Me? A professor at Hogwarts?
Melvin was stunned.
Muggle Studies," Dumbledore clarified with a gentle nod and a smile.
The position was originally held by Professor Quirinus Quirrell, but he has shifted his focus to Defense Against the Dark Arts and will take over that subject next term. I am in need of a new Muggle Studies professor. I have seen your work, and I have learned of your accomplishments. I believe you are well-suited to the role.
Melvin did not react to the compliment. Remembering an article about him in the Phantom Gazette, his expression turned wry. "I can hardly imagine where I would be suited."
For one, you have excellent marks.
You should know I never finished my studies.
Do not trouble yourself with rigid evaluations, Mr. Lewynter. In my eyes, your record is extraordinary.
Dumbledore's voice grew thoughtful. "Since Miss Seraphina Picquery, you are the only student to have been acknowledged by all four Ilvermorny houses simultaneously. You excelled in your years there, and the professors spoke very highly of you. Headmaster Agilbert Fontana revealed that although you never completed the Wizarding Examinations Authority's Mastery level, you did achieve a full certification at the Ordinary level.
To succeed in Muggle society, to blend magic seamlessly with non-magical skill, and to navigate the boundaries of the Statute of Secrecy with such finesse—that is precisely the kind of example our students need.
Nicolas Flamel said nothing, though his expression betrayed curiosity. Dumbledore, however, looked unbothered, as if he had been studying the Phantom Gazette not an hour earlier, yet now pretended to be perfectly informed.
Headmaster Fontana has a habit of praising all his pupils, Melvin remarked.
He did not outright refuse, nor did he accept. "It is... an honor to receive such an invitation, but it is sudden. I need time to consider it carefully."
Dumbledore did not press him. With characteristic tact, he rose. "Then I shall look forward to enjoying your performance next weekend."
"I will ask Claire to reserve the best seats for you," Melvin replied politely. "May you rest well tonight, gentlemen.
Thank you for the moonstone," Dumbledore said warmly.
...
As they stepped out of the theater, neon lights glimmered in the summer night. A breeze stirred the scent of gasoline and dust, and the streets stretched wide before them.
Two eccentric old men walked unnoticed through the crowd. Passersby seemed to glimpse them, yet instinctively avoided colliding with them.
"Come along," Dumbledore said, sipping from a can of soda with childlike delight. "Vending machines truly are marvelous inventions."
The pair walked slowly, yet with each step their surroundings blurred, and in an instant they had traversed the length of the street.
Nicolas Flamel glanced at his companion. "Hogwarts has never had a foreign professor, Albus. Why invite this young Mr. Lewynter?"
That is a misconception,Dumbledore answered lightly. Hogwarts has had several foreign professors—most from Beauxbatons.
That does not answer my question.
Because Mr. Lewynter and Hogwarts are bound by destiny," Dumbledore said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. He took another sip from the can. "Did you notice his ring?
Flamel paused, silver light flashing across his clear pupils. He searched his memory, recalling the image of the young wizard with a plain black band upon his left hand.
No gem. No fine engraving. Only faint, shallow lines upon a surface of strange, unidentifiable material. With centuries of experience in alchemy, Flamel should have recognized its substance instantly—but he could not.
He narrowed his eyes, focusing. At last he discerned fragments of a pattern he knew well.
....Could that be the emblem of Slytherin?
Dumbledore burped quietly in reply.
...
The Gershwin Theatre lay silent. The actors and crew had departed; only the ticking of a clock echoed in the office beneath the dim glow of a crystal chandelier.
Melvin stood at the window, his thoughts drifting as light and shadow shifted across the room. Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel—one the most powerful wizard alive, the other a legendary alchemist who had witnessed centuries of history—had been unexpectedly kind and candid in their first meeting. Dumbledore invited him not because of his past, but because he understood the Muggle world. He did not pry, did not press, and showed no sign of Legilimency.
At least, none that Melvin could detect.
He turned to the calendar on his desk. Summer, 1991—the moment when the story would begin.
Ilvermorny had always been open-minded, but after the Salem witch trials of the 17th century, the terror of the Scourers, and the New York incident of 1926, the Magical Congress of the United States had grown strict in enforcing the Statute of Secrecy. Having outwitted Aurors and inquisitors in his last trial, Melvin knew he would only face harsher scrutiny in the years to come.
Yet Britain remained the heart of magical culture. The Ministry of Magic was far more influential than MACUSA, and the environment there was fertile ground for sowing and harvesting new ideas.
Click.
At midnight, the gears of the clock ticked more sharply. Melvin reached for the tea set when something caught his eye: a glint beneath one of the cups.
A coin.
He picked it up, feeling its cool weight. Thick. Beautifully struck. It was neither a Muggle coin nor a wizarding Galleon, but an ancient piece minted before the Goblin Rebellion, when the Goblin Kingdom still held dominion. Weighing nearly 1.7 ounces of solid gold, it was worth far more than its face value.
Even the greediest goblin at Gringotts would soften upon seeing it.
The coin spun in the air with a sharp clang, scattering golden light across the room.
A dangerous temptation.
...
One week later.
"I never expected Hogwarts to offer such a generous relocation allowance for a foreign professor."
Melvin lowered the parchment after reading Hogwarts' official offer, a strange feeling stirring within him.
This is only proper," Dumbledore replied, clearly pleased. "Hogwarts is a family—for its staff as well as its students.
..If you say so."
Melvin closed the parchment, the crest of Hogwarts gleaming on its cover. "I have no objection to these terms. They are generous. But there are some personal matters I must confirm beforehand.
Go on, Dumbledore said.
My teaching will not consume all my time. I intend also to study and develop my own pursuits within the school.
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly, but Melvin continued, "It has nothing to do with the Dark Arts. My focus is on theatre, on writing stories for wizards, and on exploring new forms of magical expression."
By all means," Dumbledore said warmly. "Hogwarts has its own ghost theatre, and once even a student stage. I myself performed there in my youth—though the result was disastrous." His eyes twinkled with amusement. "The school will welcome such a revival. Professors and students alike will be delighted to see a theatre club return.
The directness of the headmaster nearly made Melvin accept on the spot, but he restrained himself. I also have some ideas about the course content.
Oh? Dumbledore's eyes gleamed. Do tell.
Descendants of Slytherin: The House of Gaunt
As direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, the Gaunt family was included among the Sacred Twenty-Eight in 1930. To preserve the purity of their bloodline, they practiced generations of inbreeding. Once wealthy, the Gaunts squandered their fortune through extravagance and folly. In time, they became notorious for their instability, violence, and madness.
The shop of Borgin and Burkes once traded in silver heirlooms sold off by the Gaunts, many engraved with variations of the Ouroboros—symbols such as Kundalini and Merkaba—combined with the distinctive [S] of Slytherin.
By 1947, all such relics had disappeared from the shop's shelves. Borgin and Burkes' clerks whispered that they had been seized by Death Eaters.