Knock knock…
"Come in."
Melvin pushed open the door, and two translucent, silvery figures glided past him.
The Grey Lady gave Melvin a slight nod—barely noticeable, but a polite greeting nonetheless. The Bloody Baron, on the other hand, was expressionless, trailing behind her in silence.
The two ghosts drifted out of the office. They were among the more courteous spirits at Hogwarts, respectfully exiting through the door out of deference to the headmaster. Most other ghosts treated walls like air, slipping through without a second thought. Sometimes, while walking down a corridor, a ghostly head would pop up from the floor, startling passersby with its icy presence.
Melvin stepped into the office, his gaze instinctively landing on Fawkes, the phoenix, nestled in the Sorting Hat. He nodded and smiled at the bird.
"Chirp!"
A majestic phoenix, yet its call was as shrill as a sparrow's. Who knew where it picked that up.
"Good evening, Melvin," Dumbledore said warmly, watching the scene with a twinkle in his eye. He lifted a teapot and added, "If you don't mind, I'm in the mood for something sweet."
"Then I've got perfect timing…" Melvin sat down, pulling a tub of ice cream from a paper bag and handing it over. "Give this a try. Lemon flavor, a new item from Florean Fortescue's."
Dumbledore opened the parchment container, revealing chilled cream wafting with frosty mist. The color and scent were crisp, and a sweet, cool aroma tickled his nose. He couldn't help but smile.
Melvin opened his own chocolate-flavored tub. "Headmaster, I need a favor. Could I borrow your Pensieve?"
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "The Pensieve?"
"Remember our talk in New York? I want to write stories about wizards, exploring new ways to present magical theater." Melvin didn't bother hiding his intentions. "I went to Diagon Alley looking for equipment suited for wizarding filming and projection. Didn't find what I needed, but I met a wizard who knows his tech. He suggested using memories as film, with the Pensieve as the playback device. So, I'd like to borrow yours to experiment."
Dumbledore grinned. "Muggle movies, right?"
"You know about movies, Headmaster?"
"Don't picture me as some reclusive old wizard holed up in this castle, or a stuffy pure-blood out of touch with the times. You might not believe it, but I've got the entire London Underground map tattooed on my left knee." Dumbledore's voice carried a hint of pride. "I'm quite the Muggle enthusiast."
"Good to know."
Melvin wasn't sure why a tattooed Tube map was something to brag about, and he didn't dare ask, half-fearing the old headmaster might roll up his robes to show it off.
"Decades ago, someone in Godric's Hollow tried to set up a cinema. It didn't work out," Dumbledore said, taking a bite of the creamy dessert and mulling it over. "Your idea is theoretically sound, but the Pensieve has limitations. Viewers have to stick their heads into it, which isn't ideal for public screenings. The stone basin is just a vessel; the silvery mist inside is the key. You could consider adapting the container—maybe draw inspiration from the Mirror of Erised and create a mirror that projects memories. Call it a Memory Mirror, perhaps?"
"I'll think it over."
A magical projection device was starting to take shape in his mind.
Melvin tucked the idea away, noting it mentally.
Dumbledore's lips curved into a warm smile, his earlier heavy mood lightening. "I won't need the Pensieve for a while, and I've got some notes on it you can take when you leave. If your wizarding movie project bears fruit, I'd love to be among the first to see it."
"Of course!"
The headmaster was reliable when he got serious.
Melvin scooped up some ice cream with a wooden spoon. As it melted in his mouth, a rich cocoa sweetness spread across his tongue. Ice cream made with a Freezing Charm had a texture like no other.
Dumbledore watched him with a gentle smile, growing more certain that hiring Melvin was the right call. "One more thing—those dark artifacts you sent in the parcel? Filch didn't open it and passed it straight to Minerva. You'd better come up with a good explanation."
"They're for your protective measures, obviously."
Melvin launched into his design plan, hoping to get the school to cover the cost. "I'm modeling it after a Muggle escape room—or a haunted house, like the Shrieking Shack, but without actual ghosts. It's about setting the scene, dimming the lights, and creating a creepy atmosphere to build psychological tension. The flawed dark artifacts are just props. The traps are low-power, meant to help Potter and his friends face their fears."
"What Potter? I've no idea what you're talking about," Dumbledore said, brushing it off with a dismissive wave. "But I personally love the concept. I've got some old British wizarding horror stories that might inspire you."
Melvin glanced at the headmaster and seized the moment. "And the cost of those props…?"
Dumbledore subtly shifted his gaze. "Budgets are handled by the deputy headmistress. You'll need to discuss it with Minerva."
…
Negotiations with the deputy headmistress didn't go smoothly.
Professor McGonagall deemed the artifact purchase a personal expense, as the items belonged to Melvin and weren't for teaching purposes. Reimbursement was out of the question.
Melvin, naturally, protested.
The props hadn't even been used yet—how could McGonagall know they weren't for teaching? Even if the school didn't own them, they should at least cover a rental fee.
His argument was solid, but it didn't pass muster. Since the props were for a project Dumbledore had proposed, it was considered personal, and any rental fees should come from him.
"Passing the buck up and down the chain. Hogwarts has some serious bureaucratic nonsense…" Melvin muttered.
He glanced at the flawed dark artifacts on the table, then at the Pensieve nearby, his expression conflicted.
The Pensieve, worth thousands of Galleons, was lent without a second thought. How was he supposed to ask for a rental fee now?
"Better just study the Pensieve," Melvin sighed, letting it go.
He stood and approached the stone basin.
The shallow basin looked carved from a single block of stone—granite, perhaps. Its age was unclear, the edges worn smooth, etched with intricate runes, some recognizable as Ancient Runes, others unfamiliar.
Inside, a silvery substance swirled, neither fully liquid nor gas, like flowing mist, rippling with faint, crystalline light.
Unlike rare artifacts like the Mirror of Erised, memory-replaying devices weren't uncommon. Like broomsticks, they came in various styles with differing performance. The Pensieve, though, was among the finest.
Melvin pressed his wand to his temple, gently drawing out a silvery thread.
The thread fell into the basin, blending into the mist. A shimmering glow spread, revealing a hazy scene: a horned serpent coiled on a tree branch, its eyes not slit like a snake's but pure, silvery white.
Leaning closer to the mist, Melvin's consciousness plunged into the void. When he came to, he stood beneath the shade of a snakewood tree.
The horned serpent hissed softly at him. "Melvin, leave the school. I've seen your future, and it's not here."
"…"
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