Chapter 174: The Meaning Of New Things
“Thank you everyone for watching, The Daily Prophet News ends here…”
The young witch imitated a Muggle broadcast tone, announcing the end of the Wizarding World’s first news program.
The little wizards were still not satisfied, staring at the projection mirror unwilling to look away, but could only see swirling silver mist and the stars and moon dotted on the magical dome.
Dumbledore stood up with a smile and said, “Now, before everyone goes to bed, let’s do the last activity of the evening: sing the school song together!”
The headmaster lightly waved his wand, and a long golden ribbon sprayed from the wand tip, light as nothing, twisting and floating above the dining table, winding and outlining lines of lyrics.
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, please teach us knowledge.
“Whether we are balding old people or children who have fallen and hurt their knees.
“…”
Various tunes mixed together, the chorus sounded dreadful, but this dreadful singing moved the headmaster to tears, and the little wizards thought Dumbledore was too sentimental, quickly leaving after he announced dismissal.
First-year students lined up behind the prefect, while students from other years walked in twos and threes together, exiting the Great Hall and stepping onto the staircases they hadn’t seen for several weeks.
“How did it end so quickly? I haven’t seen enough!”
“This is just the news, I heard other programs are even more exciting!”
“It’s all Professor Levent’s fault!”
“…”
Hearing the complaints from the Slytherin crowd, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a glance, quietly quickened their steps, and only started discussing when they reached a quiet place.
Hermione said very affirmatively, “The Daily Prophet News is very professional, and the broadcast method is also very mature; they must have referenced Muggle television news.”
Harry nodded heavily.
“Television, I know it. My father got one before to study! But he could never turn it on. My father said the light bulb inside was broken, and after fixing it for months he still couldn’t fix it, so he had to throw it away as junk in the warehouse.”
Ron grinned and chuckled, “My mother thought that thing took up space and told him to throw it away, but he wouldn’t, and she scolded him for two weeks.”
After laughing, they thought of the projection mirror again. As a little boy from a pure-blood wizard family, Ron had never seen a television program before, and it lingered in his mind as he kept chattering, “The projection mirror is great; it can play Quidditch matches, films, and news programs… You say, how come no wizard ever made something this interesting before?”
“Because of the Secrecy Law?” Harry scratched his head.
“The Secrecy Law is about keeping the existence of magic secret from Muggles, not blocking Muggle news from wizards.”
“It’s the hindrance from pure-blood families.” Hermione answered.
Harry and Ron didn’t understand, looking at the little witch with slightly bewildered expressions. Seeing her pursed lips and serious demeanor, the lighthearted chat instantly felt serious and formal.
“Pure-blood families are divided into two kinds. One kind like Malfoy, shrewd and cunning, promoting pure-blood for profit—everything is for business. Did you hear the Slytherins’ discussion earlier? Maybe their families have already bought projection mirrors and are lying on sofas watching them now!”
Hermione huffed, indignant that Professor Levent had been slandered, “The other kind like Umbridge and Fudge, stupid and stubborn, actually believing the lies they made up, thinking Muggle things are all evil, rejecting technology, and hindering societal development.”
“Actually there’s another kind…”
Ron raised his hand and said weakly, “There’s us Weasleys, very happy to accept Muggle things.”
“Malfoy said your family is the shame of pure-bloods.”
“What he says doesn’t count!”
“…”
As his little friends argued nearby, Harry kept his head down, absentminded. For some reason, hearing them mention Malfoy made him think of that ugly house-elf.
How was Dobby doing now?
Was he still constantly beaten by Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Malfoy?
…
The next morning, in the school auditorium.
For students, the first day of the new term is always relaxed; no subject has formal classes, professors sort out the new term’s teaching plans, without dull and obscure knowledge, so classes are almost just chats between students and teachers.
After breakfast, before classes started, the four deans wandered between the house tables, distributing course schedules and answering student questions.
Third-year students had just taken half a year of elective classes; if they really found a course unsuitable, or found another course interesting, they could apply to switch. There were also sixth-year advanced classes; if the difficulty was too high and they couldn’t keep up with the advanced course, they could also drop it.
For a moment, the Great Hall was full of chatter.
Melvin gripped the silver metal dining fork, speared a boiled egg, and slowly stuffed it into the young snake’s mouth.
The young snake tilted its head back, struggling to open its mouth wide, swallowed the whole boiled egg, then began twisting its body and flicking its tail, trying to use muscle contractions to move the boiled egg into its stomach. But with its current size, swallowing a whole boiled egg was still difficult.
Too focused on twisting and turning forcefully, it didn’t notice its position and accidentally lost control of its body, falling off the dining table.
Fortunately, the high table in the Great Hall had a carpet; the young snake had little weight and was fine after falling to the ground. Instead, it helped dislodge the stuck boiled egg down its throat.
“…”
Yurm shook its head and stuck out its tongue, tail sweeping nonstop, bouncing around with a hint of smugness, as if showing off.
Melvin was silently speechless, feeling somewhat helpless.
If he remembered correctly, this seemed like Fang’s action—after gnawing on a bone or rock skin cake, it would do this to invite praise from Hagrid. But Fang was a dog; why did Yurm, as a horned serpent, learn a dog’s actions so naturally?
He picked up the young snake and put it back in the emerald, sat in his seat chatting idly with other professors for a bit, and when it was nearly time for the bell, got up and walked to the classroom.
On the way, he chatted idly with Sir Cadogan, and when he arrived at the classroom, the class bell had just rung.
Sixth-year Muggle Studies class; nearly thirty students sat neatly in the classroom.
For other advanced classes, they sat scattered, with the middle of the front two rows often empty. Only Muggle Studies was different; knowing Professor Levent’s classes were fun with interesting games and interactions, everyone sat in the front rows.
Red-haired Percy sat right in front of the lectern.
“Bang…”
Melvin set down the textbook, leaned against the lectern, greeted the girls in the front row, and teased that their faces had rounded a bit during the holiday:
“Ahem, alright, no more nonsense. Let’s first chat about this term’s course arrangements. You mastered household appliances and Muggle transportation last year; the advanced class just expands on some less common things, and introduces some Muggle thoughts and ideological content.
“This term’s course is similar: explaining some large machinery, content from natural science, then entering the end-of-term review phase. If there are extra class hours, we’ll appropriately discuss Muggle social science-related content.”
“That’s about it; any questions?”
As soon as he finished speaking, students immediately raised hands, but they weren’t concerned about this term’s arrangements.
“Professor, did you invent the projection mirror?”
“In fact, I just proposed an idea; the one who turned it into reality was Wright Monkstanley, descendant of the witch who invented the Illumination Charm.”
“What other programs does the projection mirror have?”
“Currently only three programs: Animal World, commissioned to Professor Kettleburn and Hagrid; Thrilling Quidditch, commissioned to Department of Magical Sports Head Bagman to collect various match footage; and then news produced by the Daily Prophet Publisher.”
“Will there be other content in the future?”
“Of course.”
Melvin looked up, meeting Penelope Clearwater’s bright gaze, and saw similar looks in the other students. After a brief pause, he tapped the lectern:
“The first class of the new term, by tradition, doesn’t do formal lessons. I originally planned to quiz last term’s content to check if you reviewed over the holiday, then pick a few to sing and dance—you have fun, and I easily fill the time. But seeing your expressions, I’ve suddenly changed my mind.”
Melvin tapped the blackboard, using magic power to outline a group of words:
「Television, Projection Mirror, Pros and Cons」
Melvin looked around, making eye contact with every student: “Only a minority of you are pure-blood wizards; most are half-blood or Muggle-born. Even if raised in wizarding families, you at least have some Muggle relatives, have visited normal Muggle homes, and definitely encountered television. You should have realized by now that the projection mirror is just a crude imitation of television. It may be a long time before the projection mirror has programs as wonderful and diverse as television.”
The classroom erupted in commotion:
“You had television to watch since you were little!”
“And game consoles and computers to play with…”
“What are those?”
“Hard to describe, but anyway more fun than television.”
“That sounds great…”
Very rarely, pure-blood family children envied Muggle family children.
Melvin waited for their discussion to die down, then asked, “Everything has pros and cons. The Muggle World also has criticism of television. The shortcomings television has, the projection mirror has too. I’d like to ask if you’ve thought deeply about the impact the projection mirror brings, and if you’ve discovered any defects in the projection mirror?”
The students looked at each other, falling silent for a moment.
A few minutes later, people gradually raised hands to answer.
Someone said various programs had much false information; some media only cared about ratings and eyeballs, didn’t verify news, even fabricated fake news, easily causing negative influence.
There were also annoying shopping advertisements; blatant ads were okay, but ads hidden in films, TV shows, and variety programs were more deceptive, making parents buy lots of useless things.
Someone hated bloody violence, but such pictures were increasing.
Someone preferred erotic pictures but knew it was wrong, yet some people deliberately made such programs.
Pure-blood students listened to the discussion, imagining those programs; they had never known the Muggle World had such complex things—it was almost another world.
Melvin quietly listened to their opinions, neither refuting nor agreeing:
“These are impacts from content, which can be reviewed and regulated. I hope you think more about what changes the appearance of the projection mirror will bring to the Wizarding World. Take Lockhart as an example: before, he stole memories and deceived the public through books; now with the projection mirror, couldn’t he deceive more people? 《The Daily Prophet》 reports fake news; rumors used to spread only through newspapers, but now with the projection mirror, won’t the speed be faster? The reach wider?”
“Should we resist the projection mirror then?” a student called out in confusion.
“That’s the question you need to think about.”
Melvin looked at their bewildered expressions and smiled, “Your thesis will be on this topic, no less than 10 inches, due to me next Monday.”
The classroom immediately filled with groans.
…
Deep winter of 1993 had not yet ended; the North Sea on the northeastern edge of the Atlantic was still damp and cold, dementors circled Azkaban, emitting heavy cold fog, and the fortress walls at the island’s heart seemed like perennial unmelting hard ice.
Opening its eyes, lazily crawling up from the bed, rat Scabbers let out a big yawn, climbed along the stone cracks to the window, gazed out afar—still that familiar despairing sight.
Thick fog rolled down from the sky, gray and hazy, as if connected to the endless waves, no light visible anywhere.
This was Azkaban’s norm; the fortress on the island was a cage and a farm, prisoners were livestock being raised, dementors circled the island, periodically harvesting their souls and memories.
Rat Scabbers nested in a crevice between two rocks, a very remote corner, no worry of being discovered.
This rat nest was built from scraps of cloth and hay; the scraps accumulated years of filth, the hay reeked of rot and mold—sleeping there was very uncomfortable, even worse than Professor Levent’s glass jar.
But rat Scabbers didn’t mind; compared to the Death Eater prisoners inside the fortress, this environment was practically comfortable, and no worry of dementor disturbance. Sometimes he even sneaked into the Aurors’ rooms to steal a few jam-covered breadcrumbs or cheese dropped on the floor.
Using claws to dip dew for rinsing its mouth, breakfast was cheese hidden from yesterday; the little rat nest had a touch of homely atmosphere.
After breakfast, it slipped out of the stone crack, familiarly heading to the fortress depths. After weeks of prison life, Scabbers had figured out Azkaban’s operations; at this time, the Aurors hadn’t started patrolling, Bellatrix wasn’t awake yet—safe to move.
Finding Bellatrix’s cell, it drilled in through the observation window and hid in another corner.
“Soon I’ll leave this hellhole!”
Rat Scabbers touched the glass bottle around its neck, sly eyes flashing with delight.
Today was the day Bellatrix would be tortured by a dementor; just hide here quietly and wait for the dementor to torment her until she was delirious and unable to resist, then pour the Veritaserum into her mouth and extract vault intel.
Huddled in the corner stone crack, fur against the rock, icy chill drilling into its bones.
Enduring like this, unsure how much time passed, when a colder chill enveloped the cell.
Rat Scabbers shivered, poked out half its head to look—Bellatrix had sat up, leaning against the wall, face with an indescribable expression, lips trembling slightly, pupils contracted, like anger, or numbness and despair.
The doorway opened, and a cloaked monster slithered in.
