"Hahaha…"
The old wizard laughed heartily. "Exactly, that's how Seraphina was. When I was writing Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the first few volumes went smoothly. But the North American edition? Seraphina read my draft and banned its publication, citing the protection of native creatures."
"In fact, that manuscript leaked, got printed by bootleggers, and nearly became a textbook at Ilvermorny."
On the dance floor, young witches and wizards came and went in waves. The band's melody shifted from tense and lively to soft and soothing. The conversation between the young professor and the elderly wizard flowed effortlessly, moving from Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest to Mount Greylock's woods, from the Black Lake to mountain springs. They hit it off splendidly.
Melvin gleaned some insights.
Newt Scamander hadn't completed his education either, expelled from Hogwarts for a dangerous experiment involving a Jarvey. Afterward, he embarked on a global quest to save magical creatures, visiting over a hundred countries across five continents, and incidentally helped Dumbledore defeat Grindelwald.
Now retired, he lived with his wife in Dorset, caring for three pet Kneazles, a garden full of gnomes, and a Bowtruckle.
As a gentle waltz ended and the musicians paused to adjust, the open-air venue fell quiet.
Melvin noticed the Bowtruckle peeking from Newt's pocket and hesitated before speaking. "Mr. Scamander, I have a question about a unique Horned Serpent on Mount Greylock."
Newt nodded, encouraging him to go on.
"When I was in my second year, I met it in a mountain stream. At first, it taught me simple spell-casting techniques, and I shared school stories. Over time, we became friends." Melvin recalled, "It was deeply knowledgeable, skilled in magical applications, and could divine with the gem on its forehead."
Newt studied Melvin's calm, dark eyes, pausing before asking cautiously, "Are you a Parselmouth?"
To most wizards, Parseltongue was linked to dark magic, making the question slightly awkward.
Melvin shook his head. "I'm not a Parselmouth, but the Horned Serpent spoke human languages—several of them."
Newt marveled, "It must be ancient."
"Yes, over seven hundred years old. Ilvermorny's records first mention it at the school's founding…"
Melvin pictured the serpent's scaly face, always resting on a rock, gazing distantly, tongue flicking but still chattering—sometimes more talkative than a professor.
How it spoke with that snake mouth was a mystery.
As Melvin shared stories of the Horned Serpent, he felt a wave of nostalgia. For a moment, it was as if the serpent was before him again, coiled on its tree, head lowered, whispering farewell.
Sifting through seven years of memories was disorienting. For a serpent with seven centuries of them, no wonder it seemed so pensive.
"It left me an egg."
Melvin reached into his pocket, pulling out a unique egg to show Newt. "I'm not sure if it laid this itself or took it from its kin. The magic in it is unlike ordinary snake eggs. I don't know how to hatch it. Can you take a look?"
Newt's light brown eyes lit up as he examined the egg.
Slightly larger than a goose egg, its shell was clean gray-white with faint, scale-like patterns, shimmering with dim fluorescence—different from a month ago.
"I've researched extensively. Creatures with such unique magic usually can't hatch naturally and need specific rituals." Melvin shared his theory. "I don't know the ritual and haven't dared to try."
Newt studied both the egg and Melvin.
Years of working with magical creatures gave him an instinct for reading intent. Humans, like animals, betrayed their thoughts through subtle actions—wariness, malice, or indifference.
The young professor was polite, his speech gentle and considerate, a classic Slytherin demeanor. Yet his stories about the Horned Serpent carried an unmistakable sincerity.
"You're right."
Newt handed back the egg. "Hatching unique magical creatures requires rituals tied to weather, stars, climate, and temperature. A reckless attempt could disrupt the magic, producing something bizarre."
"Do you know how, Mr. Scamander?"
"You're lucky—or rather, trusted." Newt tucked the curious Bowtruckle back into his pocket. "The serpent completed most of the ritual. All that's left is for the egg to absorb magic to break the shell."
Melvin's eyes brightened. "How?"
"Ever heard of brood parasitism?" Newt explained. "Some birds lay eggs in another's nest, letting them hatch the young. This egg needs similar parasitism. Find a powerful magical snake to supply it with magic, and it'll hatch when the time's right."
"A powerful magical snake," Melvin repeated, his tone layered.
"Be careful to choose a gentle one. Aggressive snakes might crush the egg. And keep it well-fed—hunger could make it see the egg as food…" Newt added more precautions.
In his youth, he'd have taken the egg to hatch himself, but its significance was clear, and Newt respected the serpent's choice.
Spotting a friend waving him over near Madam Bones, Newt nodded to Melvin. "Professor Lewent, write to me if you need help. Ask Rolf for my address—tell him I said so."
"Thank you, Mr. Scamander."
"…"
Melvin looked at the gray-white egg, his thoughts drifting back to Hogwarts.
He'd planned to play pen pal with Riddle for a few more weeks, perfecting his magical creature assistant persona, waiting for the right moment to open the Chamber of Secrets, using the Basilisk to unveil Slytherin's training plan, then tricking Riddle into helping hatch the egg.
Now, Newt's advice simplified things.
The pen pal game would continue, but he could drop the act. The Chamber issue didn't need to wait either.
---
The dance floor's melody resumed.
After four dances with the Edgecombe niece, Lockhart finally had a chance to bring up introducing his colleague to Madam Edgecombe.
He adjusted his blue dress robes, flashing his impeccable smile. Despite flirtatious glances from witches inviting him to dance, he shook his head firmly. As fun as the ball was, this was his main reason for attending.
"Madam Edgecombe, it's been a while! You look as stunning as ever!"
At the dance floor's edge, Lockhart picked up two glasses of champagne, keeping one and offering the other to her. "At my last book signing, I heard from some Ministry staff that the Department of Magical Transportation is dull. Is that true?"
Madam Edgecombe sipped her champagne, giving him a sidelong glance without responding.
Lockhart might charm young witches and housewives, but to a department head like her, he was just a showy writer.
If his book adventures were real, she might respect him more.
But Lockhart couldn't prove it—at least not yet.
Unfazed by her coolness, he kept his signature smile. "As the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, I've bonded with my colleagues. They admire my legendary tales, and I respect their talents.
"Take Professor Lewent of Muggle Studies, for instance. You've probably heard—he founded the Mirror Club. Those enchanted mirrors sweeping the wizarding world? His creation. Quite innovative, don't you think?"
"…"
Madam Edgecombe frowned slightly.
Lockhart noticed she didn't interrupt or walk away, so his smile widened. "Professor Lewent wants to adapt my books into films. I think it's redundant—repeating my adventures—but he says readers need a vivid experience to learn useful skills and help more wizards."
He sighed theatrically, swirling his glass. "Ha! To help others, how could I say no?"
Her frown deepened. "If this is all nonsense, you can stop."
"I tend to over-explain—writer's habit, I suppose."
Seeing her set down her glass to leave, Lockhart raised his voice, speeding up. "Professor Lewent wants to partner with you to use the Floo Network to bring films into wizarding homes."
She glanced at him, chuckling lightly. "So you can speak normally?"
---
Under the canopy of Nott Manor's buffet area, hundreds of candles floated, swaying gently, casting flickering shadows. Occasionally, an insect flew into the wax, sparking as it fell.
Lockhart, the go-between, introduced them with his trademark grin, teeth gleaming in the dark. "Madam Edgecombe, this is Professor Lewent."
"Melvin, this is Madam Edgecombe from the Department of Magical Transportation."
"Pleased to meet you."
Melvin, in black-and-white dress robes, shook her hand while sizing up the mid-level Ministry official with real authority.
Around thirty-five, her dark brown hair was impeccably neat despite the late hour. Her mauve lipstick hadn't faded, and her well-maintained face hinted at her younger years, though fine lines marked her eyes and mouth from years of sternness.
Her dark gray dress robes, perfectly tailored with quality fabric, paired with pearl necklace and earrings, fit Melvin's image of a pure-blood.
In rank, she was below Umbridge and couldn't influence major policies, but the Floo Network overhaul was complex. Partnering with her would smooth the process.
Madam Edgecombe returned a polite smile, devoid of warmth, her eyes assessing and unmasked.
"You want to collaborate?" she asked softly. "Why?"
Melvin was frank. "The upcoming home enchanted mirrors need to integrate with the Floo Network. I need a real manager of the network, not a Minister obsessed with power and wealth, or an Auror chief or law enforcement head paranoid about conspiracies in the mirrors."
She frowned, unconvinced. "From what I hear, Professor Lewent, though new here, has already outmaneuvered Minister Fudge and his lapdog Umbridge twice in two years. With Madam Bones' support and Dumbledore's backing, even if Fudge stacks the Wizengamot, you could push through with force."
The trial wasn't hushed up. Ministry insiders knew the truth. Sharp wizards saw Bones and Crouch as neutrals, veteran wizards backed Melvin, and Fudge and Umbridge were powerless against the mirrors.
Melvin paused. "I want a win-win partnership to quickly build the mirror-Floo framework, not waste energy on pointless disputes."
"What's in it for me?" she asked bluntly.
"Fame, wealth…"
Seeing no spark in her eyes, Melvin paused, testing, "Marietta's growth?"
At her daughter's name, Madam Edgecombe fell silent, staring at him for an explanation.
The dim candlelight flickered. Despite protective charms, a moth still flew into a candle, splashing burning wax. A beetle landed clumsily on her shoulder.
Melvin's dark, calm eyes carried a professor's confidence, reflecting the wavering light. "Marietta's in her third year, taking my Muggle Studies class. We haven't interacted much, but it's clear her upbringing has issues. Her talent and personality are suppressed and distorted."
Her eyes sharpened, her polite smile vanishing.
"In my first class, everyone introduced themselves and their reasons for taking the course. Most found it interesting; Marietta joined because of her roommate. During Ravenclaw's Quidditch tryouts, most students, talented or not, gave it a shot. Marietta didn't know what she wanted, hesitated until the deadline, and only signed up after her roommate's urging…"
Melvin glanced at the beetle on her shoulder, smiling. "I'm sure you've noticed similar patterns, as a parent."
"Everyone's different. Why blame her upbringing?" Her tone stayed cold, but her stance softened.
"Because of parents like you," Melvin said. "You bring your work mindset home, treating your child like a subordinate. Bluntly, your controlling nature and lack of warmth shaped her—indecisive, hesitant, timid, swayed by others' advice."
Her face hardened. "What do you want?"
"I'm not bargaining with a student's well-being." Melvin stepped back, shaking his head. "This is just a professor's advice to a parent. I hope you'll listen. For the Mirror Club, I can promise substantial profits and support for your promotions—nothing more."
Madam Edgecombe froze, her tense expression gradually easing.