Chapter 73: Weekend Gathering At The Three Broomsticks
Saturday morning, The Three Broomsticks.
Over the past few decades, it was just an ordinary wizard tavern, located on the right side of Hogsmeade’s main street, backing onto Hogwarts to do some business with students. The signature butterbeer and homemade honey mead were decent, the owner was a beautiful witch with some reputation in the wizarding community, but that was it.
Until after last Halloween, when things underwent a subtle change.
As the secret recipe honey mead displaced butterbeer to become the bestseller, a new attraction appeared in the tavern. Leveraging Hogwarts Quidditch house matches’ influence, the memory projection mirror spread to other taverns in a very short time, with more and more exciting match moving pictures: house matches from other magic schools, exchange matches between national teams, and recent Quidditch intercontinental tournaments.
The Three Broomsticks is now the most famous tavern in Britain. The signature butterbeer and secret recipe honey mead can’t compare to the profits brought by being the birthplace of the projection mirror. Being the closest to Hogwarts, it always gets house match moving pictures the fastest. Many travelers passing through Hogsmeade come specifically to see it, order a butterbeer, and reminisce about their school days.
Wright Monkstanley entered the tavern without lingering and headed straight to the top floor, his eyes scanning left and right, analyzing the tavern’s business from the perspective of a repair shop owner.
The first floor was still relatively quiet, the second floor somewhat noisy. A group of fans huddled together watching last week’s exchange match between the Scotland national team and Charlie’s Cannons, cursing under their breath—it seemed Scotland hadn’t performed well.
With so many customers even on a weekend morning, The Three Broomsticks’ turnover must have broken ten thousand. Melvin’s commission alone would be over a thousand, and adding the tens of thousands of galleons from the projection mirrors, his fortune exceeded many pure-blood families.
Truly Merlin-level wealth!
Luckily, he had made some money too.
Wright silently marveled in his heart.
He continued up the staircase. The third floor’s main area wasn’t open to the public, only a meeting room left for today’s guests. A long table was surrounded by more than twenty chairs, but only fifteen tavern and club representatives were attending, with some spare seats.
It was just a get-together for magic mirror club members, not some secret society’s gathering. No one checked their identities or asked for invitations. Wright entered the room, made eye contact with Melvin in the front row, then quietly took a seat in the back, noticing two unexpected faces nearby.
Dumbledore went without saying—Wright was a Hogwarts graduate himself, and a few years ago when he was targeted at the Ministry of Magic, the headmaster had secretly helped several times.
The one next to him was slim in build, elegantly dressed, with thinning silver-white hair neatly combed back, pale and sagging skin like crumpled faded parchment, deep-set eye sockets, silver-white eyes. Though his expression was kindly, there was always an indescribable sense of remoteness and detachment.
“Headmaster!” Wright exclaimed in surprise but quickly restrained himself, excitedly greeting the two, “Mr. Flamel!”
The greatest alchemist in centuries—Monkstanley’s family had been in technology for generations, so Wright seeing him was like an ordinary wizard seeing Merlin.
“Shh…” Dumbledore signaled for quiet; the meeting was in progress.
Wright restrained his excitement and nodded emphatically. He tried to calm his racing mind, thinking about his wording, planning to express his family’s generations of admiration to this legendary alchemist after the meeting, then ask about the technical problems his family had accumulated over generations.
The get-together continued, with each tavern owner well-prepared. Combining projection mirrors with tavern business was an entirely new model unprecedented in the wizarding world, so problems were inevitable.
Over the past two months, tavern owners had tried their own solutions, none perfect. After seeing The Three Broomsticks’ business model firsthand and hearing Professor Levent’s Muggle-style analysis, things suddenly became much clearer.
Melvin sat in the front, his tone casual: “My main job is school teacher; you’re the tavern owners. My analytical approach is just for reference—how to actually manage the business is up to you to decide.”
“Professor Levent, you’re always so modest about your achievements; it’s truly admirable.” Alfie, the fast-talker, spoke at a not particularly fast pace, even a bit slower than normal wizards.
This wizard was tall and thin, with a slightly shrill voice and an old scar on his right brow bone. He ran a Quidditch club in Tintagel and had great prestige among retired players and referees.
Apart from Hogwarts house matches, Alfie sourced most of the magic mirror club’s other match moving pictures. He was recently in contact with Durmstrang, Europe’s third-ranked magic school, which had produced a Quidditch genius with incredibly exciting matches. If he could smoothly obtain the memory moving pictures, projection mirrors could expand to other places on the European continent.
“Yeah, everyone knows The Three Broomsticks is like this today because it took your advice—not just the business methods; Madam Rosmerta herself admitted the new signature honey mead recipe came from you.” Old Will’s bulbous nose was red, his voice rough and gruff.
“That’s right, that’s right…”
The atmosphere gradually livened up, turning the proper projection mirror get-together into these old-timers’ praise fest for Melvin. It wasn’t flattery toward Levent—even if Minister Fudge from the Ministry of Magic were sitting here, they wouldn’t flatter him. They just saw the professor as too young and wanted to tease him a bit.
Melvin was somewhat helpless and sighed: “Let’s get back to the projection mirrors.”
“Professor, you talk; we’re listening.”
“…” Melvin shook his head. “You’re all running things very well already. I stay at school long-term and only come to the tavern occasionally on weekends, but I hear about you from patrons. Tintagel’s match commentary is detailed—not just past World Cup finals, but all sorts of obscure yet exciting moving pictures; that’s Alfie’s credit. Upper Flagley’s match pictures are thrilling and blood-pumping, thanks to Jack…”
Hearing the young professor list them out, the bosses with notable contributions to matches grinned broadly, their expressions radiant.
Old Will and the others nearby turned away in disdain, somewhat unwilling but helpless—they had no connections or channels in the Quidditch field and truly couldn’t compare to these professionals.
“However, projection mirror content doesn’t have to be limited to the Quidditch field…” Melvin suddenly changed tack, perking up the other tavern owners. “Open your minds—moving pictures are just the form; content can be varied, like your exciting adventures from youth, strike actions capturing dark wizards years ago, or even intense combats with Death Eaters.”
The young professor’s words echoed in the room. The bosses around the long table stayed quiet; they had all lived through that era, and hearing the long-unmentioned term “Death Eaters” stirred complex emotions.
Before they could comment, Melvin continued: “Opening minds doesn’t mean unrestrained abandon. We can’t go bottomless for eyeballs, deliberately leaking secrets or screening vulgar pictures. Public content for customers must undergo scrutiny—this is also the original purpose of establishing our magic mirror club…”
Rules had been set when selling projection mirrors, and they had all signed the club’s magical contract. All content screened on projection mirrors had to be reviewed by Melvin.
Retired Auror Old Will listened to the young professor expound on the rules he himself had set, frowning slightly. He had been an Auror for most of his life; apart from accumulating a body full of scars, long-term contact with the Ministry’s bureaucrats had rubbed off some political savvy.
Looking back now, this management model clearly encroached on the Ministry of Magic’s authority.
Old Will pondered for a moment, thinking of the current situation at the Ministry and Minister Fudge’s recent actions. He hesitated, then shook his head, raising no objection.
“Though many here have pure-blood backgrounds, none have the pure-blood supremacist bad habits and can all accept new things. I believe some have already noticed that this projection mirror model is very much like Muggles’ screens. In the future, we’ll also release paid content…”
Melvin briefly explained the Muggle cinema model without going too deep—after all, the wizarding world and Muggle society were fundamentally different; movie theaters were just reference, and the specific development path still needed exploration. “The towns you live in are mixed wizard and Muggle areas; Muggle districts should have cinemas—go take a look. I’m preparing a film that’s in the final stages and should be completed around Easter…”
Q&A, discussions, and half an hour later, the meeting concluded successfully.
“If you have any ideas during this time, feel free to tell me—exchange letters or meet here on weekends. Together, we’ll make the world inside the projection mirrors even more exciting.”
Melvin stood to see the tavern owners downstairs. Throughout the process, no one noticed the two old wizards in the corner.
No need to think—it was obviously the old headmaster who had cast magic.
White-haired Dumbledore sat by the window, silently sipping honey mead, while beside him Wright tightly gripped Nicolas Flamel’s hands, expressing his family’s three generations of admiration to the legendary alchemist.
“Mr. Flamel, my grandfather grew up reading your 《Hieroglyphic Text Translation》.”
“…”
“My father grew up reading your 《Hieroglyphic Text Translation》 too.”
“…”
“I love that book too, but I grew up reading your 《Ancient Alchemy Studies》.”
“…”
Nicolas Flamel looked extremely helpless. At 665 years old, he had osteoporosis— even a light bump could fracture or dislocate bones. Now his hands were gripped by this young man who wouldn’t listen to reason; there was nothing he could do.
Melvin returned from seeing off guests and saw this scene of 「a young wizard being un-chivalrous, assaulting a 665-year-old wizard, while the 111-year-old wizard morally degenerated, standing by」.
His mouth twitched; he stepped forward, pinched Wright, and rescued the old wizard.
“Mr. Flamel, long time no see.”
“Hello, Professor Levent…?” Nicolas Flamel looked up, his eyes glowing with silver glow.
