New York, Broadway.
Gershwin Theatre.
Faust, Final Act.
The sounds of violins, cellos, clarinets, French horns, and pianos wove together, flowing out in a harmonious stream.
"Virgin! Mother! Goddess! Queen!"
"Grant us your eternal mercy."
As dazzling holy light poured down from the domed ceiling, a radiant silver glow shimmered like liquid, sparkling and crystalline, scattering the dry ice mist in all directions. From the hushed audience in the theatre, restrained but audible gasps rippled through the crowd.
Security guards patrolling the wings of the stage slowed their steps, catching glimpses of the cascading light out of the corner of their eyes.
Even though they'd seen this spectacle several times before, they couldn't help but pause in awe.
Below, the well-dressed audience gazed upward, utterly captivated. As the golden, brightly lit rotunda gradually dimmed, their faces—now half-hidden in shadow—still carried traces of wonder.
But in the back row, two elderly men stood out. Their expressions were calm, though their eyes sparkled with keen interest, as if they found the scene deeply amusing.
The man on the left was hard to make out, his face obscured by a thick, snowy-white beard. All that was clear were his crescent-shaped glasses and the strikingly clear blue eyes behind them, sharp and unclouded.
"Moonstone, fluxweed… what an astonishing stage design," the white-bearded man murmured, a smile in his voice. "Thanks to him, the audience—myself included—will likely have sweet dreams tonight."
His companion nodded slightly, his voice hoarse and faint. "Moonstone, born in June, symbolizes health, longevity, and wealth. Its soft glow soothes restless minds, lulling them into peaceful slumber."
Judging by his weathered skin and wrinkles, this man seemed even older. He had no beard, and his hair—shorter and a silvery-white hue—carried an air of unspoken mystery.
The white-bearded man pondered for a moment. "A question unrelated to the opera, Nicolas. This… stage effects designer. How did he get past the American Magical Congress's approval?"
"You can't even wait for the curtain to fall, Albus," the man named Nicolas replied, a touch of irritation in his tone. Fortunately, the performance's climax had passed, and the question touched on an intriguing story, so he didn't mind too much. "The truth is, he didn't submit anything to the Magical Congress for approval."
"Oh?"
Albus Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "The Aurors at Woolworth Building wouldn't let him openly flout the Statute of Secrecy."
"Arrogant Albus," Nicolas teased, "why assume he's broken the Statute?"
"Those flowing beams of moonlight…"
"If any Auror or inspector tried to bring a case against him, they'd find out in court that all these stage effects were created using Muggle technology. His Muggle assistant can replicate them perfectly."
A clear smile spread across Nicolas Flamel's face. "This isn't the first time it's happened in the last two months. Just last week, The New York Ghost ran a front-page feature on him."
"I remember now," Dumbledore said, his fingers brushing the armrest of his seat as he gazed at the stage, his deep eyes seeming to pierce through the curtain to the backstage beyond. "The Ilvermorny dropout who outwitted the Congressional Tribunal with procedural justice—Melvin Lewent."
"All that gathers and scatters is but a fleeting dream;
All that's intangible has become reality here…"
As the final notes of the chant faded, the actors lined up on stage. Some backstage crew stepped forward, joining them to bow and acknowledge the thunderous applause from the audience.
Behind the lead performers, the two responsible for the stage effects stood together, speaking in low tones.
"Melvin, your name's echoing all over Broadway," said a young woman with blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, dressed in a navy blazer. "I heard Hollywood's already offering big money to hire you for films. Your name's about to go global."
Beside her stood a tall, handsome man, hands resting naturally at his sides. On the ring finger of his left hand was a dark gray ring. His black hair framed deep, dark eyes that reflected an odd, faint glimmer as he smiled warmly.
"Thanks for the sentiment," Melvin replied absently, scanning the audience below. The opera had ended, and the auditorium lights were back on. Over a thousand spectators sat in neat rows, looking like identical fabric dolls from this distance, indistinguishable from one another.
"I'm heading to the restroom, Claire. Meet me in the office after the curtain call."
"Sure thing, boss," she quipped. "Hope your trip to the loo goes smoothly."
"…"
Melvin shot her a flat look before turning away.
At the backstage sink, the clamor of the theatre faded into a distant hum. A mix of disinfectant and ammonia stung his nose, and Melvin wrinkled it in distaste.
Scourgify.
In the quiet, empty restroom, a sudden gust of wind howled—like the kind you'd hear in open fields or mountain valleys. An invisible whirlwind swept through the room, gathering the unpleasant odors and whisking them away.
Melvin waved his hand, and the formless gust coalesced before him into a small black orb, looking oddly like a hazelnut chocolate.
"Stink pellet…"
Melvin chuckled softly, his mood lifting.
Wandless casting of the Cleaning Charm had come a long way since his clumsy days fresh out of school. His Transfiguration skills were sharper, his silent casting faster. Over the past six months, his magical power had grown enough to spark a qualitative leap. At his current level, he could probably take on most senior Aurors from the Magical Congress head-on.
The audience's emotions tonight had been particularly… delicious. And there were a few extraordinary presences among them.
Pocketing the pellet, Melvin glanced at the mirror.
The reflection showed a reversed version of the room—and a reversed figure. Deep in that figure's dark eyes, a faint, crystalline glimmer lingered, a sign of growing magical power visible only to a rare few creatures.
Yes, this world was full of wondrous magic, and those who wielded it were called wizards.
Melvin Lewent happened to be one such wizard. His place of learning had been Ilvermorny, the only magical school in America, perched atop Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. A castle steeped in history and legend, it was now one of the world's most renowned magical institutions.
Unfortunately, Melvin hadn't finished his studies.
The American wizarding government, known as the Magical Congress, had outdated education laws—last revised fifty years ago. There was no equivalent to compulsory education, and Ilvermorny's professors were lenient enough. Plus, Melvin didn't have any troublesome relatives to deal with.
Six months ago, at the end of 1990, after spending his seventh Christmas at Ilvermorny, Melvin—on the cusp of graduation—took a leave of absence. He became a stage designer at Broadway's Gershwin Theatre and quickly rose to fame.
His rewards included a hefty salary—and a rapid surge in magical power.
Melvin closed his eyes, savoring the flow of magic within him. Memories of his time at Ilvermorny surfaced as he turned on the tap, letting cold water run over his hands.
According to school records, Ilvermorny was founded in the 17th century, starting as a single stone cottage. Its founder, Isolt Sayre, wasn't a celebrated witch in the magical world. Her No-Maj husband, James Steward, was even less notable. The school's one true strength was its inclusive ethos, which allowed it to seize the opportunities of the immigration waves over the centuries, drawing wizarding students from around the globe. This helped it grow into one of the most prestigious magical schools, thanks in part to the influence of another legendary institution's founder—Salazar Slytherin.
As a distant descendant of Slytherin, Isolt Sayre shared an unclear connection with the legendary wizard. Rumors claimed she stole his treasures: countless gold and gems, a mysterious snakewood wand, and ancient magical research notes.
The treasures might be hidden in the school's underground vaults. The snakewood wand was said to have transformed into a snake tree rooted on Greylock's cliffs. As for the research notes, they might be tucked away in Ilvermorny's restricted library section.
None of that mattered to Melvin. His gift had come from an unusual source—a Horned Serpent.
From Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: A Unique North American Journey
Horned Serpent: A magical snake species with horns on its head, found in various varieties worldwide. Large numbers were once documented in the Far East, but their primary habitat is now the Americas.
Legend has it that a unique Horned Serpent was sighted in Massachusetts, with a gem on its forehead granting invisibility and flight, and possibly even prophetic magic.