Harry Potter: Using science to be IMMORTAL

Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office.

"Murphy." The other party also saw him but didn't stop walking.

Murphy took a few steps forward, walking alongside him, "Director Scrimgeour, about joining the Aurors that I mentioned last time, what do you think?"

If he had to work in the Ministry of Magic, Murphy actually wanted to become an Unspeakable, as researching the nature of magic was very appealing to him.

But being an Unspeakable was usually for life, meaning almost complete disconnection from the world.

Secondly, being an Auror wasn't bad either. As frontline combatants, not only was the pay higher, but it was also more exciting.

Anyway, it was much better than his current job.

Scrimgeour walked briskly, his face tense as he spoke, looking straight ahead.

"I've seen your school grades, very outstanding. Your ability test results are also good, and you use spells proficiently, but you can't become an Auror."

"Why?"

Murphy stared, having been rejected too many times today.

"Your personality test didn't pass. You're too impulsive, adventurous, lack obedience, and more importantly, we found that you're full of prejudice and dissatisfaction with the wizarding world."

"What? I..."

Scrimgeour suddenly stopped, looking at him, "Moreover, your background check won't pass. Your parents were dark wizards. My analysts told me that it's probably because of their influence that your personality has so many dangerous elements."

Murphy was speechless.

"We need loyal soldiers. The Auror Office isn't suitable for you. Go do what you're supposed to do."

Saying this, Scrimgeour patted Murphy's shoulder and was about to leave.

"You mean providing advice on eliminating goblins for those fools?" Murphy couldn't help but retort.

Scrimgeour turned back, giving him a deep look, "Watch yourself."

Background check.

Damn! Again!

His application to become an Unspeakable was also rejected due to a background check.

The son of dark wizards obviously didn't meet the conditions for holding an important position in the Ministry of Magic.

Yes, his parents were dark wizards.

Sanders Darkholm and Natalie Darkholm, a couple who fantasized about restoring their family's glory by following the Dark Lord.

Six years ago, when Voldemort fell, they also successfully got themselves into Azkaban.

And died there about three or four years ago.

They didn't leave Murphy any inheritance.

By Sanders's generation, the Darkholm family was already impoverished. After they died, Murphy inherited nothing but a dilapidated, leaky old house and about a few hundred Galleons in debt.

Fortunately, most of Sanders's creditors were also in Azkaban, so no one came to collect debts from Murphy.

Murphy never complained about his background.

After all, as a transmigrator, his parents were more like a background introduction to him.

Orphan?

Which transmigrator isn't an orphan?

Poor? Isn't that the classic start of a journey? As for his parents being dark wizards?

Cool! In his younger years at Hogwarts, he was bullied for being the son of dark wizards, but after breaking a leg of each of those bullies, no one dared to mess with him anymore.

Until he graduated, he once again felt the trouble brought by this identity.

Who would have thought, the wizarding world also has political scrutiny! Damn! Aurors are out of the question, Murphy despondently took the elevator down to the fourth basement level.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

At the end of the corridor, the office where Murphy worked.

The door sign read in crooked letters: "Pest Consultation Office."

Murphy, feeling despondent, pushed open the door, only to hear a pretentious voice.

"Oh, the slacker finally remembers to come to work, but unfortunately, you're late, again."

A figure in a lace sweater, shaped like an irregular sphere, laughed like a dumbbell.

Murphy was momentarily bewildered.

Huh, how did Aunt Marge from the movies end up here?

Alright, this is his direct supervisor.

The head of the Pest Consultation Office.

Murphy's most hated pest. Belinda Pound.

"Damn!"

Murphy habitually replied with a Chinese word.

"Using that strange language again, don't think I can't understand."

"..."

The fat woman waddled over to Murphy, holding a form in her hand, deliberately drawing a big cross on it with her pen.

"Another late mark, the third time, guess what, you're going to fail this month's attendance..."

"Heh."

"Murphy, what an attitude! The director is speaking to you!" A skinny, bald man also spoke up, "Do young people nowadays not understand any manners?"

This was Murphy's second most hated pest, the deputy director of the consultation office, Stav Moore.

"Belinda, don't be upset, try this cup of ginger tea. I added a drop of Flobberworm mucus, it's good for treating insomnia. Knowing you like sweet things, I added extra sugar."

Stav offered Belinda a cup of steaming red tea with eager anticipation, watching her frown as she took a sip.

Flobberworm...

No wonder he's the deputy director of pests, such unique taste.

Murphy decided to ignore the two weirdos flirting with each other to avoid dirtying his eyes.

He went to his desk and saw a huge pile of letters.

The Pest Consultation Office, as the name implies, provides advice and recommendations for wizarding families on pest control.

Such as the most common task of eliminating garden gnomes or occasionally driving away stray ghouls.

Specifically, it meant replying to letters from wizards troubled by pests.

For Murphy, this job was utterly boring to the extreme. Most of the so-called pest problems mentioned in the letters could be solved with a little knowledge of magical creatures or just a bit of common sense.

At first, Murphy replied in detail, but after a month, he became utterly fed up, and his replies grew more perfunctory.

Now, he usually just used phrases like "burn it," "bang a wooden basin," "kick it" to brush off those letters, sometimes even just a single word like "fire," "basin," "kick."

He didn't care if the other party understood; he just wanted to slack off.

Suppressing the urge to tear up the letters, Murphy replied to a few with a heavy heart, then got increasingly annoyed.

This damn job, he didn't want to do it for another day!

Subconsciously, Murphy's hand reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

This was a habit from his previous life, wanting to smoke when feeling agitated.

But since he had been living in Hogwarts in this life, the habit of smoking had long gone, and he wouldn't carry them, naturally finding nothing now.

But after fumbling around, he pulled out a business card from his pocket.

It was from that Mohawked man from before.

David Steek.

Jelida Pharmaceuticals Group, Director, CEO.

When did this guy slip his business card into my pocket? "You, what are you doing? Why aren't you writing back? Do you know why our department is always complained about for being inefficient? It's because of whom? These people are troubled by pests! Waiting for our help! And we can't do anything because you haven't even started writing!"

Belinda roared.

So why the hell don't you write it yourself? "Belinda, your sense of responsibility is admirable," Stav Moore timely flattered.

Ugh, can you two go die first? The boring day finally dragged on to its end.

Before leaving work, Murphy received another piece of bad news.

"Due to several magical disasters that occurred last month, coupled with a decrease in donations, this month's salaries are temporarily suspended. The department is trying to raise funds as quickly as possible, hoping to compensate everyone next month..."

Listening to the current Minister Millicent Bagnold's declaration, Murphy rolled his eyes in frustration.

A government whose main sources of revenue are donations and various exam fees, fines, etc.

The unstable income and equally unstable expenditure led to the department's financial chain breaking from time to time, and delayed salaries had become a common occurrence.

Damn, who came up with this financial model? These idiots! The entire Ministry of Magic can't muster a single brain! Reason and logic are like air to these wizards.

"Merlin's saggy underpants! Bullshit!" Someone cursed not far away.

Clearly, Murphy wasn't the only one dissatisfied.

The person cursed a few times, saw Murphy, and greeted him, "Murphy, come on, let's have a drink. Damn it, I'm pissed!"

This person was Orton Forrester, a wizard of Muggle origin, a few years older than Murphy, working in the International Magical Cooperation department. Sharing a common hobby in criticizing the Ministry of Magic, the two had a lot in common.

Thinking about the day's frustrations, Murphy agreed.

"Let's go, The Three Broomsticks."