Chapter 171: On The Rise
“A group of Isle of Dragon crossed the frozen tundra, fearlessly strolling across the grasslands, beginning a grueling and long adventure. The leader who led the tribe on the eve of completion had fulfilled his duty, but Ponlok’s legendary story was just beginning…”
Hagrid sat in the dim Forbidden Forest Hut, clutching his beard in one hand and his mole-skin coat in the other, looking up at the floating images in the small projection mirror.
Melvin said that Muggle Psychology has a concept where ordinary people feel shame and discomfort when hearing their real voice, involving many reasons such as sound conduction, cochlea structure, and so on—it’s extremely complex altogether.
At this moment, Hagrid just felt truly ashamed.
“In fact, it looks pretty good, right?” Professor Kettleburn sprawled on the sofa next to him, “If Melvin hadn’t asked me to dig up memories from my youth, I wouldn’t have remembered how spectacular the Isle of Dragon herd migration was—I can’t help but feel my blood boiling!”
Could Professor Kettleburn only see Isle of Dragon in his eyes?
Hagrid suppressed his somewhat offensive thought and released his painfully tugged beard: “Professor, these images—do they really have to be seen by all the wizards in Britain?”
“That’s what Melvin said.” Professor Kettleburn seemed not entirely sure either, “But I think it might be visible to wizards all over the world.”
Hagrid already regretted it—why had he listened to them back then and done voice acting narration for these animal images?
“How about it, excited?” Professor Kettleburn asked with a smile, “I can make your name even more prominent, listing it separately at the opening and ending, bold and black!”
“No need, no need!” Hagrid waved his hands hurriedly.
“Fairies shaking their wings in the glow of dawn, leisurely flying up from the flower clusters, forming neat queues to dance gracefully, their figures elegant like princesses in evening gowns, singing, laughing…”
His narration voice came from the projection mirror again, muffled and stuffy, deliberately modulated to match the picture.
The half-giant nearly ten feet tall sighed, helplessly slumping into the sofa, ignoring Fang biting his trouser leg.
……
A few candles floated in the air, their candle flames not the burning orange but white, like winter sun on pristine snow, slightly glaring, illuminating the entire space brightly.
The person sitting behind the walnut wood table straightened his back, mindful of his abdomen even when breathing, reading the parchment manuscript on the desk without glancing sideways or noticeably, his whole body tense and not daring to relax.
From the doorway, it looked like a studio, with sloppy imitation marks.
“Cecilia only graduated from Hogwarts last year—can she handle reporting?” the middle-aged man across the table asked. “Editor-in-Chief Guffey, this video news program you’ve proposed is time-consuming and laborious—what if the audience doesn’t accept it? Readers like getting news from newspapers; we don’t know the result with projection mirrors yet. We should focus our energy on the newspaper or wait and see, don’t you think?”
Hearing the evening newspaper editor’s words, reporter Betty Brethwaite behind him strongly agreed. Cecilia was just a newbie—didn’t she just look pretty? Why was she sitting in that position?
“We don’t have that much time to wait. The Daily Prophet succeeded because its founder was the first to imitate Muggles and start a newspaper office.”
Editor-in-Chief Guffey was unsmiling at work, carrying an indescribable authority. “There are so many publishers in the wizarding world—three just on this Diagon Alley. We must seize the initiative before others react.”
“You think projection mirrors, like newspapers, are a major change leading the era?”
“No, projection mirrors are more important than newspapers!”
Everyone was stunned for a moment, and the studio fell silent.
Cecilia, selected as the host, grew even more nervous, feeling short of breath.
The evening newspaper editor frowned. As a wizard from a pure-blood family, he completely couldn’t understand Guffey’s thinking: “Then how do we make money? Projection mirror programs can’t charge subscriptions like newspapers. Is the Magic Mirror Club offering a high price? I heard Bagman sold Quidditch match images and made a fortune…”
“Don’t be too surprised—Professor Levent and I talked personally; the program is completely free.” Guffey said calmly, “He was willing to pay, but I refused.”
The evening newspaper editor scratched his hair, completely unable to comprehend.
If the editor-in-chief in front of him weren’t Guffey, he would have flipped the table and cursed, but The Daily Prophet’s past responses proved this editor-in-chief’s vision, so he could only choose to believe.
In the corner by the wall, Rita Skeeter lowered her head, silently flipping through news manuscripts, the image of that young professor surfacing in her mind.
「Several Ministry of Magic department heads assist, Minister Fudge angrily compromises…」
「The wizard behind the Magic Mirror Club, Marchbanks and Dumbledore…」
「Projection mirrors you don’t know about, already promoted in Hungary and Romania…」
The parchment was full of news about the Magic Mirror Club, some written by her personally—some successfully published, some rejected by the editor-in-chief. Rita vaguely felt something rising.
The colossal beast behind the curtain revealed a corner.
……
On the weekend before Hogwarts term started, middle-aged wizard Tucklot heard the news and arrived early at The Three Broomsticks, craning his neck in wait, but Madam Rosmerta hadn’t appeared, with only a few attendants serving patrons.
His heart was like ignited whiskey, burning impatiently.
According to what he’d heard from his friend at the Department of Magical Transportation, the Magic Mirror Club would start selling small projection mirrors this weekend. Ordinary wizards might guess tomorrow morning, but Tucklot was a regular customer, having experienced the Quidditch matches and film screenings.
He speculated that The Three Broomsticks might sell them early.
After downing two butterbeers and two honey meads in a row, with foam nearly clogging his throat, Madam Rosmerta still hadn’t shown, and the tavern was serving customers as orderly as usual.
“Did I guess wrong?”
Tucklot belched alcohol, swaying as he stood to leave, when he suddenly noticed a sound from the back room behind the bar.
A very faint sound, like someone moving things, handling them lightly and carefully—not the tavern’s oak barrels or brewing ingredients.
Having spent time with Malcolm, Tucklot felt he’d picked up some Gryffindor traits, hesitating barely before stepping quietly toward the back room.
Lifting the curtain, inside were wine cabinets and cupboards everywhere; two attendants were moving suitcases, sealed tightly—the earlier sound from gentle placement bumps.
“Are these projection mirrors inside?” Tucklot felt no embarrassment, bold and straightforward just like his arch-rival Malcolm. “Selling tomorrow, right? Can I buy early? Price increase is fine!”
“?”
