was an extremely oppressive office, with its antiquated, stuffy decor giving the impression of being transported back to the 18th century. But one only needed to glance at the meticulously organized shelves crammed full of files to sense that the room's occupant was a severely regimented individual, bordering on obsessive-compulsive.

Barty Crouch stood behind his desk, his expression blank yet his eyes piercing, fixed unwaveringly upon the two wizards as they entered his office.

"It's not Mr. Watson's fault!" Creswell burst out indignantly before Bryan could offer an explanation, his voice dripping with self-righteous indignation.

"I'll speak the truth, Mr. Crouch. If the Ministry would loosen its purse strings a bit and spend some money to properly repair our infrastructure, the entrance wouldn't be in such a mess now!"

"You know Barty's style, Dirk - he's used to being practical," a third wizard interjected, leaping to Crouch's defense.

It was at this point that Bryan realized Crouch's office was not unoccupied - Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, was also present. A fourth wizard lingered in the visitors' area, hunched in whispered discussion with Ludo, a travel case at his feet suggesting an imminent departure. It was he who had spoken up for Crouch, though his real motive seemed to be avoiding any further pestering, judging by Crouch's expression.

"Oh, Cuthbert?" Creswell blurted out, recognition flickering in his eyes as he addressed the fourth wizard. "What are you doing here? Didn't you request leave from the Minister to go on holiday?"

"I'm hitching a ride!" Cuthbert Mockridge, the Head of the Goblin Liaison Office and Creswell's own supervisor, exclaimed with undisguised joy, giving his suitcase an emphatic kick.

"I'm planning to stroll around Paris for a few days. I was originally going to use Muggle transportation, but Ludo told me they were also going to Paris. I can conveniently use Barty's international Floo from his office instead. Barty was quite accommodating and agreed right away!"

From the expression on Barty Crouch's face, Bryan could see that the main reason behind his acquiescence was to avoid further harassment from the overly enthusiastic Cuthbert Mockridge.

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