Chapter 45: Another Business Deal
“Professor, do you have any other brewing recipes?” Madam Rosmerta showed a delighted expression.
“I said, I don’t know brewing…”
Melvin explained some tavern management concepts to her, like third space appreciation and stimulating impulse consumption.
“A tavern isn’t a restaurant; the taste of the alcohol is just the foundation. The Three Broomsticks also needs to meet wizards’ entertainment needs, just like how you played Cetina Warbeck’s new song on Halloween night. As long as you make some changes to the operations, business will definitely be even more booming. We can provide help, and the profit sharing ratio can be negotiated.”
Madam Rosmerta listened in a daze.
Professor Levent was talking about Muggle professional terms again; she could understand the words individually, but together they made no sense.
Were Hogwarts classes this difficult now? Good thing she graduated decades ago, or she might not have gotten her examination certificate, though running a tavern didn’t require any certificate anyway.
The tavern owner who wasn’t great at studies in her youth couldn’t understand; she only knew Professor Levent seemed a bit short on money. After thinking for a moment, she said, “Professor, if you need galleons for turnover, I’m willing to pay for your brewing recipes. The improved honey mead has good sales; the recipe is worth at least a few hundred galleons. It’s what you deserve.”
Melvin was amused and exasperated: “That’s not what I meant.”
Madam Rosmerta thought the amount might not be enough: “If you have other brewing recipes, I’m willing to buy more, or hire you as the tavern’s brewing consultant. The salary might not match Hogwarts, but the advantage is you don’t need to work full-time; just occasionally check the wine cellar and guide the brewing process.”
“Really no need…”
Melvin finally understood why The Three Broomsticks attracted so many patrons. Madam Rosmerta was great at dealing with people and sincerely willing to help patrons in trouble. Clearly it was to help himself, but she deliberately used gentler wording.
In a sense, this was a long-term and sincere community operation.
Melvin thought for a moment and decided to change the conversation: “Madam Rosmerta, would it be convenient to reveal the tavern’s specific business situation? How much alcoholic beverages can you sell per day, what’s the turnover? What about per month?”
“Nothing inconvenient…”
Madam Rosmerta hardly hesitated before telling this professor about the tavern’s situation.
Hogsmeade was a pure wizarding village; The Three Broomsticks mainly did business with the surrounding villagers, with cheap pricing and a small profits, quick turnover approach. Occasionally passing traveler merchants preferred the other tavern in the village, the Hog’s Head Inn, which had a mix of all sorts of wizards, even some patrons who weren’t wizards. The alcohol there was stronger, the location more hidden, and the news more up-to-date.
On normal days, they could sell at most two hundred galleons worth of alcohol, and after deducting costs, they earned twenty to thirty galleons; a few hundred galleons income per month.
Some of this income went to favors—not bribery, just sending alcohol to staff in relevant Ministry of Magic departments or Aurors. They also sent to Cornelius Fudge; occasionally during crackdowns on dark magic items or hunts for dark wizards, it could get them a favor, avoiding having the wine cellar’s oak barrels in brewing opened for search.
They also sent alcohol to Hogwarts professors, which was trickier. Whether Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape, delivering personally was usually refused. Sending by owl, they’d later pay for the alcohol, so they could only treat them to a drink when they came to the tavern.
Headmaster Dumbledore generally didn’t show up at The Three Broomsticks, but he was easygoing; as long as it was sweet alcohol, he’d accept it with a smile.
Occasionally with drunk patrons, mentioning Dumbledore and Hogwarts could reduce a lot of unnecessary trouble.
These were all mutual benefits.
That’s how business is.
For the solitary Madam Rosmerta, it wasn’t much or little; over decades, she’d saved a certain amount, which was enough.
Madam Rosmerta spoke of these without any resentment: “…Weekends occasionally host Hogwarts students too. You know, third year and above students can go out once a month; they like coming here for a butterbeer.”
“Just taking two hundred galleons per day as a baseline, try my suggestions, business will definitely improve. The extra part counts only as profit, then we discuss profit sharing. What do you think?”
“…”
Madam Rosmerta actually preferred hiring this professor as brewing consultant or buying more brewing recipes. She hesitated for half a minute but still nodded in agreement.
“I’ll listen to you, Professor Levent.”
……
November 10, the second Saturday.
It was already winter.
The waning moon from Halloween night had set, followed by days of overcast skies; thick clouds covered the Scottish Highlands, no sun seen for a week. Little wizards couldn’t see the stars in astronomy class and thus skipped observation reports.
The howling north wind grew wilder, leaving only two or three leaves on the Whomping Willow branches. Hogwarts temperature dropped into winter; the Black Lake had frozen, and every morning upon waking, white frost could be seen on the grounds and castle outer walls.
Teachers and students walking outdoors breathed white vapor from mouth and nose. Students made hand warmers for warmth, putting Flame Charm-modified blue bellflower flames into jam jars to hold in their hands—warm enough without burning.
The little wizards’ eager mood wasn’t affected at all.
Today was the first match of the Quidditch new season.
Slytherin team had won the championship for five straight years prior; Gryffindor team had little hope for this season. Their Seeker graduated last year; the new recruit needed training and integration. But Harry’s talent gave hope again, and Professor McGonagall-sponsored Nimbus 2000 brought even greater hope.
If they beat the Slytherin team this match, their house points would jump to second; the House Cup within reach.
“I’m so nervous I’m about to throw up…”
Harry felt awful; they were walking the path to the Quidditch Pitch. Cold wind choked his throat; friends prepared cheer banners for him, but he couldn’t be happy.
“It’s fine, you barely ate breakfast anyway.”
No one acknowledged Ron’s comfort. Hermione looked at pale-faced Harry and softly advised, “It’ll be better once you’re on the broomstick. Don’t think about the match; think of something else.”
“Think of something else…”
Harry glanced at the Slytherin House stands: “Snape’s leg was injured; it must be him trying to break into that room on the fourth-floor corridor. What do you think he’s looking for? What’s that big dog guarding?”
“You should think about the match instead.”
“If you still feel like throwing up on the broomstick, fly toward the Slytherin stands and puke on Malfoy or Snape.”
“Eww…”
