"Mary's in your hands, Professor Lewent. We always thought it was just her personality, but to think…" Madam Edgecombe's expression was complex. As a high-ranking official in the Department of Magical Transportation, she often brought work home, inadvertently stifling her daughter's nature and molding her into a compliant subordinate. Her emotions were hard to articulate.
In that moment, when Melvin revealed the truth, she'd even considered resigning to take Mary home and care for her properly.
Beside her, Lockhart was still dazed, struggling to follow. They'd been discussing business, then suddenly shifted to student issues, and without clarity on that, the deal seemed sealed.
He opened his mouth to ask something but held back.
"As I said, it's what a professor should do," Melvin said with a kind smile. "School isn't just for teaching facts."
His words rang true, like those of a dedicated educator.
But Madam Edgecombe knew better. With hundreds of students, why would a foreign elective professor, not even a Head of House, go out of his way for a child with no ties or benefits?
"I'll ensure the Department of Transportation does its part," she said, her tone measured.
Melvin nodded, understanding they'd reached an agreement. Checking the gala's progress, he said, "It's about time. We should head back."
"I'll see you out," Madam Edgecombe offered.
The three walked slowly out of the manor. The gala was winding down, the band playing a soft, lingering melody. Only a few couples remained on the dance floor, and some guests had already left.
Outside on a suburban lane, the professors drew their wands for Apparition. Melvin stretched his arms, as if loosening stiff muscles, his gaze casually brushing Madam Edgecombe's shoulder.
She didn't notice anything unusual, assuming it was a foreign wizard's habit. "The Mirror Club project—Transportation can guarantee full support for construction, but the specific cooperation plan needs Ministry approval. I'll compile the details and send them to you later."
Melvin nodded, agreeing.
"You're an exceptional professor, quick to spot issues in students," she added, glancing at Lockhart before settling on Melvin. "But a word of caution: sharp observation should extend to others. Some wizards aren't what they seem. Keep your distance."
Lockhart, the great author, exposed already? Melvin was mildly surprised but thanked her calmly. "I appreciate the advice. I'll be careful."
With two cracks—one strong, one weak—the professors vanished into the night.
Reappearing hundreds of miles away outside Hogwarts, Melvin swayed slightly, his shoes sinking into the soft Scottish Highland soil.
Lockhart's Apparition was rougher, his face pale, smile stiff, looking queasy from crossing counties. After a short walk through the school gates, he recovered, straightening up and flashing a less-than-perfect smile. "Negotiations went smoother than expected, eh, Melvin? My efforts weren't wasted. I did a lot to convince her to meet you…"
"Thank you, Professor Lockhart," Melvin said, his mood bright. "If all goes well, by this time next year, the Mirror Club's films will be streaming into wizarding homes across England via the Floo Network."
"The whole of England! Exciting, isn't it? Every British wizard will see my smile, learn how to handle dark creatures!" Lockhart's eyes gleamed as he muttered, slowing his pace, lost in visions of renewed fame.
Snapping out of it, he noticed Melvin far ahead. Recalling the gala, Lockhart reflected: despite his bestselling books, Merlin Medal, and popularity with young girls and housewives, to powerful wizards like Edgecombe, he was insignificant, barely worth a glance.
Melvin, with his Mirror Club and unawarded Merlin Medal, wasn't a major figure either, yet he'd turned Edgecombe's initial dismissal into respect with a few words, securing a deal effortlessly. Power and wealth were mere tools to him.
Lockhart, meanwhile, struggled with writer's block, fading fame, stalled Zouwu-egg shampoo ventures, dwindling savings, and classroom setbacks.
His flawless smile faded, replaced by envy. Hurrying to catch up, he noticed something in Melvin's hand. "What's that glass vial, Melvin?"
"This?" Melvin grinned. "Just a little beetle I caught. Might be a rare species. I'll study it later."
…
Midnight
A full moon hung outside the window.
A cylindrical glass vial, originally for honey, sat upside-down on the desk, now a makeshift prison for a self-snared beetle.
Its iridescent blue wing-cases trembled, revealing thin wings beneath. As if sensing Melvin's gaze, its antennae swayed slowly, ringed patterns resembling glasses on its face. Spotted wings and a distinct form set it apart from common beetles.
Slightly larger than typical beetles, plump but smaller than a thumbnail, it could easily hide in hair, collar folds, curtain seams, or bushes.
Had it not stayed motionless on Edgecombe's shoulder, Melvin might not have noticed.
"Rita Skeeter," he said softly, smiling.
The beetle jolted at the name, convulsing and buzzing frantically, crashing against the glass with sharp clinks.
But the honey jar was too sturdy for a beetle. Its powerful wingbeats left no mark.
Sensing its disguise was broken, magical energy flared as a witch's shadowy form appeared, attempting to transform back.
Melvin sat still, watching the Animagus performance.
The shadow dissipated instantly. As the beetle's form expanded, it hit the unyielding glass, as if its true body were squeezed into a tiny space. Bones and muscles compressed, wracked by sharp, fleeting pain. The beetle's wings curled, trembling.
After a long pause, it retreated to a corner, antennae quivering as if confronting Melvin.
"Sorry, forgot to mention—the vial's charmed with a Sticking Spell," Melvin said sincerely, his eyes appraising it like a curious object. "Rita Skeeter, ace reporter, freelance contributor to the Daily Prophet and other publishers. Not as famous as Lockhart, but quite well-known."
The plump beetle shivered.
"I admire you," Melvin said slowly. "Self-teaching Animagus transformation as a young witch proves your brilliance—a stellar Ravenclaw graduate. You quickly mastered journalism, adept at tapping into readers' darker curiosities. You know what they crave."
The beetle froze. To her, Professor Lewent loomed like a monstrous beast, and his words were terrifying.
How did he know her identity? When? Who else knew?
Skeeter was used to digging up others' secrets for the papers. Now, her own secret was exposed, her life at his mercy, trapped in a glass vial awaiting judgment.
"Upright heroes with corrupt hearts, glamorous figures hiding filth, idols who are secretly despicable…" Melvin, clearly familiar with her work, continued, "You know the hooks. You target the wizarding world's biggest names—the more famous, the better. Yet you're restrained, never slandering powerful or living wizards, only reporting after their deaths."
He listed her biographies—Dippet, Minister Harold Minch, even You-Know-Who—smiling kindly. "Your reports don't outright reveal truths but weave real events into false speculations, embedding truth in lies."
"If readers knew ace reporter Skeeter was an unregistered Animagus, they'd trust your 'truths' even more, wouldn't they?"
The beetle couldn't fathom the consequences. Exposure would mean curses from behind, even if she hid in St. Mungo's or Azkaban—she'd fall ill or die mysteriously.
Her six legs trembled, tapping weakly against the glass.
Tap…
Melvin flicked the vial lightly. The faint vibration caused the beetle to writhe in agony, curling up, wings and legs twitching.
When the shaking stopped, it collapsed on the desk.
"You're a brilliant Ravenclaw graduate. You know why I'm saying this. Think it over," Melvin said, moving the vial to a corner and ignoring it.
A robust media system needs a reliable mouthpiece, and Skeeter was perfect—her articles spread quickly, ideal for broadcasting information.
But a useful tool must be tamed. Holding leverage wasn't enough; he needed stronger control.
Melvin opened the diary, dipped his quill, and wrote:
"My dear Tom, remember our talk about Death Eaters and dark magic? The Dark Mark?"
"Why bring it up now?"
The diary replied quickly, clearly intrigued. Ink flowed: "From what you've shared, it's a profound, convenient dark magic, involving soul imprints and enslavement curses…"
Melvin read with interest, marveling at Riddle's generosity—a living dark magic encyclopedia.
The Dark Mark, Voldemort's brand on his Death Eaters, featured a skull with a serpent. Normally vivid red, it darkened when activated.
Nearly impossible to remove, even after Voldemort's death, it lingered as a scar.
Voldemort could use it to share locations, summon Death Eaters, or answer their calls, enabling tracking and precise Apparition.
Melvin had studied similar curses. Early in Knockturn Alley, he'd marked a few robbers with ouroboros tattoos, but they were mere intimidation, far less effective.
The map business was a loose, impromptu venture, but an ace reporter like Skeeter—sharp and adept at deception—couldn't be allowed to slip away.
"The Dark Mark is complex, but with your talent, you'll master it quickly," the diary wrote, pausing. "Want to learn, Melvin?"
Direct teaching? No hesitation?
Melvin raised an eyebrow, writing slowly: "Sure, teach me."
"First, the imprint—it's not just on the flesh but the soul, involving aspects of the Cruciatus Curse…"
…
Midnight
Buzz… buzz…
A moth in the glass vial flapped wildly. A greenish curse struck, and it lost balance, collapsing on the desk, wings trembling as life faded.
A tiny Dark Mark appeared on its abdomen, already fading.
This spell, tailored by Voldemort, rivaled Fiendfyre in complexity. Riddle held nothing back, explaining the core principles clearly with illustrated casting motions.
With prior knowledge, Melvin practiced for less than half an hour before testing it on a living creature. The results were underwhelming.
Frowning at the fading skull-and-serpent on the moth, he tipped it into the trash.
The diary seemed to sense his experiment: "Insects lack souls, and animal souls are too weak to hold the Mark. You need a wizard to test it."
"…"
Melvin's gaze lowered.
Riddle was thorough, but his eagerness was too obvious.
Marking a wizard would let Melvin gauge Voldemort's main soul's status via the Mark and recruit new Death Eaters.
Without modifying the spell's core principles, Melvin wouldn't test it on a wizard. He aimed to dissect it, design his own mark, and build his own network.