Chapter 20: First Time At The Three Broomsticks
The sealing wax bore the coiled serpent crest.
「Malfoy Manor-Wiltshire, Personal for Lucius Malfoy」
He tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment letter with silver-green dark patterns; the content of the letter came into view.
「”Dear Father and（ Mother” was crossed out）:
May all be well with you when this letter reaches you. At this moment, I am writing with the peacock quill pen brought from home; compared to the inferior feathers provided by Hogwarts that have been stained with troll saliva, it indeed makes writing much more dignified.
The Sorting Ceremony went exactly as expected. The shabby Sorting Hat, as soon as it touched my hairline, screamed “Slytherin!” as if scalded; Prefect Flint’s applause nearly overturned the long table. The pure-blood etiquette you taught me fits perfectly here…
Regarding the Potter issue, I must elaborate. This boy, hyped as the Savior, has no basic manners; on the train, he actually rejected my friendship, preferring to associate with the red-haired weasel from the Weasley family rather than accept Malfoy’s goodwill…
Crabbe and Goyle performed adequately, though their brain capacity seems entirely occupied by syrup pies; as lackeys, they are still competent, at least able to block those prying gazes aimed at me in time; besides, there are pure-blood traitors like Lumbardons who stuff toads into their pockets…」
The first half of the letter was neatly written with fluent narration, showing that Draco put a lot of thought into it, having prepared the family letter in advance; the Malfoy family’s upbringing in this regard is good. But the second half of the parchment became scribbled, with chaotic notes from the peacock quill feather, as if the writer was panicked and rushing; the content was also grammatically jumbled.
「There is an urgent matter to report: The new Hogwarts Muggle Studies professor, Melvin Lavent, through observing Professor Snape’s words and actions, used a method called Muggle Psychology to deduce that Professor Snape once admired Mother, which can be inferred from the ingredients of Wolfsbane Potion and Mother’s name; the process is detailed and convincing…」
The rest was a string of indistinct ink blots, with a few drops of spilled violet ink remaining on the edge of the parchment.
The signature, however, was very neat, apparently also prepared in advance:
May Merlin bless the Malfoy family with eternal glory.
Your loyal son
Draco Malfoy
Snape stared fixedly at the letter, his fingers gripping too hard, veins bulging, his stiff expression concealing anger.
What does he mean by “detailed and convincing”?
It was clearly just baseless speculation by that Lavent fellow; he was merely testing Potter’s Potions foundation, and the so-called Muggle Psychology is nothing but absurd Muggle nonsense!
When did he ever admire Narcissa?
Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy are six years older than him; when he entered school back then, the two were nearing graduation and had only interacted due to Death Eater matters.
“…”
Fortunately, he arrived in time at the Slytherin common room and intercepted this letter; otherwise, the reputation of the former inner circle Death Eater, now Potions Master, Severus Snape, would suffer irreparable damage.
He casually cast Fiendfyre to incinerate the letter.
The orange-red firelight reflected on his expressionless face, giving it a somewhat sinister chill.
Snape planned to have a good chat with that Professor Lavent at an opportunity.
……
Late at night.
Astronomy Tower.
A figure with platinum-blond hair quietly ascended the terrace, glancing back from time to time to ensure no one was following or had discovered his secret action. He wore a blue-green robe and slippers, clearly acting in haste with poor preparation.
Draco raised his wand and waved it toward the owlery, sending a faint surge of magic power.
After a short wait, the sound of an owl flapping its wings soon approached.
A robust eagle owl arrived silently, quietly landing on the railing; the sleek eagle owl had a pair of dark black eyes that seemed almost human when staring at someone.
This was the Malfoy family’s trained eagle owl.
Draco handed the prepared envelope to the eagle owl, watching it wing away, finally relaxing with a long exhale.
The family precept passed down through generations:
What is revealed is for deception; true actions always occur in the darkness—Malfoy will never be discovered.
……
Hogsmeade.
According to public information from Chocolate Frog Cards, Hogsmeade Village was established a thousand years ago, shortly after the four legendary wizards founded Hogwarts; medieval wizard, Hengist of Woodcroft, established this village.
It carried some idea of basking in the shade of a great tree.
This is one of the very few villages composed entirely of wizards, with a commercial street at the center and houses of various sizes around it—not prosperous, but very peaceful.
The Three Broomsticks is the liveliest tavern on this street; weekend patrons relaxing and unwinding crowd the small tavern, with booming business.
The tavern owner, Madam Rosmerta, has a graceful figure and striking features, more alluring than a Veela.
Whenever that curvaceous tavern owner appears at the counter mixing drinks, the surrounding area fills with male wizards crowding over to flirt and jest, loudly sharing recent news and interesting anecdotes, introducing where they’ve been and what thrilling adventures they’ve had, hoping to catch the eye of that stunning witch.
The Madam Rosmerta, who runs the tavern single-handedly, doesn’t dampen the mood; she smiles while mixing drinks and listens to their chatter, chiming in on topics of interest, asking where Harry Potter was during his ten years of disappearance, when adventurer Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart will hold a signing event in Hogsmeade, what cocktails the taverns in Albania sell…
Patrons who can’t answer the casual boasts are heckled by other patrons to drink, adding another sale to the tavern’s business.
It’s said that Madam Rosmerta has wide connections: Hogwarts headmaster and professors, Gringotts goblin heads, even Ministry of Magic Minister Fudge are regulars here and know her well. Once, a visiting wizard from out of town tried to cause trouble in the tavern but was cleared out by Madam Rosmerta and the patrons; afterward, no wizard dared to make trouble.
The old witch who loves gossip says this tavern owner carries a curse that brings misfortune to men close to her; her previous husbands died that way. More than a decade ago, the Three Broomsticks was originally called Two Broomsticks; after her last husband, Mr. Rosmerta, died, the tavern sign was changed to Three Broomsticks.
Melvin regretted entering the tavern as soon as he did.
It was extremely crowded and noisy inside, with swirling smoke and thick alcohol scent.
He chose a window seat for some air and sat down; Madam Rosmerta immediately approached, carrying a glass of oak-aged mead, its heavy aroma laced with a hint of sweetness—Dumbledore’s favorite flavor.
Melvin looked up at her, somewhat puzzled.
“You’re Professor Lavent from Muggle Studies, right?”
Madam Rosmerta set down the mead and explained with a smile: “Tavern special: Any Hogwarts professor gets a free mead on their first visit to the Three Broomsticks. Dumbledore loves this one; Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick have praised it too. Trelawney is a regular, though she prefers sherry.”
Melvin didn’t refuse her kindness and took a small sip from the glass.
It was pretty good; he took another sip.
Madam Rosmerta beside him smiled, her expression slightly smug.
But soon she heard this man earnestly comment: “The liquid is amber with a yellowish-brown hue; the ideal color should be golden amber. It shows medium viscosity on the glass, indicating good body structure. The initial aroma displays typical honey-fermented orange blossom honey and ripe apricot preserve notes, complemented by vanilla pod and roasted hazelnut from the oak. The front palate has well-controlled sweetness, low alcohol, mid-palate oak tannins provide structure, with a beeswax finish; overall balance surpasses most traditional meads.”
“??”
Madam Rosmerta’s expression was somewhat bewildered.
What what?
What body structure?
What oak tannins?
He’s praising my brew as delicious, right?
“For brewing, try beer yeast, introduce Eastern European oak, add clove and nutmeg spice notes, then secondary age with a small amount of chestnut chips; smoke the honey for added texture…”
Melvin noticed the tavern owner’s confusion and fell silent.
When he first arrived on Broadway, he himself hated this sort of thing and deliberately learned impressive-sounding terms to put on airs; now he was doing the same.
Just one week as a professor, and he was already acting like a know-it-all.
Melvin paused, then gave an apologetic smile: “I mean, thank you for the gift, Madam Rosmerta. I really like this mead.”
Madam Rosmerta nodded, still not fully recovered, her mind on that string of suggestions; she walked a few steps toward the counter absentmindedly, then turned back:
“What you said earlier about beer yeast, Eastern European oak…”
“I happen to know a few books on brewing techniques; I’ll bring them next time.”
“Brewing recipes… are they valuable?”
“Muggle books, not even a few Galleons; consider it my return gift.”
“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Lavent.”
“…”
Watching the tavern owner walk away, Melvin suddenly felt the tavern wasn’t so noisy and messy; he opened the package retrieved from the post office, sipping mead while examining it.
The deerhide-tanned paper was thick and sturdy, with a surface layer of beeswax and resin for waterproofing; unfolded, it was a detailed village map.
Wizarding settlements in Denmark and Ireland, with tables on both sides listing proportions of resident creatures: wizards and Muggles, pure-bloods and half-bloods, even goblins and trolls; all added up, the numbers barely compared to Hogsmeade.
These countries have small populations, few wizards, making it hard to form sizable wizarding villages; surrounding countries might have only one settlement, with most wizards choosing Muggle communities—after all, no witch hunts in this era, and as long as the Secrecy Law is followed, Muggle life is more convenient and comfortable.
Creatures like vampires, goblins, and werewolves who avoid exposure prefer these sparsely populated wizarding villages, where various intelligent magical beings gather, forming an alternative ecological model.
Melvin examined it carefully for a moment, then put away the map.
Next was a letter from Mr. Borgin; he said there would be a special gathering in Knockturn Alley next week, with several wizards studying Muggle technology attending; if needed, Mr. Borgin could make introductions.
“…”
Half an hour later, Melvin, having sent a reply, left the Owl Post Office and walked back along the somewhat empty streets.
Shops on both sides mostly had half-closed doors, displays in shop windows haphazard, basically in semi-closed state; shop assistants leaned bored at the counter, reading or doing accounts, calculating this month’s salary.
Hogsmeade’s commercial street isn’t lively at this time; it needs Hogwarts weekend outings, with third-year and above students as main consumers; other times barely sustain, villagers buying daily necessities, unable to support such a large market.
Honeydukes candy store is the exception; they have mail-order business, and just one store’s express shipments sustain the adjacent Owl Post Office.
Passing Honeydukes’ entrance, Melvin stopped, went in to greet the Flume couple, flashed his Hogwarts professor status, got permission, and entered the candy store basement.
“The Hogwarts name is really useful…”
Melvin muttered under his breath.
This was a storage cellar, piled with crates; sweet scents wafted from wooden crate gaps, and in the center of the room floor lay a trapdoor, nearly blending with the dusty floor.
Lifting the trapdoor revealed a dilapidated stone staircase below, extending into unseen underground depths.
Melvin crawled into the hole and casually secured the trapdoor leaf.
……
Hogwarts Castle’s fourth-floor corridor was lined with armor, sequentially displaying wizard statues, but the whole school knew many fourth-floor rooms had been idle for years; the most numerous on both sides were abandoned classrooms, filled with discarded tables and chairs, heavy dust, permeated with thick musty rot.
Even the most mischievous Gryffindor students wouldn’t adventure in such rooms.
Only two rooms on the fourth floor were in normal use:
One was the Charms classroom, with classes daily—nothing to see;
One was the trophy display room, filled with various trophies and awards; the curious could bother Filch, get detention cleaning a few times, and become familiar with it.
By comparison, students preferred exploring the wizard statues, with short sentences carved on the bases—perhaps mottos or life summaries.
Some positive: inventor of a spell, inventor of a potion, Order of Merlin recipient, etc.; some cautionary: mispronouncing a spell and permanently losing one’s nose, or self-writing a potion recipe and turning into a ghost upon drinking…
The one-eyed hunchbacked witch statue was one of them; the roughly carved statue was embedded in the base, its dark gray-black material exuding ancient weight, with blurred inscriptions on the front of the base, not even a name.
On this ordinary Saturday morning, faint tapping sounds suddenly came from inside the statue.
“Thud thud…”
“Thud thud…”
