The Great Hall glowed with the soft flicker of candles at the high table, where lace-trimmed tablecloths draped elegantly over the long wooden surface. The clink of cutlery mingled with the professors' chatter.
Professor Melvin settled into his seat, carefully tucking in his napkin before taking a sip of refreshing mint cordial.
"Professor McGonagall, I heard there was a student brawl this afternoon?" he asked, tilting his head toward the nearby Heads of House, his tone laced with curiosity.
McGonagall was savoring a creamy mushroom soup, her silver spoon scooping up velvety broth studded with bits of light brown mushroom and flecks of fresh herbs. The rich, smooth flavor brought a smile to her face. "Don't let the students' tales spook you, Melvin," she said. "They love to embellish the most thrilling bits. First-years can be a bit naughty—it's normal. The incident wasn't as bad as they're making it out to be."
"I heard Slytherin's Malfoy was badly hurt and is still in the Hospital Wing?" Melvin pressed.
"You'd have to ask Severus about the details," McGonagall replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Anyone could see she was enjoying herself. Normally, the Deputy Headmistress would be stone-faced and sterner than Snape himself when it came to student misbehavior.
"…"
Snape, silent until now, was slicing his steak with unnecessary force.
"I'll fill you in," chirped Professor Flitwick, his high-pitched voice brimming with enthusiasm. "The Flying lesson was going smoothly enough. First-years on broomsticks for the first time—it's bound to be a bit bumpy. Only Neville Longbottom had a rough start, losing control and getting a few scrapes. Madam Hooch had the others stay put and took him to the Hospital Wing."
Rolanda Hooch, a retired Irish Quidditch player known for her no-nonsense attitude and compassion for young witches and wizards, had been Hogwarts' Flying Instructor for over a decade. She also coached the House teams and refereed school matches.
Melvin pictured the chubby, nervous first-year who always seemed to be in some sort of trouble. Potions class, injuries. Flying class, injuries… Poor kid can't catch a break.
"With Slytherin and Gryffindor left together and no professor around, well, naturally, a bit of a clash happened," Flitwick continued, taking a sip of sherry to wet his throat. "It started when Draco Malfoy picked up Neville's lost Remembrall and made some rather cruel jokes. Potter, being the good-hearted boy he is, demanded Malfoy give it back—maybe not in the politest way. One thing led to another, and the situation escalated. Malfoy took to his broom, tossing the Remembrall about, and Potter chased after it on his own broom. That's what the students are calling a 'flying duel.'"
The clatter of knives and forks at the high table slowed as the professors leaned in, captivated by Flitwick's tale.
"Malfoy's likely had some broom practice before, and Potter—well, he's inherited his father's knack for flying. Both showed off some impressive skills, chasing each other in a proper tug-of-war in the air. It was a stalemate."
Snape's brows furrowed, his expression darkening.
Flitwick's eyes gleamed as he raised his voice. "Then, something unexpected happened. As they neared the castle, the Remembrall was suddenly yanked by an invisible force…"
The high table fell silent. Flitwick, ever the skilled lecturer, paused for dramatic effect, letting the suspense build before continuing. "Turns out, Neville Longbottom was the other key player. While getting his scrapes treated in the Hospital Wing, he realized he'd lost his Remembrall and cast a Summoning Charm to retrieve it.
"At the same time, Malfoy, mid-flight and hyper-focused, felt the pull of the charm. Instinctively, he gripped the Remembrall tighter, locking the spell in a tug-of-war. Neville, unaware of this, thought the distance was the issue and poured more power into his spell. The intense pull yanked Malfoy off balance, sending his broom spiraling. He crashed into the North Tower's wall and blacked out."
McGonagall chimed in, "When Malfoy fell from his broom, Potter—kind soul that he is—didn't just watch. He dove fifty feet to catch him, saving Mr. Malfoy from a broken neck. That's how I discovered we've got a brilliant Seeker on our hands."
Snape's face darkened further, his scowl practically radiating.
"It's just a few broken bones—arms, legs, a couple of ribs. A dose of Skele-Gro and he'll be fine," Flitwick said, finishing his story with a gulp of sherry and a satisfied sigh.
"Not quite so simple, Filius," Professor Sprout interjected. "Young wizards aren't as sturdy as adults. He'll need at least a night in the Hospital Wing to recover."
"True," Flitwick admitted.
"Poor boy," Sprout added.
"…"
Melvin listened, a bit speechless. A fight bad enough to break bones would have Muggle authorities involved, but to wizards, it was like kids leaving nail marks in a scuffle.
The high table fell quiet for half a minute until McGonagall spoke up. "Two weeks into term, and after a few Transfiguration classes, I thought Neville hadn't inherited his parents' talent for spellwork. But to master a Summoning Charm so well that it could affect a broom in flight? That's remarkable."
"Some wizards just click with certain spells," Flitwick mused. "Their magic aligns perfectly, letting them cast with exceptional power. Maybe Neville's found his knack with Accio."
Melvin ate quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself. As the Muggle Studies professor, he only taught third-years and up. A first-year's Summoning Charm was none of his business.
"There must be consequences," Snape said suddenly, his voice slow and deliberate, each word heavy. "A classroom brawl that leaves a student seriously injured calls for House points deducted and detention."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy started the trouble. Shouldn't Slytherin lose points for that?"
"Longbottom, Malfoy, and Potter should all face punishment," Snape replied coolly.
Melvin glanced at him, noticing the subtle looks from Flitwick and Sprout. Snape's plan was transparent: two Gryffindors losing points versus one Slytherin? A clear win for him. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, meanwhile, stayed out of it, their professors wisely holding their tongues.
McGonagall and Snape began debating the point deductions, their tones growing less civil. "Malfoy's offense was the worst. If anything, Slytherin should lose the most points," McGonagall argued.
"I agree. Thirty points from Malfoy. Twenty each from Longbottom and Potter," Snape countered.
"Longbottom shouldn't lose points at all!"
"His charm was the direct cause!"
"Ahem…" Melvin interrupted. "As the Muggle Studies professor, I think we should contact the students' parents—especially Malfoy's. His mother must be worried sick."
The table went silent, as if Narcissa Malfoy's name carried some kind of spell.
"Narcissa…" Flitwick and Sprout murmured under their breath, sneaking glances at Snape to gauge his reaction.
Snape's face was unreadable, but his grip on his cutlery tightened, and his teeth made a faint grinding sound as he chewed his tender steak. He looked… annoyed.
Late at Night
Melvin sat at his office desk, freshly washed and in his pajamas, but sleep was nowhere in sight. If anything, he felt more awake.
Two weeks at Hogwarts had shown him the castle's enchanting, ancient magic—and the wizarding world's insular, outdated ways. Not all purebloods were like Slytherin's blood-purist crowd. Students from other Houses were often open to Muggle-borns and half-bloods, but they shared a common trait: pureblood or not, they had little curiosity about the Muggle world.
He'd tried sparking interest in Muggle knowledge, but even the most open-minded only cared about the fun bits—like gadgets or quirky facts. The social structures of billions of Muggles? They couldn't care less.
"Change will take time," Melvin muttered, starting to organize his work plan.
Muggle Studies was progressing steadily, but his idea for filming lessons was stuck due to equipment issues. Oddly, his top priority was a task from Dumbledore: designing a challenge for the mysterious gauntlet tied to the Philosopher's Stone.
"Potter and his friends are probably close to finding Fluffy's room," Melvin mused. "Wonder if Voldemort's already scouting the place…"
He thought back to recent encounters with Quirrell but hadn't noticed anything suspicious. Dumbledore was surely keeping an eye on things, so there was still time to design his challenge.
The question was, what should it be?
From what he recalled, the other professors' challenges were nearly done: Sprout's Devil's Snare trap, Flitwick's winged keys, McGonagall's giant chessboard, Snape's potion riddle, and Quirrell's troll blockade. Each reflected their subject's essence.
What could Muggle Studies bring to the table?
High-tech lasers and safes would scream "Muggle," but they weren't practical. Classic traps like rolling boulders or bear traps wouldn't convince Dumbledore—they were testing first-years, not battling dark wizards.
The challenge needed controlled danger, a sense of urgency, enough difficulty to test the students, and a touch of fun, all while showcasing Muggle Studies.
Melvin glanced out the window. The night wasn't pitch-black but a deep, rich blue.
He pulled out paper and a quill, lit a few lamps, and began sketching ideas under the warm glow. Soon, he settled on a theme, scribbling an unusual plan:
Escape Room: A cramped, dimly lit space to create psychological pressure… Deploy a swarm of moths to counter Lumos spells…
"They're first-years, but they're tougher than they seem," Melvin said to himself, clicking his pen with a grin. "Gryffindors, especially, have courage to spare."
September 13, Friday
Two weeks into the school year.
The last class of the afternoon was Muggle Studies for third-years.
As a special consultant to the Examinations Authority, Melvin had free rein to shape the curriculum. Unbound by rigid schedules, he spent half the lesson playing games with the students: Simon Says with a twist, Don't Laugh, Pass the Parcel, and Freeze Tag.
Whenever a student slipped up or giggled, they'd be called up for a "trial," answering questions from an encyclopedia. Wrong answers meant a punishment—not a performance, but mimicking ordinary, non-magical animals from the book, complete with sounds and movements. The results were more hilarious than accurate.
For thirty minutes, the Muggle Studies classroom rang with laughter and shrieks. Knowledge, in a sneaky way, sank into the students' minds.
Melvin ran the games, grilled the students, and enjoyed their embarrassed antics, all while wondering if he could rope Dumbledore into assisting. Time slipped by unnoticed.
At five o'clock, the clear chime of the bell echoed through the corridors.
Melvin had assigned self-study five minutes earlier, so he grabbed his books and dismissed the class. Surprisingly, the students lingered, chattering excitedly about the games.
Lee Jordan's dark face was flushed as he laughed loudly. "Alicia, you're hopeless! Every time the professor said 'stand,' you stood up! Just stay put next time!"
"You're no better," Alicia shot back. "Every time he said 'look forward,' you stared straight ahead like an idiot. Don't think I didn't notice—you were just trying to sneak a peek at Angelina!"
Angelina rolled her eyes. If Lee hadn't been distracting her from the back, she wouldn't have messed up so many times—or ended up mimicking a hippo, to everyone's delight.
"Oi, Angelina's hippo impression was epic!" Lee cackled, his face redder than ever. "Her mouth could've fit a Quaffle! Professor Levent's games are brilliant. Let's keep playing in the common room tonight—get George and Fred, maybe the whole team. I can't wait to see Wood make a fool of himself!"
"Your kangaroo was no masterpiece either!" Angelina snapped, her own face flushing. "Go play with your shadow, Lee!"
The excitement lingered. Some students eventually trickled out, while others stayed, continuing the games and punishments on their own—a kind of self-study, in a way.
Meanwhile, Melvin found the Weasley twins in the courtyard, crouched behind a bush. A pile of open books lay before them, their red heads bent together, punctuated by odd giggles.
Zonko's Joke Shop Catalogue, Introduction to Alchemy: Basic Uses of Runes, and, oddly out of place, DK Children's Encyclopedia.
Unable to source Muggle chemicals, the twins were brainstorming rune-based alternatives for their stink bombs.
A shadow fell over their books.
"??"
They looked up, startled, to find Professor Levent standing there.
"Messrs. Weasley," Melvin said, "I'd like to consult you about something."