The wax seal was stamped with the Coiled Snake Emblem.
"Malfoy Manor – Wiltshire, to Lucius Malfoy personally."
He opened the envelope, unfolded the green-silver illustrated parchment, and the contents of the letter came into view.
Dear Father and (the word "Mother" was crossed out):
I hope you are well when this letter arrives. I am writing with a peacock feather quill I brought from home. It makes writing more decent than the lower-quality quills provided by Hogwarts, stained with troll saliva.
The Sorting Ceremony was exactly as I expected. The Sorting Hat, in tatters, brushed the tip of my hair and shouted "Slytherin" as if it had burned. The loud applause from Prefect Flint nearly overturned the long table. The pure-blood etiquette you taught is like a fish in water...
As for the question about Potter, I must explain. This person, promoted as the savior of the world, "The son of the Lord has no basic manners." He even refused my friendship on the train, preferring to spend time with the red weasel Weasley instead of accepting the kindness of the Malfoys...
Crabbe and Goyle acted appropriately, though their brains seemed entirely consumed by treacle tarts. They were competent lackeys, at least keeping away those who stared at me. And then there were those pure-blood traitors like Longbottom who put toads in their pockets...
The first half of the letter was neatly written, the narrative flowed smoothly. It was clear that Draco had thought carefully about writing the letter in advance; the Malfoys were very cultured in this regard. But the second half of the parchment was scribbled, the notes left by the peacock quill intermingled, as if the writer had written in haste and panic, and the grammar was erratic.
"I have an urgent matter to report: the newly appointed Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, Melvin Lewyn, has observed Professor Snape's behavior and, using a method known as Muggle psychology, has deduced that Professor Snape was in love with my mother. This conclusion can be drawn from the ingredients of the Potion of Living Hell and my mother's name. The evidence
is detailed and convincing..." A blot of ink followed, with drops of purple ink at the edge of the parchment.
The signature was neat, apparently pre-written:
May Merlin bless the Malfoy family with eternal glory.
Your loyal son,
Draco Malfoy, studied the letter attentively, fingers tense, veins bulging, and a stiff expression masking his anger.
What does he mean by detailed and convincing?
It was clearly Lewyn's unfounded speculation, intended solely to test Potter's basic Potions skills. His so-called Muggle psychology was simply ridiculous Muggle knowledge!
When had he ever been in love with Narcissa?
Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy were six years older than him. When he enrolled, they were nearly graduating; their interactions were only due to Death Eater matters.
"..."
Fortunately, he reached the Slytherin common room in time to intercept the letter. Otherwise, Severus Snape's reputation, formerly a key Death Eater and now a Potions Master, would have suffered irreparable damage.
With ease, he unleashed a Demonic Fire, burning the letter.
The reddish flames reflected on his expressionless face, giving him a chilling appearance.
Snape planned to look for an opportunity to talk to Professor Levant.
...
Late at night.
In the Observation Tower.
A platinum-haired figure silently ascended the terrace, periodically glancing back to ensure no one was following or had noticed his covert actions. He wore a turquoise robe and slippers, clearly hurried and ill-prepared.
Draco extended his wand and waved it toward the Owlery, emitting a faint beam of magic.
After a brief wait, the flapping of an owl was heard.
A robust tawny owl silently approached and landed on the railing. Its sleek figure had dark, black eyes, and when looking at people, it seemed to radiate humanity.
It was a tawny owl domesticated by the Malfoy family.
Draco handed the owl the envelope he had prepared and watched it flutter away. He finally relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.
The family motto, passed down through generations:
What is revealed is deception; true action is always in the dark. Malfoy will never be discovered.
...
Hogsmeade.
According to public information about the Chocolate Frog image, Hogsmeade was founded a thousand years ago by the medieval wizard Hengis of Woodcroft, shortly after the four legendary wizards founded Hogwarts.
It is somewhat like the idea of taking refuge under a giant tree for shade.
It is one of the few villages completely populated by wizards. Its center is a commercial street, surrounded by residential houses of various sizes. Not bustling, but tranquil.
The Three Broomsticks was the busiest tavern on the street, full of customers on weekends, making it a thriving business.
The tavern owner, Madam Rosmerta, was an elegant woman with a striking face, even more beautiful than a veela. Whenever the voluptuous owner appeared at the bar to prepare drinks, being surrounded by wizards and witches who came to chat and joke with her, telling her loudly recent news and adventures, hoping to catch the attention of the beautiful witch, Madam Rosmerta, who ran the tavern alone, did not hold back. She smiled as she prepared drinks while listening to their casual chatter, responding to any interesting topic. She asked about Harry Potter's whereabouts during his ten-year absence, when the adventurous Mr. Lockhart would come to Hogsmeade for a book signing, and what cocktails were served in Albanian taverns.
The pretentious customers, unable to respond, were encouraged by others, generating more income.
It was said that Madam Rosmerta had a wide circle of friends. The Hogwarts headmaster and professors, the goblin master of Gringotts, and even Minister of Magic Fudge were regulars and knew her well. Wizards passing through Hogsmeade who tried to cause trouble were expelled by Madam Rosmerta and tavern guests, and no one dared to cause trouble afterward.
Old gossiping witches claimed the tavern owner had a curse that brought bad luck to men near her, a fate that claimed several of her previous husbands. Over a decade ago, The Three Broomsticks was originally called The Two Broomsticks, but after the death of her last husband, Mr. Rosmerta, the tavern sign was changed to The Three Broomsticks.
As soon as Melvin entered the tavern, he regretted his decision.
The place was extremely crowded, noisy, smoky, and very drunk.
He chose a seat near the window to get some fresh air, and Madam Rosmerta immediately served him a glass of oak-aged mead. The rich aroma was tinged with sweetness, just as Dumbledore liked it.
Melvin looked at her, confused.
—I'm Professor Lewynter, of Muggle Studies. —Madam Rosmerta put down the mead and explained with a smile—: It's a pub promotion. Any Hogwarts professor receives a glass of mead the first time they visit The Three Broomsticks. Dumbledore loves this drink. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick also praised it. Trelawney is a regular, but prefers sherry.
Melvin did not refuse her kindness and took a sip.
It's quite rich; I'll take another sip.
Mrs. Rosmerta, standing beside him, smiled with a hint of satisfaction.
But then she heard the serious comment:
"The wine is yellowish brown amber, ideally golden amber. Medium viscosity finish indicates good structure. Initial aromas reveal classic orange blossom nectar fermented with honey and ripe apricots, complemented with vanilla pod and toasted hazelnut from the oak. Sweetness well controlled, low alcohol, woody tannins provide structure in the mid-palate. Finish has waxy sweetness surpassing most traditional meads."
"???"
Mrs. Rosmerta seemed bewildered.
What? What structure? And woody tannins? Was he complimenting my beer?
"You could try brewer's yeast, adding Eastern European oak for clove and nutmeg notes, and a bit of chestnut chips for secondary aging. Honey could be smoked for texture..."
Melvin, noticing the innkeeper's confusion, fell silent.
It was obvious he had hated arriving on Broadway, so he deliberately learned these false phrases and expressions and was now showing off.
He had barely been a professor for a week and already behaved like a saintly patron.
Melvin paused, then offered an apologetic smile. "I meant to say, thank you for your gift, Mrs. Rosmerta. I really like this mead."
Rosmerta nodded, still lost in thought, the long list of suggestions running through her head. Distractedly, she stepped toward the bar and then turned around.
"You were talking about brewer's yeast, Eastern European oak..."
"Turns out I know some books on brewing techniques. I'll bring them next time I visit."
"The brewery secrets... are valuable?"
"Muggle books. They won't cost more than a few Galleons. Consider it my gift."
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Levyn."
"..."
Watching the innkeeper walk away, Melvin suddenly felt the tavern was not so noisy or chaotic. He unpacked the package he had picked up from the Owl Post Office, savoring the mead while examining it.
The deerskin parchment was thick and durable, with a surface waterproofed with beeswax and pine resin. Unfolding it revealed a detailed map of villages.
The magical settlements of Denmark and Ireland were tabulated on both sides, detailing the proportions of various residents: wizards and Muggles, purebloods and half-bloods, even goblins and trolls. In short, their numbers barely rivaled Hogsmeade.
These countries had small populations and few wizards, making it difficult to form significant magical settlements. Several neighboring countries might have only one settlement, and more wizards chose to settle in Muggle communities. At that time, witch hunts were frequent, and as long as the Statute of Secrecy was followed, life was more comfortable for Muggles.
Creatures reluctant to show their faces, like vampires, goblins, and werewolves, preferred these sparsely populated magical settlements. The gathering of various intelligent magical creatures created a unique ecological pattern.
Melvin examined the map carefully for a moment and then stored it.
Next came a letter from Mr. Borgin, announcing that the following week there would be a special meeting in Knockturn Alley, attended by several wizards and witches interested in Muggle technology. Mr. Borgin could assist with presentations if necessary.
"..."
Half an hour later, after sending his reply, Melvin left the Owl Post Office and walked along the somewhat deserted street.
Shops on both sides were almost half-closed, their windows sparsely decorated. All were semi-closed. Clerks leaned lazily over counters, reading, counting, and calculating their monthly wages.
The commercial streets of Hogsmeade were quiet at this time of year. Only on weekends, when Hogwarts opened for events, were the main customers third-years and above. The rest of the time, activity was minimal, with villagers buying basics and unable to maintain such a large market.
The only exception was Honeydukes, which also operated a mail-order business. Only shipments from that shop could sustain the adjacent Owl Post Office.
Melvin stopped at Honeydukes, greeted the Flumes, and after brief acknowledgment by Hogwarts professors, gained permission to enter the candy store basement.
"The name Hogwarts really appeals to me...,"
muttered Melvin.
It was a cellar, full of boxes, with a sweet aroma seeping through the cracks. A trapdoor silently rose in the center, almost blending with the gray floor.
Opening it revealed a rickety stone staircase descending into invisible depth.
Melvin crawled in and closed the trapdoor.
...
The fourth-floor corridors of Hogwarts Castle were filled with armors, and gradually, statues of wizards appeared. But everyone knew many fourth-floor rooms had long been unused. The most common rooms on either side of the corridor were abandoned classrooms, stacked with discarded desks and chairs, dusty and smelling strongly of mildew.
Not even the naughtiest Gryffindors would venture into those rooms.
Only two rooms on the fourth floor were still in use:
—One was the Charms classroom, used daily, but not much to see;
—The other was the trophy room, filled with trophies and medals. Curious students could bother Filch and earn punishments to clean the room, thus becoming familiar with it.
Instead, students preferred to explore statues of wizards, whose bases were inscribed with short phrases, perhaps mottos or biographical accounts.
Some depicted positive feats, like inventing a spell, creating a potion, or receiving the Order of Merlin. Others gave negative examples, such as someone losing their entire nose from a failed spell or creating a potion and instantly becoming a ghost after drinking it.
The statue of a hunchbacked, one-eyed witch was one of them. The main body of the statue, roughly carved, sat on a base; its dark gray and black material exuded an ancient, heavy feel. The inscription on the front of the base was blurred, without even a name.
On an ordinary Saturday morning, a subtle tapping suddenly emanated from inside the statue.
"Dong-dong..."
"Dong-dong..."
Nota del autorA partir de este capítulo, la publicación continuará con un ritmo de 1 capítulo diario.Los primeros 20 capítulos se subieron de una sola vez debido a cuestiones de fechas y organización, pero desde ahora podrán seguir la historia con actualizaciones regulares cada día.
¡Gracias por leer y acompañar esta aventura!