Hedwig didn't have any letters or packages today. She just tagged along with the other owls to the Great Hall, casually visiting her master and, with her dazzling snow-white feathers, charming the other young witches and wizards into sharing their snacks. Well-fed and content, she waddled off at her own leisurely pace.
Harry was flipping through Quidditch Through the Ages, a book Hermione had lent him.
After last night's events, the three of them had become proper friends—the kind who could handle a bit of pointing and whispering during class without issue. Though, to be fair, Hermione seemed to have reined in that habit. She hadn't done it once during this morning's two lessons.
"Word's gotten out that Harry's playing as Seeker," someone said.
"Now everyone knows he's not just a reserve but Gryffindor's starting Seeker."
"…"
Nearby, Seamus and Ron were chatting about the upcoming match.
Next Saturday, Harry would be playing in his very first Quidditch game—Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
"Should we hold up a mattress below, just in case Harry takes a tumble?"
"No need to worry. Harry's got this in the bag."
"…"
The Great Hall was buzzing with talk about him.
Harry overheard it all, feeling his nerves creep up. But seeing Hermione calmly studying her chocolate nearby brought a bit of relief. Thank Merlin for steady friends like her.
…
The Three Broomsticks
Wright was slouched by the counter, idly listening to a nearby argument.
Melvin plopped down beside him.
Wright slid a mug of mead his way, holding up a hand to signal him to hold off on talking, then pointed at two wizards nearby who were in the thick of a heated debate.
"Last time, weren't you the one asking who's to blame for Lamont's stubby fingers? Answer me!"
"What's wrong with what I said? Lousy skills, blaming the team, blaming his parents—why not look at his own shortcomings?"
"How's he supposed to fix short fingers? That's clearly his parents' fault!"
"Is your brain fermenting dragon dung? Listen to yourself!"
"Lamont's dad is famously short. It's his fault!"
"…"
The two wizards, as usual, didn't settle their score. Grumbling, they stormed out of the pub, off to the bookstore next door to dig through newspapers for more players with notably short fingers.
Wright turned back, still chuckling, and gestured to the mead in front of Melvin. "Madam Rosmerta saved this one for you. She wants your thoughts on this batch's flavor."
Melvin took a sip. The mead's warmth blended perfectly with the honey's sweetness, striking a delightful balance.
"As per your request, we changed the shape from oval to square, with a 16:9 ratio and a 150-inch diagonal," Wright said, handing over a suitcase. "This custom Visumirror's too big to carry around easily, so it's stored in here."
The Monkstanley family had been in the technical trade for four generations, from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office to the Department of Mysteries to street-side repair shops. Casting an Undetectable Extension Charm was no trouble at all.
Melvin tucked the suitcase by his feet, not bothering to inspect the contents.
It wasn't that checking it in a pub would be inconvenient—he just trusted Wright that much.
After a moment's thought, Melvin figured he'd better ask for clarity. He looked up at Wright. "This suitcase with the Undetectable Extension Charm… is it legal?"
Wright froze, momentarily stumped for an answer.
The Undetectable Extension Charm, a highly discreet and advanced spell, could easily violate Secrecy Law regulations. Back when it wasn't yet a restricted spell, wizards would pull absurdly large items out of coat pockets, knit caps, or wallets in front of Muggle eyes.
Once, a British wizard named Nocturne Isaac, fresh from studying at Uagadou, dumped 86 elephants out of his wallet in front of dozens of Muggle customs officers. He got a life sentence for that one.
New York had its own fiasco in 1982, when a wizard stuffed a seven-ton jet plane into a suitcase in front of hundreds of No-Majs. In 1983, the same wizard tried to nick the Statue of Liberty, only to be apprehended on the spot by MACUSA Aurors.
To cover up that breach, MACUSA's entire staff worked overtime for three weeks, staging the whole thing as an elaborate magic show.
Since then, the Undetectable Extension Charm was classified as a regulated spell. The International Confederation of Wizards laid down strict rules: it could only be used for approved items, like wizarding camping tents, and not for personal use.
"…"
Wright and Melvin locked eyes in silence, a faint twinkle in their gazes. "I can knock five percent off the final payment," Wright offered.
"Ten percent."
"Deal."
"…"
Melvin couldn't help but wince. Merlin's beard, I overshot the price.
Wright sipped his sherry, a pleased grin spreading across his face. Truth be told, his two deals with Professor Levent hadn't been big earners—not compared to his work with singers or newspapers. But collaborating with Levent was refreshing. The man's occasional Muggle-inspired ideas were a breath of fresh air.
"Professor Levent—no, Melvin, let me call you that as a friend," Wright said, pausing briefly. "The cost of large-scale Visumirrors is still too high. Muggle devices may not be as convenient, and wizarding villages lack the infrastructure, but their systems are more established and cheaper. I really think you should reconsider my earlier suggestion."
"…"
Melvin sighed, about to respond, when he caught a figure approaching out of the corner of his eye.
"Professor Levent!" Madam Rosmerta called, striding over with a copper pitcher to top off his nearly empty mead mug. "This batch was brewed using that book you gave me. Honestly, half of it went over my head, but your notes filled in the gaps. I can't thank you enough.
"It wasn't ready for fermentation by Halloween, so I didn't serve it then. We only cracked it open this morning, and in less than a day, we've sold three barrels!"
She looked at him expectantly. "What do you think? Any tweaks needed?"
"Madam Rosmerta," Melvin said, "I don't actually know how to brew."
"Oh, you're such a joker."
"…"
Melvin gave up arguing. Under her hopeful gaze, he took a sip of the mead and launched into a string of nonsense: "Well… the opening notes carry the classic orange blossom and ripe apricot aromas of honey fermentation. The midtones are layered with vanilla pod and roasted hazelnut from the oak, and the finish lingers beautifully, rich and memorable. The sweetness is perfectly balanced… honestly, there's nothing to critique."
"All thanks to your help," Rosmerta beamed. Professor Levent was a gem—just far too modest.
Melvin managed a wry smile. Watching the pub's cheerful owner, an idea suddenly sparked in his mind. "Madam Rosmerta, would you like all your drinks to sell as well as this mead?"
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