As the headmaster of Hogwarts, Dumbledore paused for a moment before agreeing. Though he rarely left the school these days, he used to be a regular at the Three Broomsticks, and over the years, Madam Rosmerta had often sent him bottles of mead.
But agreeing was one thing—actually working was another. Dumbledore was tempted to head back to his room for a nap, especially since he'd stayed up too late the night before. Maybe later he'd check the abandoned classroom and, with any luck, run into Harry…
Over breakfast in the Great Hall, the headmaster subtly tried to nudge the deputy headmistress into taking his place, claiming he'd stay behind to handle meetings with the Board of Governors.
Professor McGonagall wasn't surprised in the least. She calmly swallowed a bite of fried egg and said she'd be delighted to let the headmaster tackle the mountain of paperwork—after all, it was his job.
Dumbledore asked a few pointed questions, learning that the paperwork included auditing the first half of the school year's finances and preparing the budget for the second half. He fell silent, reconsidering. In the end, he decided to let McGonagall stay at Hogwarts while he personally headed to the Three Broomsticks to thank the pub for supporting the school's Quidditch program.
"…"
McGonagall's expression remained unruffled as she continued her breakfast.
With Snape tending to a sniffling Quirrell, Sprout minding the greenhouses, and McGonagall handling the headmaster's duties, Hogwarts settled on sending Professors Melvin and Flitwick, led by Dumbledore himself, to help the locals with a building project.
As they left the castle, the Hogwarts delegation cast protective spells against the biting cold. Melvin enveloped himself in a modified Bubble-Head Charm, while Flitwick surrounded himself with a warm breeze, likely a variation of the Scouring Charm. Dumbledore showed no visible magic—his silver beard and hair whipped about in the wind, snowflakes catching in his whiskers, yet he seemed entirely unbothered by the chill.
"Your use of the Bubble-Head Charm is quite clever," Flitwick remarked. "It's got a bit of the Protego Charm's feel to it. Surely it's not just for keeping warm?"
"You're every bit the Charms expert, Professor Flitwick," Melvin replied. "I've hit a snag in refining it. The Bubble-Head Charm is only a mid-level spell, and its structure can't seem to handle the Protego Charm's properties. If I push too much magic into it, the bubble bursts."
"There are two reasons for that," Flitwick explained. "First, the underlying principles of the spells clash. Protego is a rigid, total barrier—it repels all magic. The Bubble-Head Charm is a selective barrier, rejecting some things while allowing others, which requires precise control over your magic. There's no easy fix for that yet."
"I see…"
Dumbledore listened quietly, only chiming in when they hit a roadblock. "You could set Protego aside for now and try incorporating Impervius into the Bubble-Head Charm."
"Of course, the headmaster's experience shines through…" Melvin said, impressed.
The three continued discussing magic as they walked side by side. Suddenly, they spotted a familiar figure at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The figure's cold-weather gear was blunt but effective: bundled in a long moleskin coat, rabbit-fur gloves, and massive beaver-fur boots. He stood by the path, looking taller than a beech tree.
"Hagrid?" Melvin called out.
All three turned to look. The half-giant, braving the chilly wind by the field's edge, followed the sound of Melvin's voice. His gaze first landed on Dumbledore, then shifted to Melvin, his expression surprised as he jogged over.
"Dumbledore, Professors Levent, and Flitwick! You lot headin' out for somethin'?" Hagrid's deep voice carried a warm, earnest tone.
"Madam Rosmerta's expanding the Three Broomsticks today," Dumbledore replied. "I told her we'd lend a hand."
"The Three Broomsticks!" Hagrid's eyes lit up. "Can I come along? I could help carry stuff."
"Let's go, then. Might even score a free lunch," Melvin said with a grin.
"Off we go!" Hagrid boomed.
With the half-giant joining them, the conversation shifted beyond Charms. Hagrid rambled freely, starting with how centaurs celebrated Christmas, then veering to the magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest. That, naturally, led to dragons.
"Speakin' o' dragons, I can't help but think o' Ron's brother Charlie. Arthur an' Molly went to Romania to visit him this year. The rest o' the Weasley kids are stayin' at school, keepin' Harry company. I'd love to chat with Harry myself, but he keeps askin' 'bout the Philosopher's Stone an' Fluffy. An' me, I'm rubbish at keepin' secrets…"
Hagrid sighed, looking glum. "Sir, you really shouldn't have told me about that stuff."
"I trust you'll make the right choice," Dumbledore said, smiling at Hagrid's furrowed brow.
"I don't trust myself…" Hagrid muttered.
Melvin and Flitwick walked quietly beside them, listening to the exchange. Their eyes met briefly, sharing a knowing look. They, too, believed Hagrid would do the right thing.
Hogsmeade's streets were still adorned with Christmas ribbons. Honeydukes was the only shop bustling with mail-order business, owls constantly taking off with parcels. Most stores were closed for the holidays, and the Three Broomsticks had a sign announcing it was under renovation.
"Madam Rosmerta, we're here to help!" Melvin called out.
"Oh, Dumbledore, you actually came! I thought Professor Levent was joking!"
The pub's cheerful owner ushered them inside to sit.
The construction wasn't chaotic. Tables and chairs were neatly stacked, the bar's liquor stowed away, and building materials were piled in the cleared space. They'd already started dismantling the ceiling.
Wizarding construction was far more efficient than Muggle methods. No tedious demolition or building was needed—just prepare the materials, and magic handled the rest. The finer, more detailed tasks were left to house-elves.
Four or five house-elves bustled about the pub, dressed in clean, if simple, cloth wraps. They looked healthy and energetic, working together seamlessly.
Madam Rosmerta invited the Hogwarts group to sit at the bar, serving them steaming mugs of butterbeer. She and Dumbledore began reminiscing about Hogsmeade from years, even decades, past—celebrations after the First Wizarding War, goblin rebellions that once gathered here.
In a corner, a professional was casting an Extension Charm.
After measuring angles and distances, he dragged his wand along the baseboard, and the space seemed to split. What had been a few feet from the wall now held an entirely new expanse, as if conjured from thin air. Counting the floorboards would reveal the same number as before—that was the magic of the Undetectable Extension Charm.
Melvin watched, eyes gleaming with interest.
The craftsman, Wright, didn't turn but caught Melvin's gaze out of the corner of his eye. "This is all above board, you know. Filed the paperwork with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the expanded space is fully registered."
"…"
The Monkstanley family was renowned in the wizarding world for their craftsmanship, having worked on major projects like the Ministry of Magic's headquarters, St. Mungo's expansions, and even Quidditch World Cup venues. Wright's repair shop was just a side gig; Rosmerta hiring him for this job wasn't surprising.
Melvin, hands in his pockets, studied the Extension Charm closely, finding it deeply inspiring.
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