Chapter 81: Trailer Frenzy
1992, April.
Northern England’s Wiltshire had shed its chill, the weather warming, spring budding, Theo’s Fort lighting up with scattered lights at night, not as bustling as a big city, but with a unique rustic charm of a country village.
The evening breeze carried the rich scent of hyacinths, branches neatly trimmed, not dense but elegantly beautiful, lightly hanging in the flowerbeds on both sides of the street, a tavern at the road’s end with a signboard at the door: Oak Barrel Tavern.
Like many other wizard taverns, the second floor offered lodging, the first floor served patrons, with laughter, curses, clinking glasses, the sound of wine glasses clinking faintly coming from inside the tavern.
“Down it, mate!”
“Drink it all, little darling!”
“Now you know who’s the boss!?”
The space was spacious, lights bright, at the round table in the center of the room, a scruffy-bearded middle-aged wizard lifted a glass of Flame Whiskey, face showing distress, but under the witness of surrounding patrons, he still tilted his head and gulped it down.
The surrounding jeers grew noisier and louder.
As his throat rolled, the flaming whiskey poured into his stomach, the middle-aged wizard’s face turned red, his thick sideburns couldn’t block it, a burp sprayed out a brilliant fire ring. The middle-aged wizard could no longer hold on, the wine glass fell, he drunkenly slumped on the round table, no matter how the wizards beside him jeered, he couldn’t get up.
This was Old Will the Lame’s tavern, with the strongest liquor in all Britain. Signature drinks were Madcap Malt, Storm Brandy, Phantom Champagne, even Flame Whiskey was fiercer than elsewhere, with higher alcohol content.
The tavern erupted in laughter again.
Near the counter not far away, a dozen wizards crowded in front of a huge projection mirror, the mirror playing Hogwarts’ recent House Cup match, opponents Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, the boy who lived appearing for the second time…
The match was thrilling, footage edited and spliced from different angles, mostly wide shots of audience and commentary, with enough view to overlook the pitch, but focused near Bludgers and Quaffles.
When teams clashed, the view cut to players’ first-person perspective, immersive, intense sensory stimulation making the brain crave alcohol and ice, occasionally a hot-blooded wizard buying a round for the house.
Patrons and servers were used to such scenes, one night’s business enough to match half a month’s usual.
Several Ministry of Magic officials and subordinates sat at a corner round table, wizard robes over Ministry uniforms, each holding a glass of signature strong liquor, not daring to drink freely, only sipping, savoring.
Ludo Bagman was the initiator of this gathering, but mostly Department of Magical Law Enforcement people present, including current head Amelia Bones, Auror’s Office director Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Hit Wizards team Pierce Thicknesse.
International Magical Cooperation’s Barty Crouch got off late, caught on the way into the elevator to be drafted, for some complicated reasons not convenient to say, he actually didn’t want to go home too early, half-pushed came along.
“Powerful strike! I knew that girl could score, Weasley family’s two lads coordinating on the wing!”
Ludo Bagman with his rough voice, downed most of a glass of Ice Beer, let out a long breath, showing a regretful expression.
If it were live, he could bet and win money now, pity it’s recording, well-informed ones all know the result, no suckers opening bets.
Pierce Thicknesse held a glass of cherry cordial, poor tolerance, not firm will, afraid of embarrassing himself with strong liquor.
He looked at colleagues also drinking light stuff, felt some comfort: “Barty, how’s your side lately, India still clamoring to sell their flying carpets?”
Crouch gave a perfunctory hum, fine when young, since last Wizarding War, no fondness for Aurors and Hit Wizards, after all his son was a Death Eater.
Madam Bones and Scrimgeour exchanged a glance, said nothing.
Across Europe, flying apparatus business monopolized by several pure-blood factions, Britain’s Ollerton brothers’ Sweeps Co., France’s Cage and Horton families’ Comet Trading Co., Italy’s Elbi and Spadamo families’ Blackwood Co., and multiple artisan wizard families’ joint Universe Co.
Donated large sums of Galleons to each country’s Ministry yearly, in exchange for flying broomstick production and sales permits.
Without interests clearing the way, even if India applies hundreds or thousands of times, all Europe still bans flying carpet sales.
Crouch sipped light cordial: “Amelia, looks like Fudge is dead set on making that Umbridge in your department Deputy Minister, what are your plans?”
“What plans?” Madam Bones thought of that witch, disgust flashing in her eyes, “Anyway I’ll vote against, no merits, why promotion? Wizengamot not disbanded, Dumbledore alive, Ministry is Britain’s wizards’ Ministry, not Fudge and Umbridge’s.”
The round table’s atmosphere turned heavy from the harsh words, just then, commotion erupted around the wall-side projection mirror.
During a Quaffle possession switch in the match, the mirror surface suddenly switched footage, flashing a video totally unrelated to the game.
“Can confirm, Dark Wizard lurking in Hogwarts.”
Harry’s face filled the mirror, slightly childish voice exceptionally clear, view pulled back revealing the Great Hall behind, those green eyes seeming to gaze at the outside audience through the mirror.
All the tavern’s customers drawn by the words, eyes fixed on the mirror surface, waiting for the follow-up explanation, but the moving picture gave no answer.
After dense drumbeats, footage shifted, Dumbledore standing in the high table center introducing: “This year we have two staff changes, first welcome Professor Levent, he will teach Muggle Studies… and Professor Quirrell has volunteered for the Defence Against the Dark Arts vacancy.”
Another meaningless dense drumbeat, footage cut to the two professors’ faces:
Professor Levent young and handsome, mild smile, but exuding Slytherin vibe, didn’t look like a good guy;
The other Professor Quirrell with awkward smile, head wrapped in strange purple headscarf, one hand tightly clutching the dangling scarf, also somewhat odd.
“I must tell everyone, if you don’t want to meet accidental painful death, do not enter the fourth-floor corridor on the right.”
Dumbledore’s resonant voice echoed in the Great Hall, with clear trapdoor creak, footage went black, all wizards in the tavern’s hearts jumped, various guesses rising.
Why not go to fourth floor, no such rule when they were students?
Which of those two professors had issue?
Why Dark Wizard lurking in school?
Doubts piling up, no answers, patrons eyes wide on mirror, unblinking, but footage still dark, voices faintly indistinct, only audible on close listen two voices arguing in dark, tones heated, content vague.
Brief pause, rousing tense melody rose, with Cetina Warbeck’s new album song, Harry’s voice again:
“What’s hidden in the corridor room? Someone trying to murder me, we must investigate the truth.”
Footage flashed scenes, Harry shaking mid-air over pitch, broom clearly cursed, life hanging; three-headed dog lunging with bloody maw, troll swinging club at students, little wizards fleeing night corridor with screams; Forbidden Forest depths, Professor Levent, Professor McGonagall and mysterious wizard each casting spells;
“Dreadful, Dark Wizard already acting!”
Fourth-floor corridor door half-open, trapdoor embedded in floor.
“Professors absent, only we can stop him!”
Finally Harry resolutely entering burning doorway, bottom right small text:
「《First-years Stay》, Easter Holiday release, stay tuned」
“Hiss…”
Wizards drew in breath of liquor, digesting the info, dizzy brains analyzing extra hard, for a moment no one spoke.
Wizarding World’s lifestyle still 19th century, usually only adventure stories in newspapers books for thrill, these months’ Quidditch footage and alcohol already new fun, where seen such scenes?
Facing sudden trailer, all appetites hooked by revealed info, puzzled curious, tense excited, mixed with worry…
Who was the Dark Wizard? What hidden in fourth-floor corridor? What’s with three-headed dog and troll? Why Potter diving into flames?
Those doubts lingered, if strong liquor burned stomach, now whole body excited, somewhat restless, no answers like dirty thing crawling on skin, scratching heart and liver, match seemed less exciting.
A sober patron frowned muttering: “From those two lines, seems answers at Easter…”
Immediately half-drunk wizards chimed in, tavern filled with cursing:
“How’s that work!?”
“Where’s Old Will, come out and explain!”
“Yeah! Stop hiding inside!”
Scrimgeour’s face grim, hand gripping glass, pondering the info, combining own investigations and Dumbledore’s words, thinking it Muggle-style drama imitation while suspecting old headmaster’s conspiracy…
Brain buzzing, nearly smoking.
Other Ministry staff also pondering, though not as brain-racking as Scrimgeour.
Tavern nearly flipped by discussion, Old Will finally limped out, smug smile, chin up: “Explain what? What’s to explain to you lot?”
“What was that footage?” someone shouted.
“Tell you wouldn’t get it, film know? More real drama, based on true story.”
The half-drunk wizard earlier yelled: “What’s in fourth-floor corridor, troll and three-headed dog? Real Dark Wizard infiltrated school? That new professor, looks Slytherin bad guy.”
One sentence ignited the scene, place boiled over.
“What d’you mean? Look down on Slytherin!?”
“Problem? Azkaban mostly Slytherin, how many good Slytherins?”
“Whoa…”
This British Isles’ strongest liquor tavern, drunk fights not rare, surrounding wizards no intent to stop, circled up giving space, jeering them to fight.
Seeing no useful info, Madam Bones eyed Thicknesse, he rose squeezed through crowd, pulled Old Will over.
“Dark Wizard of course not that Professor Levent.” Old Will sipped whiskey, explaining to nearby colleagues, “Projection mirror can’t always play Quidditch matches, even thrilling gets boring, new program type, paid screening.”
“What’s the fee standard?” Madam Bones asked.
“Tickets cheap, just 5 silver Sickles, less than a bottle of whiskey.”
“How’s the split?” Crouch sensitive to that.
“Heh, Professor Levent gets 2 Sickles, school 1 Sickle, rest tavern profit.”
“Other bars same?”
…
“We of course different from those taverns, we’re a tavern with taste!”
In finely decorated private room, Jack with silver thread strip over left eye holding goblet, explaining ticket prices, expensively dressed Lucius Malfoy leaning on sofa talking quietly to magazine editor beside, not disturbing tavern owner.
Wiltshire Upper Flagley’s White Ink Bar, formerly a magazine publisher, closed after poor sales, Alfie used connections to convert to high-end bar, mainly serving cultured people of status.
Today’s guests mostly magazine and newspaper editors, considering Malfoy family shares in multiple publishers, Lucius counts as industry wizard, invited to gathering.
Malfoy family reputation poor, without sponsoring publishers these years, long since shunned.
Actually sponsoring papers and magazines not loss, not just Malfoy family needing low profile, other Death Eater families hiding, Galleons given out recouped via higher quotes from Old Nott, Old Goyle and Old Crabbe, profiting middle.
Not him scamming, Old Goyle and Old Crabbe no channels to sponsor, often thank him.
Jack even pace, detailed: “Specially prepared viewing hall, different seats different prices, better seats pricier, cheapest edge corner still 1 Galleon.”
On-site folks not interested in prices, in film content.
But on details, Jack just smiling shook head, tight-lipped.
…
Similar scenes in taverns nationwide, patrons discussing trailer info, telling family and friends on return, word spread, short one evening trailer content across all England.
All wizards knew a film releasing at Easter.
