Chapter 48: Even the Headmaster Needs Help
A chorus of quiet exclamations erupted. Tuckerlot and Malcolm were equally astonished, their eyes filled with uncontrollable surprise and nostalgia. The scene reflected in the silver mirror was a reflection of their youth a youth they could never forget, even decades later.
After about half a minute, the patrons regained their composure and rose from their seats to gather in front of the mirror. Those who couldn't sit in the back stood to watch. Tuckerlot and Malcolm reacted more slowly and had to stay behind.
At that moment, a silvery mist swirled inside the mirror, gradually filling its entire surface and the patrons' field of vision. It was as if they were standing in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. Cheers filled the air, and the atmosphere grew increasingly heated.
"I'll be commentating on today's match. Let's start with the players."
Gryffindor's roster had undergone significant changes. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell had been promoted from the bench. The rookie Harry Potter, with his exceptional flying talent, had been recruited and specially rated, becoming the youngest Seeker in history. Could he lead Gryffindor to victory? Let's see what happens!
The pub buzzed with discussion immediately upon hearing the boy's name.
Malcolm, a Gryffindor alumnus, was even more ecstatic. He couldn't help but raise his fist in cheer and drink a hearty gulp of mead.
The Slytherin team remained unchanged, keeping the same lineup as last year. Having won the House Cup for five consecutive years, could they continue their winning streak? With a stable lineup, solid strength, and a proven track record, Slytherin was always ahead.
Tuckerlot raised an eyebrow, lifted his glass, and nodded to his neighbor. He took a sip with a mocking smile on his lips truly a Slytherin.
Malcolm gritted his teeth and took another long gulp. Finding his glass empty, he requested a refill from the landlady.
Madam Rosmerta arrived with a flask, refilled their glasses, and quietly went about serving the other patrons with a smile.
Within minutes, even before the match officially began, over a dozen glasses of mead had been sold, and many patrons were already ordering more, determined to drink their fill! Business was booming!
At the sound of Madam Hooch's silver whistle, fifteen brooms rose into the air, and the lively tavern atmosphere boiled once more.
"The quaffle went immediately… Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor grabbed it. What a brilliant Chaser, and stunning too! Jordan "
" Sorry, Professor "
Lee Jordan was reprimanded by the professor for his unprofessional comment. A muffled laugh echoed through the pub, and many patrons recognized Professor McGonagall's voice. This little interlude didn't dampen their enthusiasm; on the contrary, it brought back playful, nostalgic memories of their school days.
So young…
Tuckerlot and Malcolm couldn't help but smile, but seeing each other's smiles, their faces immediately hardened. They exhaled coldly and each took a sip of mead.
It was sweet, but not as refreshing as beer.
"A beautiful pass, and the ball goes to Johnson again!"
"Uh! Slytherin has the Quaffle, and Marcus Flint has it. Like a hawk will he score? No! Gryffindor's keeper, Wood, intercepts the ball. Brilliant!" Now Gryffindor had the ball, with Katie Bell skillfully maneuvering around Flint.
"The Quaffle was snatched by Slytherin's Dreampsey, but another Bludger knocked him down! Well done, Fred or George! The Weasley twins are so hard to tell apart…"
As Lee commentated, the mirrored scene constantly shifted. Players threw themselves and pushed each other, and the drinkers, their hearts racing with concentration, never tired of their wine. No matter how much they drank, it was never refreshing enough.
Malcolm watched the Gryffindor attacks being stopped and grew nervous. The Slytherin team, with their imposing size, exerted more pressure than his own house's slim players.
That November night, he suddenly felt thirsty. Taking advantage of a pause in play, he tugged at his shirt collar and shouted, "Miss! Give me a cold beer!"
The beer poured into the glass, creating a layer of white foam and spreading a sheet of icy vapor.
At that moment, the young man in the silver mirror roared with thunderous applause: "Gryffindor has scored!"
Malcolm felt a wave of warmth rise within him; his whole body heated up. He grabbed his beer and drank half a glass in one gulp. He felt his chest clear and cool, unable to help shouting, "Hooray! Hooray for Gryffindor!"
Then he glanced at the sullen face of the Slytherin graduate next to him. What did it feel like to be relaxed and cool?
This is what it felt like to be relaxed and cool!
"Miss Rosmerta, another cold beer, and one for him too! Yes, that's Taklot! My treat!"
Taklot clenched his fists, almost breaking his teeth. He wished he could shove the beer up his neighbor's backside, crawl to the mirror, mount his broom, and join the match himself.
But no matter how angry he was, he couldn't change the outcome. Gryffindor had scored first, and all he could do was drink his cold beer in frustration.
It had no flavor. And it even chilled his gums.
The other patrons were also delighted by the goal, swapping butterbeer and mead for the coldest, most refreshing beer. The pub filled with sighs of euphoria, as if they had returned to the hottest summer months.
The Slytherin players reflected in the mirror seemed equally irritated by the early score. Their attack became even fiercer, exploiting their physical advantage and charging relentlessly, constantly disrupting Gryffindor's coordinated play.
"A Slytherin stole the Quaffle!"
"Flint almost hit the twins!"
"Adrian Puse ran toward the goal…"
After five minutes of prolonged possession battle, Slytherin unleashed a ferocious attack.
"Slytherin scores!"
"Glory to Slytherin!" roared Taklot, his voice muffled as he drank a full glass of icy beer, instantly releasing all his frustration and feeling renewed.
He turned to the side and shouted, "Speak! Malcolm, speak! Gryffindor! Speak!"
"…." Malcolm drank his icy beer in silence.
"Miss! Another cold beer for Malcolm, with ice! My treat!"
For the next hour, both teams continued scoring.
Slytherin was generally the stronger team, scoring goal after goal, while Gryffindor only managed two. The score widened gradually, and the situation grew increasingly tense.
Malcolm kept refilling his cold beer, growing bitter with each glass.
Was he really going to be outdone by this guy?
He had never been so humiliated at school.
Now, he was the only one who had a chance to win.
Malcolm turned his gaze to the figure on the outer circle of the pitch.
Wearing round glasses, his bangs fluttering, revealing a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, the famous Harry Potter though unfortunately thin and short made the Slytherin Seeker seem twice as large.
The chances of victory seemed to fade.
Malcolm leaned back and sipped his icy beer. The liquid was cold, and his heart even colder.
Then an unexpected twist occurred. Potter saw the Snitch first, but Flint struck him as he tried to catch it. His broom seemed to lose control, and Potter hung precariously from it…
Just as Malcolm's heart sank, the screen flickered. Potter recovered quickly, leapt onto his broom, accelerated, and caught the Snitch in a single motion, ending the match.
"Won?"
Malcolm paused, then reacted with ecstasy. "Won! Gryffindor wins!"
The pub erupted with excitement.
"Long live Harry Potter!"
With the exception of a few Slytherin alumni, most patrons cheered and celebrated the Boy Who Lived.
Malcolm looked at his neighbor, eyes watery. The defeat had come so fast and sudden, so devastating, that he still seemed stunned.
"Miss! Give Taklot a beer!"
"…."
Taklot's lips trembled as he watched his face.
Malcolm's lips curved into a smile, and after a brief pause, he continued shouting, "A beer for everyone, one per person! My treat, my treat!"
"For Harry Potter!"
"For Harry Potter!"
Madam Rosmerta, standing behind the counter, a little tired, couldn't hide a smile. Initially calculating the night's sales, she soon focused on filling glasses, her head spinning. A rough estimate suggested that the night's revenue equaled two months' earnings.
Professor Lewynter was not only a beer expert but also a master of tavern management.
It was a shame the next match wasn't for another month.
The landlady smiled and drank with them, their glasses clinking like golden Galleons dropping into pockets.
…
December 14, Saturday.
Intermittent winter snows had fallen for over half a month, covering the streets of Hogsmeade with several centimeters of snow. The shop walls were cold and hard, and although chimneys roared, the window panes rattled with the icy wind.
Pedestrians walking outdoors exhaled clouds of white mist, and the wind lashed their exposed skin like a knife.
The cold and snow could not chill the patrons' warm hearts. After dinner, they began leaving their homes and walking across the snowy ground toward the Three Broomsticks, leaving a trail of footprints.
During the past month, the repeated matches and word of mouth had significantly increased the pub's fame. The crowd was no longer just drinkers; many came with their families, seeing it as a new entertainment spot.
After all, the Three Broomsticks also served young wizards, and the butterbeer sold to minors contained no alcohol.
The tavern was packed every night, forcing Madam Rosmerta to hire several servers and employ house-elves for the kitchen and cellar.
The Hogwarts Quidditch tournament is a round-robin, with each team playing a match against the other three. The four houses play a total of six matches, one per month, excluding Christmas and Easter holidays. The tournament starts in November and ends in June. Points are tallied to determine the champion. If two teams tie, an extra match is played.
Today's match was being broadcast: Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw.
Compared to Gryffindor and Slytherin, these two teams were slightly weaker, and the match was less intense. However, the footage had been edited, alternating between multiple angles rather than sticking to a single viewpoint, allowing optimal viewing. Highlights were even replayed in slow motion, making it even more entertaining.
Moreover, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had many alumni eager to support their houses. While there were no star players like Harry Potter, there were some promising young wizards, handsome and skilled, such as substitute Seeker Cedric Diggory and Vice-Captain Roger Davis.
Each encounter between the two teams drew cheers from the patrons.
"It's too crowded now."
"Better expand the pub."
"Consider using an extended-range charm or adding more floors. Some patrons don't want to watch the matches, so we need a place for them to drink."
"I'll create more interesting videos later. Until then, try not to repeat content over and over; it will tire them and bore them. You could schedule one or two days a month to show matches regularly and keep information updated."
These were business tips from some Muggle Studies professors.
Melvin, sitting in a corner, observed the bustle while quietly analyzing the situation with the landlady.
"You're absolutely right, Professor Lewynter. I've noticed something too. A regular patron who used to come for a drink every night, a Slytherin graduate, hasn't returned since that day's match. I ran into him on the street, and he said the smell of beer made him nauseous. But tonight, with the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff match, he's fine…" Rosmerta glanced at the counter, where the two regulars who used to argue were sitting together again, a row of beers in front of them.
The landlady was deeply grateful to the professor. Now, with staff and house-elves, business was booming and she had some free time. "I plan to build two more floors. The first for regular tavern operations and the second to broadcast Quidditch matches."
"And the other floor?" asked Melvin curiously.
"Another floor as a token of gratitude…"
Rosmerta seemed to know he was about to refuse, and before he could say anything, she urged: "Professor Lewyn, I know the Mirror of Shadows will change many things, even revolutionize the wizarding world. You probably have long-term plans. I'm not sure what you'll do, but you might need a place. Please don't refuse. Rent on this street in Hogsmeade is very high."
"Madam Rosmerta, you graduated from Ravenclaw, right?" Melvin sighed. No wonder this witch had been able to run the tavern alone for decades. She possessed extraordinary wisdom.
"I'm afraid I'll disappoint you, but I'm from Slytherin."
Rosmerta smiled at his compliment, placed a wine glass in front of her, and pulled out a linen bag: "The total profit for the last month was 1,871 Galleons. This is Hogwarts' agreed share. I rounded it to 900 Galleons, and your commission is included."
"Let me know the day the tavern renews, and I'll get help from other professors."
"Um…"
"With a net profit of several hundred Galleons per month, Dumbledore should come to help."
(End of Chapter)