Chapter 116: Return Trip! Back-to-school Season!
In the mid-August morning, the lights of Ilvermorny Castle gradually lit up one by one. Pukwudgie servants began cleaning the castle, trimming the lawn and branches, occasionally exchanging words in the Pukwudgie language, but more often in silence.
Mount Greylock slowly woke up.
Melvin busied himself in the garden for half an hour, using the Splitting Charm to trim the lush branches of the snakewood, unlike the Pukwudgies’ measured pruning—he snapped them off in clusters. He examined the removed branches for a moment, confirming that only the edges of some leaves were slightly yellowed; these branches had the most abundant magic power and vitality, with the best effects.
He stuffed the trimmed branches into a linen bag, packed them tightly until it bulged, tied it securely with a makeshift rope torn from bark, and crammed it into a suitcase that didn’t match its shape at all.
Headmaster Fontana glanced at his busy figure, then at the snakewood branches that looked pitted like they’d been gnawed by dogs, and fell silent for a moment: “Why don’t you just dig up the whole snakewood?”
Ignoring the headmaster’s darkening expression, Melvin chuckled softly: “Don’t feel bad, Headmaster. It’s just some outer branches. Even if I don’t trim them now, they’ll wither in winter anyway. Consider it a parting gift for me.”
“……”
Whose gift?
Ilvermorny’s or the Horned Serpent’s?
Headmaster Fontana fell slightly silent and didn’t quibble over these few… hundreds of branches anymore. He reluctantly looked away: “Is the news about the Goblet of Fire Competition reliable?”
“It won’t go wrong.” Melvin was very confident about this. “If Ilvermorny wants to participate, it can’t just start from the school side; it also needs to coordinate with the Ministry of Magic and the Department of International Magical Cooperation of the Ministries where the other three schools are located.
“I don’t know much about the French Ministry of Magic. The head of the British Department of International Magical Cooperation is named Barty Crouch; he’s quite dutiful in his main job. For Durmstrang, the Romanian Ministry of Magic should carry weight—mentioning my name will be very effective…”
Headmaster Fontana listened to the student’s suggestions and arrangements, gradually feeling less heartbroken, even faintly thinking that this batch of serpentwood branches was quite worthwhile.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Headmaster Fontana paused slightly, then turned to the banquet a couple of days ago: “Your business with the Grevis Family…”
“If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t. Even without the Grevis family’s help, it will gradually spread from Budapest.” Melvin had his own plans; compared to gold coin profits, control over the content was more important.
Headmaster Fontana nodded, showing a kindly smile: “Then I wish you a pleasant journey.”
“See you at the Goblet of Fire!”
……
First from Mount Greylock to New York, then from the Woolworth Building to the British Ministry of Magic—Apparition and Portkey were two completely different experiences, but neither was very comfortable.
Two hours later, he arrived at Charing Cross Road.
Pushing open the brick wall behind the Leaky Cauldron’s courtyard, Melvin felt something wondrous. Crossing thousands of miles—from Hogwarts to Budapest, then from Romania to Ilvermorny, and now back here after two months, with summer vacation nearly over.
After becoming a wizard, his perception of time and space had unknowingly changed. Recalling those distant memories occasionally always felt somewhat unreal.
Diagon Alley was even livelier than before. With school approaching, Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions were always packed with students and parents, while Knockturn Alley next to it was a completely different scene.
Walking through the narrow alleyway covered in mud and moss, Melvin knocked on the door of Borgin and Burkes.
The brass doorbell rang crisply, in stark contrast to Borgin’s still oily tone: “Welcome, what can I do for… Professor Levent! It’s truly a pleasure to see you again!”
The mechanical, lifeless oily patter quickly turned into a light, delighted tone. The hunched Borgin adjusted his glasses, the mirror surface reflecting a sheen similar to his hair.
Melvin also smiled: “I’m not here to buy or sell today, Mr. Borgin.”
“Then what brings you?”
“I need you to introduce me to someone.”
……
“Diagon… cough… Knockturn Alley.”
Harry crawled out of the fireplace dizzy and disoriented, his skin bruised, covered in soot. He straightened his broken glasses and barely made out the surroundings—
A dim, eerie wizard shop.
The shelves held various strange, twisted objects: bloodstained cards, lifeless glass eyeballs, and daggers made from spliced human bones. The ceiling hung with grotesque masks and rusted but still sharp spikes.
Harry was certain nothing here could be on the Hogwarts School shopping list, and the narrow, damp little alley outside the glass shop window definitely wasn’t Diagon Alley.
Just as he tiptoed toward the door to slip out, two figures appeared at the entrance: one was the detestable Draco Malfoy, and the other was a middle-aged wizard with an unfamiliar face who looked like Malfoy’s father.
Trapped inside, Harry thought quickly and hastily hid in a black wooden cabinet. He closed the door from inside, leaving only a thin crack to peep through.
“If you want to keep your hand, don’t touch anything, Draco.” The middle-aged wizard lazily surveyed the shelves, triggering the doorbell; a slight sound came from the back room.
“I thought you were going to buy me a gift.” Draco sullenly withdrew his hand; he had been about to touch a Dark Magic item on the shelf.
“……”
Their conversation confirmed Harry’s guess. He focused his attention, listening even more cautiously to their talk.
At that moment, a hunched figure appeared behind the counter, his tone as oily as his hair, looking very surprised: “Mr. Malfoy, and young Master Malfoy, you’ve really come?”
Mr. Malfoy frowned slightly, pulling a roll of parchment from inside his clothes—it looked like some kind of list: “I’m not here to buy today, Mr. Borgin. I’m here to sell.”
“Very welcome.”
Mr. Borgin respectfully took the list but didn’t look at it right away, instead saying carefully: “Mr. Malfoy, this business can wait. There’s a gentleman who wants to talk to you. If you would…”
Mr. Malfoy’s face was expressionless, his gaze turning cold.
Draco, unaware of the situation, asked innocently: “A gentleman? Which one?”
Mr. Borgin’s smile was a bit forced as he slightly turned, gesturing toward the back room, indicating for Lucius to see for himself.
Mr. Malfoy’s long nostrils flared slightly. He glanced obliquely at Borgin and strode toward the back room. Draco immediately tried to follow but was held back by Mr. Borgin: “Young Master Malfoy, take a look at this skull—made by an Indian high priest with voodoo…”
Seeing Draco distracted by a few words, Harry curled his lip. Anyone could see Mr. Borgin was trying to separate the father and son, yet he fell for it like a fool.
Through the narrow crack, he strained to look toward the back room. Besides Mr. Malfoy, he could only see a blurry figure—tall and slender, somehow familiar.
……
Mr. Malfoy entered the back room and immediately saw the young wizard standing in the center of the room, flipping through a Dark Magic book whose cover was drawn with a viper in dark red, blackened ink, faintly carrying a bloody scent.
He casually set his wand on the nearby shelf: “Professor Levent?”
Malfoy naturally recognized this professor. He first rose to fame in the newspapers, then became a rising star in Britain’s wizarding world through the Magic Mirror Club. Among wizards his age, Melvin Levent was the most prominent name.
But the deeper impression came from his own child Draco’s retelling.
At first, that irrelevant joke—using absurd logic to infer that Severus admired his wife. When Narcissa showed him the son’s serious secret letter, he only found it ridiculous and amusing.
Malfoy, of course, didn’t believe such an outrageous deduction was true; he treated it as a joke and even sent Severus an invitation, planning to tease him in person.
Unfortunately, he didn’t accept the invitation.
Later came the warning during the Forbidden Forest night excursion. After that, Draco suddenly matured a lot. He and his wife thought their child had grown up at school, but when Draco casually asked about rent for a few shops, they realized this professor had taught him a lesson.
Finally, Draco came home from vacation boasting about a deal with the Lumbardons’ child. Though just child’s play, it showed the Malfoy family style.
For such a rising star professor, Mr. Malfoy didn’t mind befriending him.
Of course, a limited, cautious friendship.
Melvin was also sizing up this middle-aged wizard: head of the Malfoy family, a businessman whose trade spanned the seas, former inner circle Death Eater, sanctimonious escapee from trial, wizarding world conspirator, generous philanthropist—
Lucius Malfoy.
Pale blond hair, deep gray eyes, a pointed pale face—his appearance very similar to Draco’s.
“Mr. Malfoy, sorry to invite you to meet like this.”
Melvin set down the book, bowing slightly to him with a flawless smile, casually summoning two chairs and gesturing for him to sit and talk slowly: “I hear Mr. Malfoy wants to dispose of a batch of tricky items to deal with the Ministry of Magic’s recent inspections?”
Mr. Malfoy nodded slightly, sitting down easily, and said with self-mockery: “The Malfoy family name doesn’t have much prestige left—just enough for me to stall for two days and clear out the attic.”
“Dark Magic items are a small problem; even if found, it’s just a fine. These galleons mean nothing to the Malfoys…”
Melvin’s complimentary words made Malfoy lift his chin slightly, showing a bit of pride, but the next half-sentence shocked him pale:
“So how do you plan to handle the Dark Lord’s things?”
Mr. Malfoy’s pupils contracted, his smile froze on his face, his body tensing into instinctive defense. He struck a tough pose and asked coldly: “What do you mean?”
Melvin stared into his eyes, enunciating each word: “I mean, what are you planning to do with the diary in your pocket?”
The precise, detailed words shattered all of Malfoy’s illusions. Cold sweat quickly beaded on his back, his thoughts in chaos as he tried to analyze this young professor’s intentions.
How did he know about the diary?
Was he the Dark Lord’s man?
No, was he Dumbledore’s man?
Melvin continued on his own: “I think Mr. Malfoy has seen my film. Both Dumbledore and I believe the Dark Lord will return one day. I’m very curious—when that happens, will you Death Eaters who flipped sides after his fall, escaped prison by betraying allies, and never sought him out for all these years still earn the Dark Lord’s trust?
“Perhaps with the Malfoy wealth and deep connections, you and your wife… and your son Draco could become inner circle Death Eaters again. But what then? Will the Dark Lord win this time? If he falls again, which side will you turn to?
“Or you’ll become cannon fodder abandoned by both sides. No matter who wins, the Malfoys will be targets for liquidation.”
“……”
Malfoy felt an icy chill creeping from his feet to his heart.
Melvin smiled mildly: “Or, you could have a third path.”
……
“Click!”
Through the cabinet’s narrow crack, Harry saw Mr. Malfoy hurriedly exit the back room, grab Draco, and rush out of the shop.
“Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy. Can I come to the manor tomorrow at noon to pick up the goods?” Borgin called out obsequiously.
“Mm…”
The father and son’s figures disappeared into the narrow, damp alley. The shop fell quiet again. Borgin adjusted his pince-nez, turned slowly back to the back room, still muttering under his breath:
“If the legend is true, the items on this list are less than half of what’s privately hidden at Malfoy Manor…”
“Phew…”
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, planning to slip out quietly once Borgin was fully in the back room, leaving without a trace.
As he waited for the moment, Harry’s pupils suddenly contracted. Through the crack, he saw an unexpected figure emerge from the back room—tall and slender, handsome and young.
“It’s Professor Levent!” he shouted inwardly.
Harry watched Professor Levent chat idly with Borgin for a couple of sentences, tucking a Dark Magic book and a diary under his arm, preparing to say goodbye and leave. Then his gaze casually swept the shop, landing on the cabinet where Harry hid, a meaningful smile appearing.
Professor Levent approached step by step; Harry held his breath.
Harry swore to Merlin that he had always found Professor Levent’s smile kind and gentle, but seeing the same smile now gave him a chilling, hair-raising feeling.
Accompanied by a faint musty breeze, Melvin opened the cabinet door and looked at the disheveled Harry inside, distant memories surfacing in his mind.
It must be Dobby sensing Malfoy’s conspiracy, so he sabotaged Harry’s return to school. As a result, the Weasley brothers simply took him to the Burrow to wait for school together… There would be some trouble later, at least that poor Whomping Willow would suffer.
He smiled and asked: “First time using Floo Powder, mispronounced the place name?”
Harry mumbled an affirmative.
Then came a crack, and in a blink, the professor’s finger tapped lightly; the broken lenses suddenly fused back together, his vision clearing.
Melvin summoned a small whirlwind that circled him twice, sweeping up the soot on his clothes and swirling it into the nearby fireplace.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you to Diagon Alley. Mrs. Weasley must be worried sick.”
“……”
In the blink of an eye, his disheveled state was brand new. Harry was still a bit dazed.
Was Professor Levent a good guy or a bad guy?
