Chapter 128: Parent-teacher Conference
“Hahaha…”
The old wizard laughed heartily: “That’s right, Seraphina was just like that. When I was writing the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them series, the first few volumes went smoothly, but only the North America special edition—Seraphina saw my manuscript and, on the grounds of protecting North American creatures, forbade me from publishing it publicly.”
“In fact, that manuscript leaked out and was printed and sold by bootleggers, nearly becoming a textbook at Ilvermorny.”
The young wizards in the dance floor changed batch after batch, the band’s melody shifting from tense and intense to relaxed and melodious. The young professor and the old wizard’s conversation flowed from the Hogwarts Forbidden Forest to the Mount Greylock mountain forest, from the Black Lake to mountain springs—they got along very well.
Melvin also learned some information.
Newt Scamander hadn’t completed his studies in his youth either; he was expelled due to a dangerous experiment involving a dirt badger, after which he embarked on a journey traveling the world to save magical creatures, visiting over a hundred countries across five continents, and along the way helped Dumbledore defeat Grindelwald.
He has now retired and lives in seclusion in Dorset with his wife, raising three pet mews, as well as a garden goblin and bowtruckles.
One slow waltz ended, and during the interval while the musicians adjusted, the outdoor venue became exceptionally quiet.
Melvin watched the bowtruckle poking its head out of the old wizard’s pocket, hesitated slightly, then spoke up: “Mr. Scamander, I have a question about an exotic horned serpent on Mount Greylock.”
Newt nodded, gesturing for him to continue.
“It was around my second year when I met it by a mountain stream. At first, it taught me some simple spellcasting techniques, and I told it some interesting anecdotes from school. After spending time together, we became friends.” Melvin recalled as he spoke. “It has profound knowledge, is well-versed in magic power application techniques, and can perform divination using the gemstone on its forehead.”
Newt looked into the young wizard’s calm black eyes, paused, then asked hesitantly: “Are you a Parselmouth?”
In the view of ordinary wizards, Parseltongue is generally associated with dark wizards, making the question somewhat inappropriate.
Melvin shook his head: “I don’t speak Parseltongue, but the horned serpent is fluent in human languages—not just one.”
Newt sighed: “It must have a very long lifespan.”
“Yes, over seven hundred years old. The first mention of it in Ilvermorny’s school history was at the school’s founding…”
Melvin recalled that snake face covered in scales, always resting its head on a rock, staring blankly into the distance, flicking its tongue without interrupting its speech, even more talkative than a professor.
He also didn’t know how the snake’s mouth managed to speak.
As Melvin told stories about the horned serpent, he became a bit lost in thought. In the blink of an eye, the serpent seemed to appear before him again, coiled on snakewood, its head hanging down as it whispered goodbye to him.
Sorting through seven years of memories felt disorienting, and the horned serpent’s head held seven hundred years of memories—no wonder the serpent was always so dazed.
“It left me a snake egg.”
Melvin reached into his pocket, pulled out a unique egg, and showed it to Newt: “I’m not sure if it laid this itself or took it from one of its kin. The magic power on it is different from an ordinary snake egg. I don’t know how to hatch it—please take a look.”
Newt’s light brown eyes lit up slightly as he took the snake egg and examined it carefully.
It was slightly larger than a goose egg, with a clean grayish-white shell covered in faint, almost invisible patterns like stacked snake scales. Dull fluorescence flowed over it, and compared to a month ago, it seemed somewhat changed.
“I’ve looked through many materials. This kind of magical creature with unique magic power basically can’t hatch naturally and requires certain magical rituals.” Melvin shared his guess. “I’m not sure what kind of ritual, so I didn’t dare try anything rashly.”
Newt observed the snake egg while also observing Melvin.
Wizards who deal with magical creatures long-term can always discern other creatures’ attitudes through certain intuitions. Humans are animals too—their thoughts unconsciously reveal through actions and expressions: wary vigilance, savings malice ready to attack, or carefree indifference.
The young professor before him was polite and mild-mannered, able to chat freely even with strangers—clearly Slytherin style. But the sincerity in his stories about the horned serpent couldn’t be faked.
“You’re right.”
Newt withdrew his gaze and handed back the snake egg: “Hatching exotic magical creatures requires following rituals, with demands on weather, stars, climate, and temperature. Rash attempts will only disrupt the magic power and hatch something strange.”
“Does Mr. Scamander have a way?”
“You’re very lucky, or very trustworthy.” Newt tucked the peeking bowtruckle back into his pocket. “That serpent has basically completed the preliminary hatching ritual. It just needs the little one inside the egg to absorb magic power and break out of the shell.”
Melvin’s eyes lit up: “How do I do that?”
“Have you heard of nest parasitism?” Newt explained, answering his own question. “Some birds place their eggs in other birds’ nests, letting them incubate the offspring. This snake egg needs nest parasitism too. Go back and find some powerful snake magical creatures to supply the egg with magic power. When the time comes, it will hatch smoothly.”
“Powerful snake magical creatures.”
Melvin repeated, his tone complex.
“Be especially careful to choose mild-tempered snakes. Some vicious ones will smash the egg. Also watch the feeding—don’t let the host snake feel hungry, or it might eat the egg as food…”
Newt gave many more precautions.
With his personality in his youth, he probably would have taken the egg and handled the hatching himself, but this egg held special significance. Newt respected the horned serpent’s choice.
From afar, he saw companions standing by Madam Bones waving him over, apparently wanting him to say a few words. Newt nodded slightly to Melvin:
“Professor Levent, if you have difficulties, write to me. You can get the address from first-year student Rolf—just say it’s from me.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Scamander.”
“…”
Melvin looked down at the grayish-white snake egg, his thoughts drifting back to Hogwarts.
His original plan was to play pen pal with Riddle for a few more weeks, perfect the magical creatures assistant teacher persona, wait for the right moment to open the Chamber of Secrets, use the basilisk to draw out Slytherin’s cultivation plan, then trick Riddle into helping hatch the horned serpent.
He hadn’t expected to get answers from Mr. Scamander.
The pen pal game would continue, but no need to build the role anymore, and the Chamber of Secrets issue didn’t need delaying.
……
The dance floor’s melody sounded again.
After dancing four dances with the niece from the Ekko family, Lockhart finally had time to bring up introducing school colleagues to Mrs. Ekko.
He straightened his blue formal robe, flashing a flawless brilliant smile. Seeing an inviting glance from a witch, he still firmly shook his head. Though enjoying the evening party, this was the main reason he’d come tonight.
“Mrs. Ekko, long time no see. You still look so beautiful!”
At the edge of the dance floor, Lockhart picked up two glasses of champagne, keeping one for himself and handing one to Mrs. Ekko. “At the recent signing event, I heard some staff say work at the Department of Magical Transportation is very boring. Is that true?”
Mrs. Ekko sipped her champagne and gave him a sidelong glance, noncommittal.
Lockhart might be popular with young witches and housewives, but to a female powerhouse managing a department, he was just a showy writer.
If the adventure stories in his books were all true, she might think higher of him.
But Lockhart couldn’t prove it—at least he hadn’t shown those qualities yet.
Lockhart seemed oblivious to the cold shoulder, his signature smile unwavering: “Here’s the thing: after I became the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, I quickly got along with my colleagues. They all admire my legendary stories, and I respect their individual talents.
“For example, Professor Levent of Muggle Studies—you’ve probably heard of him. He’s the founder of the Magic Mirror Club. The projection mirror that swept the wizarding world recently was his creation—a very innovative gadget, right?”
“…”
Mrs. Ekko frowned slightly.
Lockhart paused, seeing she hadn’t interrupted or walked away, his smile growing brighter:
“Professor Levent wants to turn my books into films. I’d say there’s no point—just repeating my adventures. But he says readers need more direct experiences than text, to learn more useful things and help more wizards.”
He sighed dramatically, swirling his wine glass: “Ha! To help more people—how could I refuse.”
Mrs. Ekko’s brows furrowed tighter: “If the rest is this kind of nonsense, you can stop.”
“I have a habit of explaining in detail—writer’s occupational disease, perhaps.”
Lockhart saw her set down her glass and turn to leave, so he raised his voice and sped up: “Professor Levent wants to collaborate with you, using the Floo Network to send moving pictures into ordinary wizards’ homes.”
Mrs. Ekko glanced at him and chuckled lightly: “So you can speak normally?”
……
Under the tent in the cold buffet area of Nott Manor, hundreds of candles floated with the breeze, swaying slowly, casting flickering shadows around. Occasionally, flying insects fell into the melted wax where it met the wick, sparking and scattering.
Go-between Lockhart was introducing to Mrs. Ekko, his signature smile on, teeth gleaming in the night: “Mrs. Ekko, this is Professor Levent.”
“Melvin, this is Mrs. Ekko of the Department of Magical Transportation.”
“Very pleased to meet you.”
Melvin, in black-and-white formal robe, shook her hand while sizing up this mid-level power player in the Ministry of Magic.
Around 35 years old. Halfway through the evening party, her deep brown short hair was still impeccably neat, her bean-paste lipstick un-faded, her well-maintained face still showing traces of youth, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth from long-term seriousness and tension.
Deep gray formal robe, perfectly tailored, high-quality fabric, paired with pearl necklace and pearl earrings—very much matching his impression of pure-blood families.
In terms of rank, this lady didn’t outrank Umbridge and couldn’t influence law or policy making, but revamping the Floo Network was a complex project. Gaining cooperation from this direct department official would smooth the promotion process greatly.
Mrs. Ekko returned a faint, polite smile, no mirth in her eyes, her gaze openly assessing and judging.
“You want to collaborate with me?” she asked softly. “Why?”
Melvin said frankly: “The upcoming home projection mirrors need to integrate with the Floo Network. I need a real manager of the Floo Network to cooperate—not a power- and wealth-obsessed minister, or an Auror director full of wild guesses and suspicions thinking the projection mirror hides conspiracies, or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement head.”
Mrs. Ekko still puzzled: “From what I’ve heard, Professor Levent, though new here not long, has twice subdued Minister Fudge and his lackey Umbridge in the past two years. With Madam Marchbanks’s help and Dumbledore’s assistance, even with Fudge recently stuffing the Wizengamot with his people, you could achieve your goal by being forceful.”
The tribunal matter wasn’t kept secret; Ministry insiders knew the truth. Any clear-eyed wizard could see Madam Bones and Crouch as neutrals, venerable old wizards supporting Melvin—Fudge and Umbridge couldn’t touch the projection mirror.
Melvin pondered briefly: “I want mutual benefit and win-win, to quickly build the framework for projection mirrors and the Floo Network, not waste energy on pointless disputes.”
“What do I get?” Mrs. Ekko asked without pretense.
“Prestige, wealth…”
Melvin saw no reaction in the witch’s eyes. He paused, then probed: “Marietta’s growth?”
At her daughter’s name, Mrs. Ekko suddenly fell silent, staring fixedly at the young professor, waiting for his explanation.
Dim yellow candlelight flickered. Even with magical repellents, stray moths still flew toward the candles, splattering burning melted wax. A beetle wobbled onto Mrs. Ekko’s shoulder.
Melvin’s dark, calm eyes showed a professor’s confidence, reflecting the swaying lamplight: “Marietta has entered third year and elected my Muggle Studies class. Though we’ve spent little time together, it’s clear her family education has issues—her talent and personality suppressed and twisted.”
The student’s parent’s gaze sharpened suddenly, her polite smile completely gone.
“In my first class, all students had a chance to introduce themselves and explain why they chose the course. Most found it interesting, but Marietta was influenced by her roommate. For Ravenclaw Quidditch team tryouts, most students want to try regardless of talent, but Marietta doesn’t know her own mind, procrastinating until the deadline, only signing up after her roommate persuaded her…”
Melvin eyed the beetle on the parent’s shoulder, smiling: “I believe there are many such examples, which you as her parent have probably noticed.”
“Personalities differ—why blame family education?” Mrs. Ekko’s tone remained cold and hard, but her attitude had shifted.
Melvin answered: “Because of parents like you. You bring your work mindset home, treating your child like a subordinate—bluntly, strong control desire, lacking warmth, leading to her current personality: no initiative, procrastination, timidity, following others’ advice blindly!”
Mrs. Ekko’s face tightened, expression cold: “What do you want?”
“I won’t bargain with a student’s parent over the student.” Melvin backed off at the end, shaking his head. “This is just a professor’s advice to a parent—hope you take it to heart. For the Magic Mirror Club, I promise generous profits and support for promotion—that’s all.”
Mrs. Ekko paused, her tense expression gradually relaxing.
