Chapter 179: Seaside
Newcastle upon Tyne, on the east coast 450 kilometers north of London, takes three to four hours by train to London, and is 13 kilometers from the North Sea.
Influenced by both the North Atlantic warm current and monsoons, Newcastle’s climate is relatively mild compared to other regions at the same latitude, and the weather here in mid-February is much warmer than the Scottish Highlands.
Newcastle Brown Ale is a world-famous pale ale, the local football club Newcastle United has the most fans in all of England, and relying on these signboards, this rusty, coal-burning industrial city has successfully transformed into a tourist city, with thousands of tourists flooding in from Northern England every weekend.
Large numbers of students and travelers bring different colors to the city, so even wizards dressed somewhat conservatively blend into the crowd without standing out.
“Editor-in-Chief Guffey, is your news program production going smoothly?” Melvin held a glass of beer, the foam bursting with a very faint hissing sound that was quite relaxing to hear.
“Not good, not bad. I initially planned to directly imitate the Muggles’ news programs, but only when actually putting it into practice did I discover many difficulties. They have professional reporter teams, editing teams, behind-the-scenes work groups, and hosts trained for years.”
Barnabas Guffey didn’t know why the young professor chose this place to talk business, nor did he have any intention to probe; he had been extremely busy lately, his voice carrying a hint of fatigue, “I required all the wizards at the newspaper office to watch the Muggles’ news programs. Some pure-bloods were unwilling, their thinking still unable to shift.”
This tavern was converted from an old warehouse, and the tavern owner retained the original features during the renovation: straight and simple lines, plain and rough decorations, with a style reminiscent of last century’s steel heavy industry.
At the moment, the tavern was mostly filled with out-of-town tourists.
Barnabas wore a crisp peaked lapel robe, with a knitted scarf around his neck and a subtle quill pattern on his chest, looking a bit old-fashioned but perfectly suiting his age.
Melvin was dressed in a black trench coat, with a white old-fashioned shirt underneath, looking like a tourist here for a weekend getaway, though his handsome face was slightly conspicuous.
On the river surface outside were passing ships, with beautiful pedestrian bridges on both shores, stylish and grand hotels, art centers, and music halls; farther away, the sea could be seen, dark in color, with waves crashing toward the shore like a white line scribbled by a child.
Melvin took a sip of the pale ale, which had a faint salty fishy taste; it was said to be brewed from a unique saltwater mixture. He suspected it was made with unfiltered seawater or rainwater that had leaked into the fermentation tank without proper cleaning.
Anyway, it didn’t taste good.
“Isn’t this our purpose?” Melvin said with a light smile, “Pushing projection mirrors throughout the entire Wizarding World, producing video news for wizards. One day, their pure-blood notions will be swept into the trash.”
Barnabas Guffey nodded, a hint of pride in his expression: “Small projection mirrors are on sale; you must have made a lot of money, right?”
As the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, Guffey had seen many manuscripts about projection mirror news during this time. Clearly a new thing, it had become almost an essential item in every household in a short time. Some pure-blood families even used them to display their nobility, installing projection mirrors in rooms with fireplaces.
Prices varied by tavern, but even at the most common Oak Barrel and The Leaky Cauldron, projection mirrors weren’t cheap, let alone at the White Ink Bar aimed at pure-blood families.
He even suspected the profits from them could buy the Daily Prophet.
“Oh… I’ve left that business entirely to Wright to manage, so I haven’t paid much attention to exactly how many Galleons were made.” Melvin took a sip of pale ale, his expression calm.
Guffey glanced at the young professor, hesitating to speak.
“Professor Levent has higher ideals and pursuits, and the Magic Mirror Club has sufficient profits to support it. The Daily Prophet is different.” Guffey’s expression was complicated as he sighed, “Because we’ve concentrated most of the newspaper office’s staff on making video news, the workload is high and the pressure is great, with no profits yet. The newspaper staff and board of directors have big opinions about me.”
Melvin raised an eyebrow: “So the editor-in-chief plans to stop the free screening cooperation?”
“No, I’m here to discuss an advertising plan.”
Guffey’s tone suddenly became positive: “I carefully investigated the Muggle news profit methods: one is inconspicuous hidden advertisements, the other is pre-roll advertisements… Both plans seem to have pros and cons. The newspaper office internally leans toward doing both at the same time. I’d like your opinion.”
Inconspicuous hidden advertisements mean reporting somewhat dubious news, like which shop is opening and drawing queues of customers, some product selling like hotcakes, whose child is crying and demanding it, causing trouble and ending up in the hospital… On the surface it’s news, but actually promotional advertising.
The advantage is that it’s hard to detect, doesn’t easily cause resentment, and has better promotion effects.
But it greatly damages the newspaper’s authority. Early audiences might not notice, but once they do, they’ll suspect all Daily Prophet news of being advertisements, and over time, they might not want to watch the program anymore.
Pre-roll advertisements are blatant, inserted into the program. Though they easily annoy audiences, they’re straightforward, and the annoyance isn’t directed at the program itself.
Guffey was one of the first wizards to encounter Muggles, so he couldn’t be unaware of the difference between the two. Asking Melvin’s opinion was actually probing whether Melvin had any ideas about profit sharing.
This was also an old fox, just not as shrewd as Dumbledore.
Melvin shook his head: “Mister Editor-in-Chief, I don’t care about these advertising profits and won’t interfere with the Daily Prophet news management and production, so you should decide on the specific plan yourself.”
Guffey was stunned for a moment and didn’t speak for a long time.
“Editor-in-Chief Guffey, you are a very rare wizard in the Wizarding World who realizes the brilliance of Muggle civilization. Just seeing the projection mirrors in the tavern, you decided to come to Hogsmeade to discuss cooperation with me, which I greatly admire.”
Melvin said with a smiling soft voice: “I think you should understand my idea. Projection mirrors are not just a tool to earn Galleons; they are a window connecting wizards worldwide, connecting wizards and Muggles. I plan to turn projection mirrors into a behemoth like Muggle television, but now it’s just getting started.
“Projection mirrors need more content. I need more people to join in. I hope you can gain wealth and fame and fortune from it, so you’ll be more positive in building projection mirrors.
“So, you don’t need to worry at all. I won’t drain the pond to catch all the fish.”
With Guffey’s definite promise, the fatigue on his face dissipated somewhat.
Taking advantage of his moment of daze, Melvin drank the last sip of pale ale, smacked his lips with some disdain, and set down the glass cup: “Let’s end it here, Mister Guffey. I wish Daily Prophet news continued success.”
“…”
Guffey sat in the chair, watching the young professor leave the tavern, then stared at the glass cup in front of him, where bubbles rose and burst, emitting a faint aroma of alcohol.
The young wizard said he admired him, but he admired this young professor even more.
「Needs more people to join in, gaining fame and fortune and wealth from it.」
How many wizards live one or two hundred years without being able to abandon greed, coveting every profit in sight, yet this young wizard can let go of these—what kind of thought and breadth of mind is that?
“…”
Immersed in his own thoughts and memories, Guffey closed his eyes to rest during this rare leisure time. He didn’t know how much time passed when a sound of footsteps gradually approached.
“Sir, this sir?”
Guffey opened his eyes to see a tavern staff member in front of him, with a smile on his face.
“Trouble settling the bill: two brown ales, 10 pounds.”
“?”
Guffey was stunned.
…
Little dwarf Peter extended his constantly trembling hand and completely snapped off a section from the back of the wooden plank. The irregular splintered wood fell into the sea, vanishing with a roll of the waves. The entire plank was now less than half left, with the wind and waves still surging relentlessly.
Peter curled up on the plank, covered in cold sweat. The sea wind blew on his body, evaporating the sweat with body heat; this chill made him feel weak. His eyelids, unclosed for a day and night, were somewhat uncontrollable, but he remained awake, striving to keep the plank balanced and maintain his body temperature.
After resting a moment until he felt his spirit slightly better, he waved his wand, letting the Levitation Charm carry the plank, continuing to sail on the sea.
Blessed by the goddess of luck, the subsequent journey was fairly calm, without unbeatable wind and waves.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief, took out the cheese tucked in his bosom, stuffed it wholly into his mouth and swallowed, and conjured some drinking water with the clear water as spring spell. He wasn’t full, nor fully quenched, but his spirit and stamina recovered somewhat.
That piece of plank just now should have been kept; it could have been Transfigured into something for warmth.
He didn’t know how many waves had passed; the moist sea wind blew on his body, his vision blurring intermittently. He had little stamina and magic power left, unsure how much farther he could sail. If only he could sail out of the Apparition blockade zone, then he could leave on his own.
Peter squeezed his weary eyelids, pressed his wand to the inside of his arm, and looked at the mark there, only to realize it was his left arm, bearing the Dark Mark.
Stunned for a moment, he switched the wand to his other hand, pressing the wand tip to the inside of his right arm. Peter gritted his teeth and channeled his remaining magic power.
The dim Ouroboros Mark glowed with silver light.
The magic power carried his sincere prayer, transmitting through layers of spatial barriers to an unknown distance.
Unfortunately, there was still no response. Despair showed on Peter’s face. In his haste to escape that island prison, he had grabbed some needed intelligence and set off on just any wooden plank, originally thinking that as long as he left Azkaban’s range, he could Apparate from anywhere or contact that professor to be saved.
But he had underestimated the terror of the ocean and the waves.
The first one or two hours were fine; he could still see Azkaban by turning around. Though he didn’t know the exact position, he had a reference to correct his direction, sailing away from the island.
Things gradually became complicated later. The long voyage made him drowsy, so he took a short nap. When he opened his eyes again, he had completely lost sight of Azkaban; all around was endless sea, gray misty water.
He was lost.
As a middle-aged wizard who had experienced war, Peter didn’t immediately lose his reason. He used the Directional Spell to indicate the path, proceeding in the direction his wand pointed, but the ocean seemed to have magic; every distance sailed, the Directional Spell would change direction.
Was he going in circles at sea?
This discovery filled Peter with strong panic. He began frequently using the Directional Spell for guidance, and after sailing a distance, realized the waves had affected his course. Using the Directional Spell periodically could correct the direction.
In this way, after sailing for several hours, Peter gradually realized something was wrong. Adding up, he had been sailing nearly a whole day and still hadn’t left Azkaban’s range.
Apparition couldn’t be performed, stamina and magic power were about to be exhausted, and the waterlogged plank risked disintegrating… All these conditions piling up, Peter gradually fell into despair.
The remaining plank seemed unable to carry a middle-aged male wizard, and food was about to run out…
After careful thought, Peter decided to transform into his Animagus form to conserve energy and recover stamina.
He stowed his wand and turned into a rat. The situation indeed improved a lot: the sea wind was no longer so piercingly cold, the plank felt much lighter, sailing briskly on the sea surface. Peter even felt he could get a good sleep.
“Gah…”
A shadow enveloped the narrow plank. The rat Scabbers recognized the shape of that shadow: a seagull soaring with wings spread.
The rat Scabbers looked up, its round head meeting the seagull’s gaze, instantly feeling a chill down its spine, its sparse hairs standing on end.
Seagulls are omnivores, the kind that like eating french fries and bread, mostly gathering near docks. But these seagulls on the sea surface were almost all carnivorous predators!
In the instant the rat and seagull locked eyes, accompanied by the seagull’s diving wing flaps, sharp claws tore through the air, lunging toward the rodent on the plank.
The rat Scabbers dodged in haste, awkwardly reverting to human form and hastily casting a spell.
Though he didn’t hit the wild bird, the tiny rat suddenly becoming a huge figure had already scared the seagull into squawking chaotically, flapping its wings in terrified flight.
Damn thing!
As Peter sighed in relief and reverted to rat form, a slender figure had somehow boarded the plank, its scales carrying cold seawater—it was a snake!
The rat Scabbers abruptly turned its head, inhaling salty, cold, moist air, emitting a short terrified squeak.
“Squeak!”
The rat Scabbers wanted to revert to human form but, meeting those snake eyes, inexplicably froze for an instant. By the time he came to, the long snake had already whipped its tail first, with fierce momentum like a whip striking the rat.
Scabbers was immediately sent flying by the immense force.
Tumbling several times in the air, the already weary rat’s head was spun dizzy, its brains nearly shaken into mush. Before he could recover, an even larger figure approached. Unable to dodge in mid-air, his tail was grabbed, dangling him upside down in hand, even swung playfully a couple times.
The rat Scabbers struggled wriggling a couple times, and upon seeing the face of the arriver, not only was it not terrified—intense joy surged on its face.
The young professor’s voice carried puzzlement:
“You sent me a signal last night, and after more than ten hours, how are you still in Azkaban’s whirlpool?”
