Nine o'clock in the morning
Muggle Studies classroom, sixth-year advanced class.
The students seated were those who'd passed their OWLs with solid grades. Barring any major mishaps, they'd likely earn their subject certificates in two years.
Melvin had reviewed data from the Wizarding Examinations Authority's past few years. He estimated that the number of certificate-earners would triple. Britain's Ministry and local businesses couldn't absorb that many skilled wizards, so these students would likely head abroad, leveraging their credentials to outcompete graduates from other magical schools.
The issue was too complex to untangle quickly.
"The household appliances chapter is foundational.
"But more crucial are communication and language.
"Last year, before the exams, we discussed analyzing problems with Muggle thinking, familiarizing yourselves with their language, and setting aside magical paradigms. Think like you did before you learned magic."
This was a review session for the OWLs.
The exam papers were collected and graded by the Authority, not returned to students. Professors, however, kept copies to distribute, and reviewing them after the summer break served as a refresher to ease students back into the term.
Thanks to Melvin's intensive teaching and relentless practice tests, this group's scores were impressive. Most mistakes were careless errors, so there wasn't much to dissect. The review wrapped up in under half an hour.
Melvin felt unsatisfied, eyeing the students' cheerful, giggling faces. The session hadn't quite shifted them into study mode.
Pausing to think, he folded the Muggle Studies papers, scanning the class as his mind wandered.
With the review done and the new term's lessons unprepared, he was out of material.
He couldn't dismiss class an hour and a half early—McGonagall would lose it.
In the front row, Percy Weasley saw the professor pack up and neatly folded his own paper, sliding it into a parchment folder. As a disciplined academic, his notes and materials were meticulously organized, this folder dedicated solely to OWL papers.
Spotting the "O.W.L.s" label, Melvin's eyes lit up. "Ahem… We're done with Muggle Studies. Since we've got time, let's go over the Transfiguration paper."
"??"
The class looked up, baffled.
Melvin nodded slightly at Percy, signaling his intent to the model student.
Percy's brain lagged, but his body reacted on autopilot, digging out his Transfiguration paper and handing it over.
"You and Penelope can share a copy," Melvin said, taking the paper and flipping through it casually. He tapped the desk. "Alright, let's look at the first Transfiguration question. Which of these violates Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration? A: Water into wine. B: Branch into quill. C: One table into two deer. D: Conjuring a flock of birds from nothing.
"This tests the five exceptions to Gamp's Law. Some of you saw 'wine' in option A, thought of food, recalled the first exception—that Transfiguration can't create food—and picked it without thinking.
"But is it from nothing? No, it's from water. So rule out A… The correct answer is C."
The sixth-years felt a bit awkward, but Professor Levent's classes were always engaging. After a few multiple-choice questions, they settled in.
Listening closely, they realized Levent's Transfiguration lecture was solid—different from McGonagall's style, but fresh and intriguing.
---
As it happened, the next period for sixth-years was Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall, her black-framed glasses perched on her nose, entered the classroom. She took attendance as per protocol, outlined sixth-year expectations, and embodied her deputy headmistress role.
"Don't think passing your OWLs means you can slack off. Sixth year is critical. Two years from now, you'll face your NEWTs. Stay sharp."
Pushing up her glasses, she unfurled a paper. "Now, let's review last term's exam."
"…"
The students exchanged glances.
Ever the professor's trusty aide, Percy raised his hand, his tone conflicted. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Levent already covered the Transfiguration paper."
"??"
McGonagall's face was a sea of question marks.
---
Unaware of this, Melvin stood at the podium of the third-year Muggle Studies advanced classroom, surveying the newly expanded room—nearly three times its original size.
The new third-years sat in their seats, glancing around with eager smiles. Students from all four Houses in one class was a first, brimming with novelty.
"Memorize your seats! Anyone want to switch? Speak up now!"
"…"
"Once it's set, no changes. Alright, starting from the left, introduce yourselves."
"…"
The room erupted in excited chatter.
Everyone had heard about last year's Muggle Studies introduction game. They focused intently, determined to match names to unfamiliar faces.
A cute girl with a black ponytail stood, her voice soft. "I'm Cho Chang, Ravenclaw. I chose Muggle Studies because I heard it's really fun…"
As she sat, the room clapped. A rare East Asian face, Cho was gentle and helpful, popular among her peers.
A blonde girl stood next, her demeanor haughty. "Marietta Edgecombe, Ravenclaw, Cho's roommate…"
The response was lukewarm, almost chilly. Marietta huffed, unimpressed.
The introductions gained momentum. Some were brief and cool, others lively and detailed to make an impression.
It felt like a rerun of the Sorting Ceremony. Two years ago, as nervous first-years, they barely noticed each other. Now, shouting their names to their peers felt novel and subtle.
After two years of shared classes, the third-years knew each other's faces and personalities, if not always their names. Matching them was the challenge.
Instant recall was a strange thing, and the quizzed students felt it keenly.
They'd heard a classmate's introduction minutes ago, mentally repeated it, pictured their House, hobbies, even roommates—but their name? It was on the tip of the tongue, yet elusive.
And the mischievous Professor Levent deliberately quizzed those with short introductions or unremarkable features.
Students scratched their heads, groaning and shouting, until the class's jeers forced them to perform a talent on stage.
---
When the bell rang, the students were still buzzing from the game. Melvin bolted out faster than they did.
Then he ran into Lockhart.
"Professor Lockhart, your hair's so silky it's enviable."
"Is it? All thanks to Snorlax Egg Shampoo. Want a few… er, a bottle?"
The new professor, in a blue wizarding robe, flashed a dazzling white smile. Clutching a stack of self-made quizzes, he followed Melvin downstairs, asking warmly, "Never mind that. Professor Levent, remember our talk last night?"
"Have you decided, Professor Lockhart? Ready to share those magical secrets?"
Melvin glanced at the quizzes, all about Lockhart—his preferences, dreams, greatest achievements, like a fan club entrance exam.
The top sheet was a perfect score, signed by Miss Granger.
"…"
Melvin's teeth ached.
"I'd love to share my tips for defeating dark creatures, to keep more people safe. That's what I do," Lockhart said, then pivoted. "But adventures aren't like daily life. Some things aren't suitable to show, and some gory bits aren't kid-friendly. I might need to 'edit' them a bit."
Before Melvin could respond, Lockhart pressed on. "It's a big job, so I won't trouble you, Professor Levent. I'll handle it and pass it to you. Sound good?"
Melvin studied his expression, smiling knowingly. "Of course."
"The mirror and Gilderoy Lockhart's name will be celebrated by wizards worldwide," Lockhart declared confidently.
"Speaking of which…"
Melvin paused. This author, though a thief, hadn't been exposed yet. He was famous in the wizarding world, well-connected.
No sense wasting that. Feigning reluctance, Melvin said, "The mirror project could use your help, Professor Lockhart."
"Name it."
"Do you know anyone in the Department of Magical Transportation?" Melvin explained. "The Mirror Club's working on small mirrors linked by the Floo Network, so people can watch from home instead of pubs."
"So everyone can see it easily!?"
Lockhart's face lit up, his smile radiant.
"Ideally, yes. But some Ministry officials—you know, a few—oppose the mirror. There was even a lawsuit." Melvin's expression mimicked a persecuted merchant. "Umbridge, and… Minister Fudge."
"…"
Lockhart faltered. He had connections but couldn't challenge the Minister, nor did he want to cross a powerful official.
Melvin offered an out. "The Ministry isn't one person's private firm. We don't need to sway narrow-minded types. Just a connection to the Transportation Department would help a lot."
"You mean…"
"There's a third-year, Marietta Edgecombe."
"Madam Edgecombe from the Transportation Department!"
Lockhart caught on instantly, eagerly taking the task. "Leave it to me. We've met at many events. Last Easter, at the Parkinsons' ball, we even danced a waltz."
"Professor Lockhart, your network is impressive."
Melvin realized this colleague was genuinely helpful. A little flattery, and he'd pour his heart into any task.
In some ways, he was like Senior Riddle.
---
That evening, back in his quarters.
Melvin pulled the worn diary from his cabinet. Sensing the movement, the pages shimmered with Senior Riddle's warm greeting, asking if he'd had any trouble with students or colleagues.
In high spirits, Melvin dipped his quill in ink and wrote smoothly:
"Everything's going great, no trouble at all. The students are easy to get along with, and my colleagues are friendly—especially the new Professor Lockhart, who's enthusiastic and helpful…"
He glossed over his deal with Lockhart, framing it not as a collaboration on mirror adventures but as a venture with Snorlax eggs and shampoo.
"It's a lucrative business, but Snorlaxes are protected. I don't think I should… Lockhart says with Ministry approval, it's legit. He's planning to approach the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
If I had more Galleons, I could help more Snorlaxes thrive, but it'd mean sacrificing some… I'm torn, Tom, my friend. Tell me what's right."
"…"
The diary went silent for a long moment. This Hufflepuff clearly had selfish motives, wavering between conscience and greed, justifying his desires.
A soul teetering on the edge of temptation—perfect for Senior Riddle's taste. The diary eagerly responded:
"Melvin, my dear friend, I won't meddle with your choices, only offer perspective.
As you say, this Lockhart fellow chases fame and profit. His friendliness is a facade; he's a businessman at heart. He's cozying up to you for help with Snorlaxes. Unchecked, such partnerships end in nothing. Bind his interests to yours—make him work for you, or rather, with you…"
Melvin nodded repeatedly.
Senior Riddle saw through Lockhart's nature with just a few words, offering practical advice.
Negotiating with Madam Edgecombe about the mirror couldn't rely solely on Lockhart. He'd be best as a go-between.
Lockhart was keen on making adventure films, but results would take time. Meanwhile, his skill with Memory Charms made him perfect for editing raw footage, like the half-finished Magical Creatures project.
Pen-palling with Senior Riddle was endlessly rewarding.
They chatted until ten at night. After wrapping up the Lockhart topic, the diary paused, then ink swirled into a new line:
"By the way, how's that Harry Potter you mentioned?"