Chapter 49: Holiday Time!
Melvin walked out of The Three Broomsticks, snow was still falling outside, the air was exceptionally cold, and in just a few breaths, the tip of his nose felt chilled, as if immersed in icy lake water.
He exhaled a long puff of white breath, his lips moved slightly, and a layer of transparent film immediately enveloped his entire body, like a soap bubble isolating the cold air outside. Snowflakes drifted around him, stopping a few inches from his shoulders, as if touching an invisible barrier, lightly sliding aside.
This was his recently improved Bubble-Head Charm, which provided a slight protective effect, though its defense was still weaker than the Iron Armor Charm.
The Iron Armor Charm was a true protective spell, theoretically capable of blocking most hexes. From the perspective of a normal wizard, the Bubble-Head Charm was more lifestyle-oriented.
It was generally used to aid breathing in specific environments, such as underwater with no air, sandy deserts, or places with foul odors.
Melvin’s magic power had grown again recently; using the Bubble-Head Charm could now cover his entire body. This transparent bubble also had some reinforcing effects, blocking heat and cold while refreshing the air. It could even block some less intense hexes. He had tested it privately in his office; under extreme conditions, it could withstand two mild Repelling Charms and weaken the power of hexes to some extent.
It was no match for the Iron Armor Charm, but the transparent bubble film could cover the entire body.
The protective strength of this bubble film could be further enhanced. If his magic power continued to grow, combining it with the Iron Armor Charm for improvement, with sufficient magic power, it might fuse the advantages of both spells—unlike the single Iron Armor Charm, which could only form a shield in the direction the wand tip pointed.
Passing the post office beside Central Avenue, he continued along the path. A few hundred meters ahead was the entrance to Hogsmeade Village, with a small bar by the roadside.
Melvin looked up slightly and saw the weathered wooden signboard hanging on the storefront bracket, depicting a severed pig’s head, with rust in dark red patches, like blood soaking through the white cloth wrapped around it.
Inside, the lights were dim, and shadowy figures of a few patrons could be faintly seen moving about; business wasn’t too bad.
Hadn’t Hagrid said something about inviting him for a drink here?
He only glanced at it from afar outside, wary that this shady tavern might be invitation-only, so he didn’t enter the Hog’s Head to visit. Covered in the transparent bubble film, he returned to Hogwarts. It wasn’t curfew time yet, so Melvin went to the deputy headmaster to settle the profits.
Professor McGonagall was very concerned about the school’s Quidditch matches. Upon learning that, after deducting Melvin’s commission, the school would have five hundred Galleons in income, she immediately converted the profits into two Nimbus 2000s, in quite a good mood, praising Melvin throughout the conversation for bringing a whole new change to the school.
Melvin felt the four hundred Galleons in his pocket burning hot.
……
December 16, light snow.
The first class in the morning was third-year Muggle Studies, the last one before the Christmas Holiday. Melvin didn’t assign a thesis but had the students find ways to interact with and use a few Muggle creations during the holiday, recording usage methods and their experiences.
It was very challenging for pure-blood students, but extremely easy for those from Muggle or half-blood backgrounds. The students had mixed reactions, but there was no helping it—this class was called Muggle Studies.
Lunchtime.
Castle Great Hall.
The four deans wandered between their house tables, holding registration ledgers, asking dining students one by one to tally the list of those staying for the Christmas Holiday.
Whether staying for the Christmas Holiday or not, they were required to sign their names on the roster. The signing had to use the quill and ink bottle provided by the professors; the quill’s shaft was embedded with gold thread, and the special ink shimmered with crystal light—beautiful.
At a glance, nothing seemed amiss, just that the gold thread was slender and the ink crystal-clear, making one want to look a few more times.
Melvin was somewhat surprised to discover that the deans asked each student but only had the first-year students sign; older years registered casually. He vaguely sensed something off and stared closely at the quills and ink in their hands.
That seemed like……
“It’s a magical contract.”
Professor Kettleburn of Care of Magical Creatures saw that he had noticed and directly explained: “Based on《International Confederation of Wizards Secrecy Law》 and《reasonable restraint laws for underage wizards》 related regulations, the Ministry of Magic prohibits underage wizards from casting magic privately without permission, requiring Hogwarts first-year students to sign a magical contract called『Trace』 before the Christmas Holiday.”
“Trace?”
“As the name implies, magical threads that monitor traces.”
Professor Kettleburn explained: “After signing the contract, the Ministry-produced Trace wraps around their ring finger until the student comes of age. When magical fluctuations occur near the Trace, the Office for the Misuse of Magic can immediately detect the exact location for investigation. If it’s a normal wizarding environment, such as Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, or Knockturn Alley, it’s considered a normal magical trace; if it’s a Muggle town, a warning letter is sent immediately…”
Around the 16th century, conflicts between Muggles and wizards intensified. Uninformed Muggle residents launched large-scale witch hunts, detaining wizards engaged in witchcraft or showing magical traces, and publicly executing them by beheading or burning.
Except for a few unfortunates like Nicholas, whose wand wasn’t in hand when arrested—his head still connected by a layer of skin—most adult wizards escaped easily with magic. However, underage wizards lacked refined magical skill, and many students were persecuted for displaying magic during that time.
Muggles persecuted underage wizards, adult wizards took revenge on Muggles……
Such tragedies repeated, hatred accumulating, and the situation grew precarious.
The newly established British Ministry of Magic once sent a delegation to negotiate with the Muggle monarch, hoping Muggle law would recognize and protect wizards. But England’s ruler then was Mary II, called the Bloody Queen, and the negotiations failed as expected.
The Ministry didn’t want open war with Muggles. To protect underage wizards, it urged strict adherence to Secrecy Law regulations. Obliviators from the Department of Mysteries unearthed the Trace contract from ancient magic, organizing first-years at Hogwarts to sign it.
Until the little wizards came of age, the Trace could detect all magical fluctuations in the nearby area. If there was exposure risk, the Ministry would send a notice letter, then called a warning letter.
Later, Secrecy Law regulations improved, and warning letters evolved into formal warning letters. If violating the Secrecy Law caused serious consequences, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could prosecute as appropriate.
The regulations continue to this day.
Considering the current eased situation, witch hunts long gone, plus the Trace magic’s many limitations and errors—often false positives, even adult wizards casting nearby triggering it… in short, enforcement is very flexible.
Warning letters have become mostly symbolic; normally, the Ministry doesn’t trouble little wizards.
“…”
Melvin’s gaze swept over the Gryffindor table, lingering a few seconds on a student wearing glasses, his expression subtly amused.
Something about final interpretive rights belonging to the Ministry, flexible enforcement.
He curiously asked Professor Kettleburn: “What counts as normal circumstances?”
“As long as no serious incidents occur.”
“What counts as a serious incident?”
“The Accidents and Catastrophes Department working overtime collectively… never mind, let’s not talk about those dreadful folks.” Professor Kettleburn smiled, forehead wrinkles bunching, in a good mood for the upcoming Christmas Holiday. “Melvin, are you staying at school over the holiday?”
“Normally, yes.”
“You really should stay; the school’s Christmas banquet is quite nice.”
“Sounds like you’re not planning to attend.”
“I’m heading to Cornwall; there’s a sprite festival there.”
Professor Kettleburn swung his empty sleeve with one hand, wiped his mouth with a napkin using the other, and turned to the side: “Quirinus, if you don’t want to stay at school, come to Cornwall with me?
“On the way, I’ll tell you about the three-headed dog—you’ve asked me several times lately. You tell me about your experience in Albania last summer vacation; I’ve always wanted to explore the forests there.”
“No… no need!”
Quirrell’s eyes darted evasively, quickly glancing at Melvin, seeming panicked, shifting slightly away, stammering: “It’s been cold the last half month; I’m ill, feeling unwell, planning to stay in the lounge to recover properly. Don’t want to attend the Christmas banquet either.”
“Alright, if it’s serious, better see Pomfrey!”
Professor Kettleburn’s expression shifted slightly, didn’t press further, and limped outside.
Melvin watched Professor Kettleburn slowly depart, a thoughtful expression on his face. Those few invitations earlier had hidden meaning; this elderly, limping professor nearing retirement seemed to have noticed something too.
……
December 20.
The weather grew colder by the day.
Hogwarts was on holiday today. At ten a.m., the Express Train arrived at Hogsmeade Station; students heading home took Thestral Carriages to the station.
These days, Hagrid had gradually brought in twelve fir trees for Christmas trees, filling the Great Hall. Professor Flitwick wandered the castle, waving his wand, obsessed with decorating with colored lights and sparkling small ornaments. Professor Sprout hung freshly picked holly and mistletoe branches on the walls. Professor McGonagall was busy with documents for the Board of Governors.
Snape and Quirrell eyed each other warily, probing, often seen staring at each other in corners. Typically in three stages: first, silent staring; second, Quirrell hesitating to speak; then Snape mocking the stutterer, cursing outright—no communication at all.
Melvin helped decorate the Great Hall, assisting Professors Flitwick and Hagrid with odd jobs.
His robe hem was lightly tugged twice.
Melvin thought Professor Flitwick needed help, looked down, but it was Miss Granger saying goodbye—half a head taller than Professor Flitwick.
The little witch’s hair was bushy and disheveled, wrapped in a red-and-gold scarf, making her face look small, though her front teeth were prominent, like a beaver—cute enough.
“Professor Levent.”
“Miss Granger.”
Melvin half-squatted to meet her eyes, didn’t ask what she wanted, pulled a handful of candy from his pocket, thought, then added an apple: “Merry Christmas in advance; no gifts otherwise.”
Hermione blinked, a bit dazed: “Merry Christmas to you too.”
Did the professor think of her as a kindergarten kid?
Candy was acceptable, but why an apple?
Hermione looked down at her gloved hands, then at the full handful of candy, frozen, unsure how to take it.
Melvin saw her hesitation, kindly placed the candy and apple in her hood—Hogwarts winter robes had attached hoods, unused as hats, essentially pockets.
“Have fun at home during the holiday; don’t just study.”
“…”
After bidding the professor goodbye and turning away, Hermione felt the weight at the back of her neck, expression dazed, mind blank.
Why had she come to the professor again?
Melvin watched the little witch leave the foyer, thinking her walk even more beaver-like, wondering how those front teeth would gnaw the apple.
The Muggle Studies professor smiled mildly; Christmas Eve was for nibbling apples, after all.
“…”
His robe hem tugged again.
This time, it really was Professor Flitwick.
“Melvin, pass me that star ornament.”
“Sure.”
“Melvin is quite popular with the students.”
“Probably because the troll on Halloween was grateful to me.”
“I think it’s because you’re good-looking…”
The fir tree gradually became a Christmas tree, glowing star and moon ornaments floating among the treetops, sprinkling shiny fine dust. Snape had appeared nearby at some point, hair oily, face expressionless, staring at them decorating the Christmas tree.
Actually, after the Sorting Hat placed Melvin in Slytherin, Snape had viewed him favorably for a time, until the psychology popularization incident, after which he grew unpleasant.
“Professor Levent is indeed charming; even first-years not taking electives make a point to say goodbye to you. You must be quite pleased.”
“Indeed, pretty happy.”
Melvin looked up, controlling the Levitation Charm to hang an ornament on the treetop, took another, and caught a familiar figure in his peripheral vision, chuckling: “Professor Snape is quite charming too; a student from your house came to say goodbye.”
Snape turned, eyes narrowing slightly: “Draco… Malfoy.”
“Professor…”
Draco averted his gaze, not daring to meet the professor’s eyes, pulled an elegantly framed invitation from behind: “My family is holding a Boxing Day banquet at the manor. My father… my father asked me to deliver this invitation to you, inviting you to the banquet.”
“Your father, Lucius?” Snape didn’t take the invitation, instead staring down at Draco’s head. “Why does he want to invite me?”
Draco’s hand trembled holding the invitation: “I… I don’t know.”
“…”
Seeing Draco like this, Snape immediately realized, his face turning as unpleasant as if he’d swallowed a fly.
