Chapter 209: Award Ceremony
Great Hall high table.
Melvin and Madam Marchbanks dined side by side.
Madam Marchbanks was nearly three hundred years old after all, an old witch with vast knowledge and progressive open-minded views. After two years of study, she was very familiar with Muggle culture and technology, but she had never truly integrated into Muggle society or deeply experienced the Muggle way of life, so her conversations always had some odd quirks.
“Their trains can run on the ground, can run in underground tunnels.” Professor Marchbanks raised her voice to ask, “So why can’t they run in the sky? Their airplanes can fly in the sky.
“Is it because they have no wings? But rockets have no wings and can still fly.
“Engines… fuel… alright alright, so why not just add wings to the trains?”
Melvin felt a sense of helplessness like talking to a folk scientist, but this professor wasn’t being unreasonable; she was genuinely curious, and her arguments weren’t fabricated out of thin air. These fantasies could really be realized with magic.
“Technology isn’t magic. Every technology is extremely complex and has great limitations. Muggles aren’t unwilling; they’re limited by physical laws and temporarily unable to achieve it.”
“Temporarily unable, but later it will be possible?”
“Perhaps.” Melvin paused, “Technology is constantly advancing, and their rate of development far exceeds our imagination.”
“Hmm, that’s an advantage of Muggle culture, and also the direction we should study.” Professor Marchbanks nodded repeatedly, “I heard Professor McGonagall say that second year students have collectively chosen your Muggle Studies again? Two years in a row?”
“Yes, children like new things.”
Professor Marchbanks smiled, the fine wrinkles on her face unfolding: “How about considering the suggestion I made last year? Have the Department of Magical Examinations negotiate with the Board of Governors to turn Muggle Studies into a required course.”
“The lower years children would curse you behind your back if they heard that, Madam Marchbanks.” Melvin smiled and politely declined.
Professor McGonagall, hearing this, turned her head to glance at him, pursed her lips, wanted to speak but held back, her expression slightly complex.
Madam Marchbanks was hard of hearing, so they raised their voices during the conversation, and the surrounding professors could all hear. Not just Professor McGonagall; Flitwick and Sprout also thought Melvin was dodging, as he was a professor who hated trouble and even tried to slack off on substitute teaching.
Madam Marchbanks also looked at him suspiciously.
Melvin knew they misunderstood and shook his head helplessly: “It’s not about slacking off; Muggle Studies doesn’t need to become required content. For first and second year students, what can they even learn in class? Using ordinary appliances, correctly riding transportation—these things aren’t that important.”
“Truly meaningful Muggle Studies courses involve letting them understand Muggle technology, explore how Muggle society operates, and learn Muggle thinking logic. This requires a certain mental foundation. Third year is a suitable age; first and second years are still too immature. Instilling these concepts early would only burden them.”
Melvin didn’t finish his words.
His vision was to have wizards actively integrate into modern society, build cognition beyond bloodline using modern lifestyles, eliminate the divide between Muggles and wizards, and return the Secrecy Law to its proper place, rather than completely isolating Muggles and wizards as now.
Madam Marchbanks nodded thoughtfully, her cloudy eyes flickering with a contemplative gaze. The other professors nearby also fell into thought, and the Administration wizards nodded one after another. After hearing Melvin’s words, they gained a deeper understanding of this elective Muggle Studies course.
The professors looked profound, while the students at the house tables were restless, especially the fifth and seventh years, anxious and frequently knocking over jam and salt shakers by accident.
……
Professor McGonagall settled the Examination Board old wizards in the vacant tower. Exam week thus began: fifth years’ Ordinary Wizarding Level Examination（O.W.L.）, seventh years’ Ultimate Wizarding Level Examination（N.E.W.T.）, and final examinations for other years.
After proctoring the Muggle Studies final, Melvin left the castle and came to the grounds near the greenhouse. Professor Kettleburn, wearing dragonhide gloves, was teasing two nests of fat rats, with sixth year students lined up beside him, seemingly taking the Care of Magical Creatures final exam.
The fat rats were Mottlerats and Mudvoles, both 3X-level magical creatures with no danger. The exam content was to have students feed and soothe these little ones without injuring themselves or the animals.
Some students didn’t do well, worried about the Mottlerats’ sharp claws, acting timidly; others accidentally stepped on rat tails. Both examiners and exam subjects screamed and scurried about, causing a commotion,
Kettleburn didn’t scold them, just stood by repeating the correct soothing motions. The students gradually calmed, imitated him, and the rats in the nests settled down… By the end of the exam, no one failed.
Melvin waited for the students to disperse, went over to help the old professor clean up: “Professor Kettleburn, this isn’t like you. In the past, if students got scared and ran around from rats, you’d curse them out fiercely.”
Kettleburn chuckled softly: “I’ve always been cursing them before, giving them homework and unacceptable grades. I’m about to retire and leave; might as well leave a good impression so they don’t hate me for decades.”
Melvin watched him handle the animals with one hand and one foot, yet deftly. These rats that scared students into screaming were especially docile in his hands; he scooped them all into the basket with one sweep, covered it with linen cloth, quiet and undisturbed.
“Any plans after retirement? You’ve saved decades of pension for that house in Hogsmeade; you won’t leave it vacant long-term, will you?”
“I’ll move in when I’m too old to walk or use a cane.”
With that, Melvin understood: “Where are you planning to travel this summer vacation?”
“Of course to Romania. Last summer vacation I arranged with Charlie; several Hebrides Islands black dragons are about to lay and hatch eggs. I plan to participate throughout.”
“Be careful with your arms and legs; break something more and you won’t even be able to hold your wand.”
“Don’t worry, I spent two months with them last year; they’re familiar with my scent now.” Kettleburn laughed twice heartily, turned toward the castle, “When I return from Romania, I’ll compile the mother dragon egg-laying and hatching process into an Animal World special episode for public broadcast. They’ll be glued to it.”
Melvin watched his limping back, picked up the Mudvole basket, and followed.
Projection Mirrors had entered most British wizard homes. The programs were still the same few: Daily Prophet News, Fun Quidditch Matches, and Animal World. Fans preferred watching matches in taverns; news aired morning and evening. Most of the time, Animal World was the mainstay.
The currently airing Animal World was made by Professor Kettleburn last summer vacation, mainly to tutor Hagrid. Limited length and content; it had started reruns recently, and some wizard audiences were complaining of boredom in taverns.
Professor Kettleburn going to Romania this summer wasn’t just for personal interest; it was also to produce new programs for the Magic Mirror Club.
The rats in the basket started fussing; Melvin quietly tossed in a few Stupefy spells, caught up to the old professor: “Taking care of fire dragons and also handling moving pictures—you can’t manage it alone.”
“Any suggestions?”
“Just buy memories directly from those keepers. One person’s memory won’t make a program, so buy from several, splice and edit them together.” Melvin smiled, “Don’t worry about the cost; I’ll cover it.”
Kettleburn shook his head: “Magic Mirror Club pays plenty. The Daily Prophet started advertising months ago, and Quidditch events and Animal World have them too. I also get profit sharing—it’s more than my decades of pension.”
Melvin couldn’t persuade him and stopped trying.
About the Projection Mirror ads, Editor-in-Chief Guffey had mentioned it to him, then they discussed refining with Wright, and he made the final decision on profit sharing. Not just Kettleburn; the Ministry of Magic Department of Sports and Department of Magical Transportation also got a cut.
It formed the prototype of an interest community.
But the accounts were a mess, unclear what was collective, personal, profit sharing, or production funding—all jumbled chaotically.
Still early days, so the chaos could continue, but once amounts grew later, this mess would cause problems.
“Need a reliable accountant…”
Professional skills could be lacking; mainly the person had to be truly reliable, not like Rita or Wormtail who could only be bound by the snake mark.
Melvin shook the basket in his hand, muttering thoughtfully.
Exam week—though students called it a week, due to staggering by year, Hogwarts end-of-year exams usually lasted half a month.
After sending off the Department of Magical Examinations old wizards and playing the final Quidditch match, students could have fun for a few days. Professors busied with grading; Professor McGonagall began checking remaining rooms and preparing the end-of-year banquet.
……
Night fell, the Great Hall lit up. Looking in from the foyer, candlelight dazzled like a dream magic palace. The dome showed a midsummer night galaxy, bright silver-white stars and moon dotting the night sky; torches flickered on the walls, translucent ghosts floated mid-air, velvet carpet on the floor.
Professors wore splendid formal robes, students in black wizard robes. Some mimicked professors with white handkerchiefs in chest pockets; others pinned roses just picked from the courtyard.
“Merlin above, why is Percy still wearing his prefect badge? Has he taken it off any day this year?” Ron hid at the back of the long table, tutting in disdain, “Summer vacation’s almost here; if he doesn’t wear it now, no chance later, right?”
“Forgot? My dear little Ronnie, he took it off on Christmas.”
“But not the prefect badge; the Muggle badge.”
George and Fred burst out laughing, deliberately raising their voices, making nearby classmates laugh too. Only Percy flushed red, grinding his teeth, chasing the two up and down the aisle, itching to slay his own brothers at the end-of-year banquet and stain the final night of term with blood.
“So embarrassing!” Ginny covered her face with a sigh, peeking through her fingers to see Harry also fretting and sighing beside her.
Colin Creevey by the long table pressed his camera; when the shutter clicked, magnesium flash ignited, snapping nonstop. The fanatic fan muttered to take more photos—if autographed, even better. He had a little brother who idolized Harry; these would make great gifts.
Magnesium flash and candlelight intermingled, torches swayed; the entire Great Hall sparkled.
“Wonderful, reminds me of my youth.” The old headmaster’s gentle voice sounded.
Melvin sat at a side position of the high table, hearing a crisp pleasant tinkling. He turned to see Dumbledore in gold-red formal robe at the main seat, silver spoon in hand tapping the goblet with a copper-bell ring, corners of his mouth beaming with a brilliant smile, drawing the attention of the whole school.
“Please pay attention, everyone. Before the banquet starts, this old man has a few words to ramble.”
The Great Hall quieted; students watched the old headmaster, eyes reflecting candles and stars, sparkling.
“It’s been an exciting year; your little brains are much fuller than nine months ago. You’ve gained not just book and classroom knowledge.”
“Magic Mirror!” George shouted from below.
Dumbledore chuckled: “Yes, and Projection Mirror, but that’s not what I mean. I mean you defeated the basilisk and protected Hogwarts’ safety; you exposed Professor Lockhart’s true face and guarded Hogwarts’ reputation.”
The four house tables were silent; everyone sensed something, waiting eagerly.
“Now, let’s see the gems in the hourglasses. House scores: Rowena Ravenclaw, 330 points; Helga Hufflepuff, 340; Godric Gryffindor and Slytherin tied, 370.”
Slytherin and Gryffindor students’ hearts raced excitedly, unable to resist stamping and cheering, but thinking of pending additions, they began glaring and taunting each other.
Snape’s face was grim. Initially all houses zeroed, same starting line; with Slytherin staff and students’ efforts, Slytherin had a slight edge, later Melvin helped widen the gap.
But Gryffindor won the Quidditch championship, adding 150 points instantly, catching up.
Now it was Dumbledore’s black box time again; Slytherin would miss the House Cup once more.
Snape saw Harry and the Weasley fool banging goblets on the table—disgusting.
“Such outstanding merits shouldn’t be overlooked, so some scores need adding.” Dumbledore cleared his throat, “First, the warriors against the basilisk. Let me recall their names: Mr. Neville Lumbardon…”
Neville’s face flushed red like the red wine in the goblets.
“Stepping forward in crisis—what better shows Gryffindor’s courage? Worth 50 points reward.”
Cheers filled the Great Hall; George and Fred tried tossing Neville up, failed after tries, settled for pulling him to bounce around.
“Cedric Diggory, wisdom and courage both surged in him, plus convincing leadership—Hufflepuff worth 50 points.
“Then the seventeen warriors who charged the basilisk afterward: Roger Davies, Percy Weasley, Marcus Flint… Not first, but successive charges require fearless courage; 30 points reward each house.”
The whole Great Hall cheered; they nearly flipped the four tables. Some too excited stood on tables, jumping to pluck stars from the dome.
“Then Hermione Granger, Cho Chang, Miss Marietta Edgecombe—they faced memory thief Lockhart, stayed calm, bided time, protected the charging warriors, exposed the truth—50 points each!”
Blushes like evening glow on the girls’ faces; Marietta buried hers in her elbow first, Hermione and Cho held out a bit but couldn’t resist the admiring gazes, shyly bowed heads.
Deafening noise; some shouted hoarse. When quieted, outside sounds from foyer hourglass gems poured like water, rustling.
Some quickly calculated scores in their minds, finding rankings changed:
With fewest warriors, Slytherin fell back; Hufflepuff third; with Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe’s boost, Ravenclaw second; Gryffindor with most warriors still led.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students felt no loss, enjoying the honor and rewards. Only Slytherin students looked grim; Drama Club members led by Marcus wanted to laugh but saw others stone-faced and didn’t dare.
Lips pursed, shoulders trembling—looked comical.
Dumbledore raised one hand: “Congratulations to Gryffindor, and applause for wisdom and courage!”
Crimson hanging ribbons swayed, Gryffindor lion shook head, roared skyward, majestic and glorious.
Professor McGonagall grinned ear to ear, frequently toasting Melvin; Snape seethed unfairly. They all realized the score changes were all due to this young professor.
