Chapter 113: But Mist Rises From The Ground
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, illuminating the mud and dust on the base of the Founder statue, quietly wiped away by a rag. The Pukwudgie servant was carrying out holiday campus cleaning work, trimming branches and flowers, and the silent summer vacation campus only had the snipping sound of gardening shears.
Suddenly, a commotion came from not far away. The Pukwudgie looked in the direction of the sound. At the end of the empty avenue, the Headmaster was talking to a young wizard who had a very handsome appearance, a slender figure, and a gentle smile on his face.
Black hair and black eyes, with a bit of mysterious aura, looking somewhat familiar.
“The Dark Wizard who stole the Dragon Egg is an Ilvermorny graduate…”
Headmaster Fontana sighed: “Those soul-selling criminals from the Purifiers haven’t been eradicated yet. These guys, as wizards, actually got involved with the Second Salem Charity Association. For gold, they really will do anything.”
Melvin examined the two Founder statues: “If I remember correctly, 70 years ago, the Second Salem Charity Association was involved in the case with Grindelwald and the Cabal. That leader Mary Lou Barebone was a descendant of the Purifiers.”
“Yeah, I thought the Ministry of Magic had already modified her memory. I didn’t expect Barebone… and other bloodlines.”
Fontana recalled the relevant materials and suddenly thought of some interesting anecdotes, smiling as he said: “Bartholomew Barebone directly caused the Twelve Trees family to decline. Mary Barebone made the Grevis Family suffer bad luck. Those old guys would probably get headaches and cannot sleep upon hearing the surname Barebone?”
A hint of smile also appeared at the corner of Melvin’s mouth.
At the end of the 18th century, the witch Dorcus Twelve Trees fell in love with a handsome Muggle named Bartholomew Barebone and revealed many Wizarding World matters to him, including the address of the American Ministry of Magic and Ilvermorny, several major wizard settlements, and the details of the Secrecy Law…
Bartholomew directly printed and published the above information, causing the largest scale magic leak incident in history.
The American Ministry of Magic received a serious warning from the International Confederation of Wizards. The then Ministry of Magic President Emily Rappaport quickly dispatched Aurors to obliviate memories, but because the impact was too severe, she was still scolded mercilessly at the conference.
The president was scolded mercilessly, and her subordinates suffered for it.
Dorcus Twelve Trees’ father was Aristotle Twelve Trees, the then American Ministry of Magic Treasurer and Potioneer, or in common terms, the Finance Minister. He was originally a prominent figure in American Wizarding World and was directly demoted to guard the miscellaneous items room.
After this incident, the Twelve Trees family never recovered and still hasn’t gotten back on its feet.
Then there was the New York disturbance 70 years ago. Grindelwald disguised as Ministry of Magic Security Minister Percival Graves caused chaos, nearly tearing down all of New York. After closing the case and checking the file, New Salem’s leader Mary Barebone was inexplicably involved…
As a result, the Grevis Family was also nailed to the pillar of shame from then on and never recovered.
That Mr. Grevis who was very familiar with Melvin was still struggling in the deputy director position, with no hope of promotion in sight.
At some point, a rumor spread in America: it was said that Barebone’s ancestors had prophecy talent and left a curse in their own bloodline. Whenever a Barebone descendant entered the Wizarding World, a prominent wizarding family would decline.
Somewhat similar to the curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.
Some people took it as a joke, some preferred to believe it true rather than false. Every time the name Barebone was heard, it would make certain families uneasy.
“These clues and information are enough to draw the attention of those old guys. I’ll pass it on to them.” Fontana stopped, smiling at Melvin. “Now that business is done, we should talk about you dropping out to teach at Hogwarts, right?”
“…”
Seeing Melvin’s slightly stiff expression, Fontana couldn’t help but smile: “Just kidding. You’ve finally returned to school after so long. Try the dinner made by the Pukwudgie.”
…
Pukwudgie specialty Stewed Soup.
The soup base was white with green, floating with golden butter, adding snakewood materials, spices made from leaves and bark. The effects were unclear, but it tasted a bit astringent and strange.
Sitting in the Ilvermorny Great Hall Antechamber, Headmaster Fontana didn’t bother with extra pleasantries. While waiting for the food, he talked about how after Melvin dropped out, the professors regretted and sighed, and the students envied and praised him.
The Pukwudgie servant handed over cutlery. Headmaster Fontana didn’t mind table manners and said while eating: “You’ve been a professor at Hogwarts for a year now. How does it feel? What’s different from Ilvermorny?”
“It has strengths and weaknesses. Overall, it’s a bit better than Ilvermorny.”
Melvin hesitated a bit and chose to answer honestly: “Hogwarts has deeper heritage. The library has nearly a thousand years of accumulated books, the castle has endless secrets and surprises to explore: restricted section, bronze door knocker, the Four Founders’ relics, various wizard portraits… Students can casually dig up knowledge and magic.”
“I know these. They’re recorded in the Founders’ memoirs, all treasures accumulated by history.”
“The student culture there doesn’t match Ilvermorny. The four Houses stick to their own groups, especially Slytherin. Many students there champion Pure-blood, reject Muggles, and can hardly get along friendly with other Houses.”
“I see…”
Fontana nodded, his tone trailing off: “One of our Founders was a Muggle, blocking Pure-blood and Half-blood conflicts from the start.”
Ilvermorny is relatively open and inclusiveness in this regard, not so particular. After all, this school was originally just the Founders’ way to entertain the kids, adopted children without blood relations.
After the school’s reputation spread, more and more parents sent their children here. At that time, they were all immigrant families, indistinguishable as Pure-blood, Half-blood, or Muggle-born. Later it became even more open, accepting descendants of werewolves, vampires, veela, no refusal.
Scholars of this era have started discussing revisions to the Secrecy Law details, because Muggle-born wizards are increasing, their proportion growing. Appropriate separation is fine, but total isolation is impossible. Who doesn’t have a few Muggle relatives and Muggle friends?
“But on the other hand, ideological impacts bring social disturbance. Wizard growth is influenced by talent and environment. Students who have experienced disturbance and loss are more likely to find what they want to protect, with firm will, strong soul, and faster magic power growth.”
Melvin concluded: “Hogwarts is more likely to produce top wizards with resilient character and strong strength.”
“I’ve seen the Examination Board files. Hogwarts students who experienced war and rebellion have indeed better grade examination scores.”
Headmaster Fontana tasted a steak, sourly: “The students our school recruits are mostly immigrants. Their parents struggled to survive in their original countries, created stable and affluent lives here, so students have better material conditions and less resilient will.”
Ilvermorny’s Founder Isolt Sayre was a Hogwarts graduate, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Various memoirs and materials praised Hogwarts effusively, leading later Headmasters to have very complex feelings toward Hogwarts, both loving and hating it.
No matter what they said, deep down they secretly wanted to surpass the Founder’s alma mater.
Unfortunately, the school history is too short, and its reputation can’t yet match the other two magic schools in Europe.
Melvin chuckled twice: “Speaking of which, Headmaster, have you heard of the Triwizard Tournament?”
“The Goblet of Fire?” Headmaster Fontana’s eyes lit up.
Melvin nodded: “I got the news that Beauxbatons and Durmstrang seem interested in restarting the tournament. The timing is ample. If we prepare in advance, perhaps we can participate too.”
“…”
Headmaster Fontana thought of the tournament, his emotions complex.
The Triwizard Tournament was founded about seven hundred years ago, a friendly competition among the three European magic schools. Because the events were too dangerous, it had been discontinued for over two hundred years.
Just the time since the tournament was discontinued is almost longer than Ilvermorny’s school history.
Wanting to join in, but feeling a bit of inferiority complex.
Melvin watched the over sixty-year-old Headmaster’s face full of conflict, trying hard to hold back his smile.
Headmaster Fontana came back to his senses and glanced at Melvin: “If Ilvermorny really competes, which school would you side with then—your former alma mater Ilvermorny, or your current employer Hogwarts?”
“We’ll see then…” Melvin brushed it off.
They ate and chatted through dinner, an hour and a half passing quickly until the sun fully sank underground, night falling. Melvin casually asked:
“Headmaster, have you seen that Horned Serpent recently? Where is it sleeping now?”
Fontana looked up at the young wizard sitting beside him, paused, and revealed a secret the Horned Serpent had instructed him to keep hidden for at least ten years: “The second Saturday after you dropped out and left Ilvermorny, the Horned Serpent passed away. It used the magic power in that horn to ignite its own body and entrusted me to scatter its ashes under the snakewood tree.”
“…”
Melvin was stunned for a moment, silently set down his cutlery, stood up, and left.
Headmaster Fontana didn’t stop him, just said softly: “Melvin, that water snake asked me to tell you it lived 717 years, long enough. Before death, it had no regrets or unwillingness.”
Melvin paused slightly, then continued walking toward the back courtyard.
…
Behind the granite hut built by the Founder himself, Melvin slowly walked under the snakewood tree with its canopy like an umbrella, unceremoniously sat on a stone, looked toward the snakewood branches, and stared blankly into space.
Melvin recalled on the road to Budapest, Professor Kettleburn talking in the carriage about tail-dog habits. Some creatures are intelligent and spiritual, able to foresee their own death. At that time, they leave home alone, avoid acquaintances, find a hidden corner, and wait for death alone.
Yet some animals have eccentric personalities. Sensing their death, they not only don’t hide but find ways to send others away.
Thinking of that water snake, Melvin suddenly felt a bit sad.
He closed his eyes, the night air full of moist mist in his breaths.
The first 19 years of this young wizard’s life had no dramatic exciting stories. Waking with distant memories, he opened his eyes in an orphanage. At eleven, he received Ilvermorny’s admission letter and was brought to the mountain castle by professors. Besides studying in class during the day, he would go out after dinner to relax and practice magic. If lucky, he found a hidden stream, repeatedly practicing spells on the pool, endlessly enjoying it.
When stuck on difficulties, he would get irritable, return to the dormitory still thinking about exploring magic principles. One sleepless night, he sneaked out of the castle, practiced magic by the stream under moonlight, and thus encountered an immortal old Horned Serpent.
In third year duelling class final, he suddenly defeated a fifth year assistant teacher, causing a school-wide commotion. Even Headmaster Fontana personally commented and praised him. No one expected such a talented student to drop out near graduation, work half a year as a stage special effects designer, then go teach at Hogwarts.
The night mist on the mountain was thick and un dispersible, somewhat obscuring vision.
Melvin reached out and waved gently.
The mountain mist immediately dispersed, clearing a bright open space.
Not Whirlwind Sweep Clean, nor any Iron Curtain bubble clearing the space, not even magic power fluctuations. It was more like the wizard’s will directly commanding the mist to disperse itself.
Melvin pressed both hands on the snakewood, feeling coolness in his palms, as if touching those scales again. The dispersed mist gathered again, vision blurring anew, his consciousness gradually detaching, faintly hearing the distant stream sound.
Mist rose from the ground, moistening the whole land.
The stream water was clear and pure, seeming to come from a distant mountain hollow. Melvin closed his eyes, lost in random thoughts: moonlight snakewood and elongated shadows on the ground, him running through the mountains at night, the water snake’s horn silver light illuminating the shrubbery, snake body hidden in stream shadows, those snake eyes gazing up at the full moon, the moon equally a bright silver.
Melvin had personally witnessed those scenes.
He seemed to return to under the snakewood tree once more, surrounding sounds noisy yet serene: stream flowing, evening wind rustling branches, birds and animals calling softly.
He looked up, a full moon hanging in the snakewood branches, moonlight spilling on the branches like flowing quicksilver. The whole mountainous area was enveloped in cold watery moonlight, treetop shadows cast on mountain stones, a thick serpent hanging from the branches, head raised toward the moonlight.
Melvin stayed silent. The surroundings felt like a dream at this moment; he feared breaking the silence would wake him.
The Horned Serpent’s scales appeared grayish-white, glossy scales flowing with glow.
Melvin climbed onto the branch, sat beside the water serpent. One person and one snake silently watched the mountain moon like this, time seeming to freeze in that moment.
“Melvin, goodbye.”
The water serpent slowly turned its head, silver pupils flowing with condensed solid moonlight, like a clear lake surface.
Melvin’s will immersed in the lake water, suddenly hearing splashing water sounds. He immediately awoke, like a diver surfacing, discovering he was really sitting on the snakewood branch, the cool smooth touch still in his hand—
It was a snake egg.
