Wizarding children didn't have a tradition of dressing up as ghosts to beg for candy, so the festive spirit in Hogsmeade was subdued, even less vibrant than at Hogwarts. Aside from a crate of free sweets outside Honeydukes and a few glowing jack-o'-lanterns, there was little to mark All Hallows' Eve.
As evening fell and the sky darkened, regular shops grew quiet, their clerks counting the minutes until closing. But the pubs were just warming up.
"Last Quidditch World Cup? Scotland should've won!"
"Did dragon dung clog your brain? Canada took the title!"
"We were up by 120 points—our team was clearly stronger…"
At the bar, a group of middle-aged wizards escalated from civil discussion to shouting matches, their polite banter devolving into crude insults. Faces flushed, they grumbled and threatened to take their argument outside for a duel.
Some, fueled by alcohol, still clung to their wits, flexing their bravado while sneaking glances at the barmaid, hoping to catch her eye.
"Their Seeker caught the Snitch—they're the champions!"
"Only because Lamont's fingers were too short! He was half an inch from grabbing it!"
"Who's to blame for that? His parents?"
"…"
Madam Rosmerta's silver spoon danced between copper mugs, her expression calm. Decades of running the pub had made scenes like this routine—she'd seen them thousands of times.
The butterbeer fizzed with fine bubbles, laced with hints of salt and cinnamon. The beer's bitterness was softened by the rich, creamy butter, while its crisp aroma balanced the butter's heaviness. It struck a perfect sweet-salty balance with a slightly tart aftertaste.
Melvin sipped the frothy head, thinking the pub would be a great spot for a meeting if not for the ear-ringing arguments.
As Wright rambled about technical hurdles in crafting the Memory Mirror—terms like quartz casting and potion blending drifting past—Melvin's thoughts wandered back to Hogwarts.
He couldn't help but wonder how the sweets from that day had affected Miss Granger and her classmates. Would the first-years end up facing the troll head-on?
Either way, Quirrell luring a troll into the castle promised some drama. Melvin wondered if he'd make it back in time to catch it.
Couldn't Wright have picked a better time than Halloween Eve?
"…Now I get why Pensieves are so rare. The mist reagent alone is outrageously expensive—one vial costs 600 Galleons.
"To ensure the display quality, this prototype mirror used four full vials. Add the runic array on the frame, and a mere ten square feet of mirror costs 3,000 Galleons!" Wright said, his voice slow, his mind clearly conflicted.
As an honest craftsman, his conscience urged him to warn his client to cut losses.
As a passionate artisan, his pride pushed him to ask for more funding.
Wright stole a glance at Melvin, hoping to gauge his reaction, but all he could tell was that Melvin really enjoyed his butterbeer—and maybe found him a bit annoying.
"…"
After a fierce internal struggle, Wright's conscience won out.
He sighed. "Mr. Levent, this approach is too costly. For a screen sized for a wizarding film, we're talking tens of thousands of Galleons. Let's explore other options."
Melvin snapped back to the present, glancing at the Memory Mirror on the table. He nodded slightly. "Let's see how it performs first."
The mirror was a flat, oval piece of quartz with a finger-wide opening at the top, its edges engraved with silver-threaded runes.
Melvin ran his fingers over its surface—smooth, frictionless, and crystal-clear. A slight vibration stirred the mist inside, wisps of silver swirling within.
Wright pressed his wand to his temple, drawing out a silvery strand of memory and slipping it into the opening.
The mist churned, then cleared, revealing a vivid image: the Three Broomsticks as it looked right now. The picture was crisp, every detail sharp, from the expressions of the patrons at the bar to the texture of the counter.
"By locking the memory to a single frame and sacrificing the immersive experience, the mirror outperforms every imaging device in the world, visually speaking," Wright said, clearly proud of his work.
"It's impressive…" Melvin agreed, lifting his butterbeer for another sip.
He'd initially approached Wright for a magical screen as a temporary solution, planning to switch to Muggle tech if the wizarding world ever embraced it. But seeing the Memory Mirror's display—surpassing every screen he'd known in his past life—he realized magic might outshine his expectations for projection.
The memory-film approach also had a clear upgrade path, easily scalable from flat images to three-dimensional displays.
In terms of visual impact, Wright's memory film leapfrogged Muggle technology by decades. Practically, it suited the wizarding world's current social landscape far better.
The high cost wasn't the mirror's flaw—it was his own.
Unfortunately, that flaw wasn't easily fixed.
If only there were a quick way to rake in Galleons.
Robbing the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort was hardly an option, was it?
Melvin sank into thought, sipping his butterbeer slowly.
"…"
The pub suddenly fell quiet, the abrupt silence breaking Melvin's reverie. He glanced around, puzzled.
The wizards vying for Madam Rosmerta's attention had gone silent. The Quidditch fans, who moments ago were ready to duel, now sat shoulder to shoulder. The old witch snoring in the corner had woken up, ordering a whiskey.
Everyone was quiet, their eyes bright, fixed on the bar, waiting for something.
Wright, sensing Melvin's confusion, gestured for him to stay quiet and wait.
Madam Rosmerta reached under the counter and pulled out an old-fashioned radio—not one of Wright's contraband creations but a Ministry-approved model with an official seal.
"Dear listeners, welcome to the Wizarding Wireless Network's All Hallows' Eve special. On behalf of Celestina Warbeck, I wish you all a Happy Halloween. Now, please enjoy the lead single from Celestina's new album, 'You Stole My Cauldron, But You Won't Steal My Heart'…"
A melodic female voice drifted from the radio.
"You stole my cauldron, then flew off like a vampire bat. You said you loved me, swore we'd never part, yet you took my cauldron…"
The arguing wizards sat together quietly, the old witch closed her eyes and softly sang along, and Madam Rosmerta's hair bobbed gently to the rhythm.
Melvin glanced at the silent patrons, then at the Memory Mirror in his hand. He spoke softly, "Wright, let's stick with this plan."
In this wondrous, magical world, some barren corners were starving for nourishment.
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