Chapter 127: The Nott Family Banquet
Night fell deeper, and London finally ended its day’s clamor. The Ministry of Magic, hidden underground in Westminster, fell silent. Thanks to the influence of the Muggle-Repelling Charm, the surrounding streets were exceptionally quiet, with residents sunk into deep slumber.
In the silent, dim night, a wizard remained unrested.
On a street in Westminster, a single warm yellow light shone lonely. Inside the glass window covered by ironwork, a witch was bent over her desk writing.
Her hair was in precise wavy curls, fixed by potion to look like stiff cement, paired with a broad face and big chin, making her look odd and unpleasant. She wore glasses inlaid with jewels, scarlet elongated fake nails, and eyebrows thickened with charcoal pencil, looking particularly repulsive.
The enchanted green quill moved nimbly and swiftly, with sheets of parchment rotating one after another.
At exciting parts, Rita Skeeter couldn’t help grinning, revealing the three gold teeth embedded in her mouth.
A cold gust blew through the window, raising goosebumps on Skeeter’s arms. She muttered a couple of words and reached out to close the window.
It was just an ordinary evening breeze, slightly cool. London’s nights were like this, affected by the underground buildings, making Westminster cooler. It was all very normal.
But star reporter Skeeter felt a faint unease in her heart, slightly irritated.
This feeling was hard to describe, an unfounded sense of malice, as if some reader had memorized her name.
Nothing strange about that. Skeeter was a star reporter for the Daily Prophet, having reported on many terrorist attacks, major events, and Ministry of Magic activities. She had written biographies of many legendary figures, and the content of her manuscripts was always controversial. Being cursed was normal.
Tonight’s malice felt stronger. She lowered her head to continue writing but couldn’t get back into the earlier state, so she hastily wrote a conclusion and put it in the drawer.
Skeeter paid it no mind. After washing up, she flipped through tomorrow’s schedule.
“Two news manuscripts, one magazine chit-chat… Nott family’s cold buffet.”
Skeeter curled her lips. These old nobles certainly wouldn’t invite a reporter skilled in uncovering secrets, but she planned to show up uninvited, aiming to eavesdrop on enough explosive news to give those pure-bloods a surprise.
……
Wiltshire, Theo’s Fort, far southwest suburbs, Nott Manor.
A castle was preparing a cold buffet to celebrate Mrs. Nott’s birthday.
In a remote village far from the city, the suburban lanes were abandoned. The road was lined with low thorny bushes and neat yew hedges, giving a eerie, desolate feel under the moonlight. Passing through the hedges, the view opened up: the manor main door stood open, with house-elves stationed on either side checking invitations.
After sunset, carriages arrived continuously, nearly matching the scale of the Malfoy family’s Boxing Day banquet.
The Nott couple was a pure-blood family marriage alliance. The Twenty-Eight Families were all related by blood, and collateral branches also received invitations. Except for the Weasleys, seen as a pure-blood disgrace, all other wizards attended the banquet.
The house-elf in charge of reception struggled to match the names on the invitations to these faces, awkwardly and flusteredly leading them to the lawn, watching as the Nott couple greeted them warmly and chatted.
“Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, long time no see!”
“Mr. Crouch, Madam Bones, didn’t expect you to come too.”
“Minister Fudge, this way.”
“…”
As guests gradually arrived, Mrs. Nott soon yielded the evening party’s center spot, letting wizards from different circles disperse and gather, chatting among themselves. The Nott couple also held champagne, mingling everywhere.
For these wizards, this was not just a birthday dance, but also a place for socializing and business.
Thousands of candles floated in midair, echoing the stars and moon in the night sky. The evening breeze wafted, and the Midsummer Night outdoor party carried the scent of grass and champagne.
The lawn was divided into two areas: one was the dance floor centered on the band, where young wizards circled inside while chatting on the periphery; the other was the tented dining area, with long tables laden with various delicacies and wine.
Older wizards had no interest in dancing. In groups of three or five, they formed small circles, holding wine glasses, admiring the manor and the young people’s dances while discussing this year’s business.
Melvin, dressed in black-and-white formal wear, stood in the dining area, sampling the house-elves’ handiwork, particularly favoring the Nott family’s smoked slow-roasted veal, which was tastier than at Hogwarts.
“Scotch eggs are good too…”
“Cream scones are not as good as at school…”
Melvin ate his way along ordinarily, nearly filling his stomach, still not seeing Lockhart. He wiped his mouth, looked around, still no sign, and sighed.
They had clearly entered the venue together, but in the blink of an eye, Lockhart was gone.
No telling if he was in the dance floor enjoying others’ gazes or showing off his perfect smile in some famous noble’s circle—unreliable either way.
Just as he planned to try the beet salad, he heard a series of footsteps approaching nearby, so he set down his cutlery, squeezed out a smile, and adopted the posture of a Hogwarts professor.
“Why do we have to come here, Tina?” an old wizard with graying hair and pale brown eyes complained.
“Theseus wants you to get out and about, Newt, to talk to more wizards instead of hiding long-term in your box tending creatures,” said an equally elderly witch, her tone as kindly and serene as her face.
“You really mean strange creatures, right?”
The old wizard’s tone was wistful, but considering she had spoken up in time, he didn’t dwell, continuing to complain, “Why doesn’t Theseus have to attend these banquets? Why doesn’t he come meet the rest of the Ministry of Magic family?”
The witch named Tina sighed: “He doesn’t want to see the people now sitting in those positions.”
Newt sighed too, looking wistful. It was clearly something that guy himself didn’t want to do, yet he was forcing him to attend the banquet—his dear brother was even more overbearing than in his youth.
“You can stay here. I’ll go say hello to Amelia.”
“Go ahead, dear.”
Newt saw no issue with it. When Tina was at the American Ministry of Magic, her relations with colleagues were terrible, but switching to Britain, she had made some friends.
The witch’s figure receded. The old wizard left behind began eyeing the food on the long table—not for himself. He picked a bloody beef rib, casually stuffing it into his pocket.
Melvin saw a green limb twitch quickly, shave off the meat shreds from it, and toss the bone out.
Newt noticed his scrutinizing gaze and said with a cheerful laugh: “Forgive me, we arrived too rushed, and the little one hasn’t had dinner yet.”
“Shouldn’t bowtruckles eat soil beetles or fairy eggs?” Melvin asked with a smile, already realizing who this was.
Speaking of magical creatures, Newt was instantly alert: “At first I thought they only ate tree things too. Later it joined me for a few dinners, fussing to try some… Actually, these little ones are omnivores; beef and insects are equally delicious to it.”
Melvin followed his lead: “I’m not too familiar with this magical creature. There are no bowtruckles on Mount Greylock where Ilvermorny is.”
“You’re a wizard who graduated from Ilvermorny?” Newt’s eyes lit up.
When he was young, he caused too much trouble in New York, was banned from leaving for years afterward. Though the ban was lifted later, the Ministry of Magic remained wary of him, with Aurors watching wherever he went. He never got to closely observe North America’s magical creatures—a lingering regret.
“Melvin Lavent, now professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts.”
Melvin nodded. He too wanted to talk North American magical creatures with this expert.
