April 17, Friday.
The last class of the afternoon was Muggle Studies for seventh-years. With revision in its final stages, everything that needed to be taught had been covered, and every practice problem had been drilled. Classes were usually left for self-study, with the professor at the desk, ready to answer questions as students approached with their doubts.
Occasionally, though, the lesson would dive into something fresh and fascinating.
Today's class was about the era when Muggle and wizarding worlds coexisted, long before Hogwarts was founded.
The students, their minds stuffed with facts about Muggle appliances, transportation, and etiquette—eyes bleary from practice tests and brains buzzing with corrections—found this change of pace like a breath of fresh air. It was as if their minds and souls were being cleansed.
One by one, they willingly set down their quills and workbooks, listening intently, their faces focused.
Professor Melvin was enjoying himself too.
These chats were a departure from the usual syllabus, designed to let the students relax. With no Ministry inspections or rigid guidelines, he could talk freely, like a casual conversation.
"Hogwarts was founded a thousand years ago," he began. "When the four Founders built the school, England was in the midst of a chaotic, unstable time.
"Back then, the line between Muggle society and the wizarding world wasn't so clear-cut. The Ancient Runes you study share roots with Scandinavian scripts—Futhark, as Muggles called it. Without paper, they carved words onto ash wood sticks.
"Britain was once a magical island, brimming with legends. Many wizards worked for Muggle lords, served dukes in royal courts, or even fought in Muggle armies.
"Some wizards held roles as priests in Muggle society—philosophers and mages with free will, known as Druid priests. Muggle books note that their king, Caesar, praised the Druids' knowledge. Students traveled to Brittany to study and practice Druidic traditions. There were also church bishops, astrologers, Viking raiders...
"When the Normans landed in England in the 11th century, before reaching Pevensey, William the Conqueror promised his men wealth, land, and titles for victory. Many wizards provided… mysterious services to his army.
"We have good reason to believe they used dark magic to secure victory in the Battle of Hastings. Afterward, the lands went to nobles from Normandy, Brittany, Flanders, and France. Common soldiers got only a tax payout.
"And many of today's pure-blood families? They had estates across this island of Britannia."
Melvin paused for a few seconds, letting the students' imaginations run wild. The seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds stared, eyes gleaming, clearly shocked to learn that pure-blood families were once so deeply tied to Muggles.
"If you know your Muggle history," he continued, "you might notice that Slytherin House's values align closely with the royalist, aristocratic bloodline ideals of Muggle society.
"Salazar is a classic European surname. Perhaps we can guess he was a Viking who landed in eastern England with King Canute."
The young professor spoke smoothly, and the students listened quietly. Muggle Studies' historical tales were far more engaging than History of Magic, spanning longer timelines and filled with enigmatic figures.
Melvin then shared the origins of certain pure-blood families.
Take one family—whose name he wouldn't reveal. Their old motto wasn't "Pure-Blood Forever," and they didn't shun Muggles. In fact, they were deeply connected:
They hired Muggle tenant farmers to boost agricultural trade, even using weather charms to increase crop yields.
They joined Muggle nobles in Mediterranean and Middle Eastern trade, using Undetectable Extension Charms and Apparition to transport rare goods.
They controlled Muggle currency exchanges and dove deep into lending businesses.
In just a century, they amassed wealth that other wizards couldn't achieve in generations, becoming one of England's richest wizarding families. They gobbled up surrounding Muggle lands, expanding their already vast estates.
To secure a title, they even sent their handsomest wizard to court a duke's daughter—only to be brutally rejected for his "lowly" status.
By the 16th century, when the Statute of Secrecy was being drafted, they lobbied wizarding representatives across countries, spending heavily to try to block the law.
Why? Colonial trade was booming, and they'd invested in a fleet to join the transoceanic rush.
"Wizards and Muggles aren't so different," Melvin said. "Both chase profit and crave wealth and power—it's human nature. Later, embracing pure-blood ideals was just another way to protect their interests."
These hidden historical tidbits were new to the young witches and wizards.
With five minutes left, Melvin tapped his desk, snapping the engrossed students back to reality. "Easter's almost here, and tomorrow kicks off the holidays—a nice long break. There's a movie in the Great Hall tonight, so don't go too wild.
"This is your last Easter at Hogwarts, so I'm going easy on you. Just three practice tests, not mandatory, and I won't collect them after the break. Do what you feel you need.
"As always, focus on filling in your gaps.
"Class dismissed!"
London, Charing Cross Road.
Spring had arrived in London. The snow had melted, the rain had paused, and the weather was just right. Trees sprouted tender green leaves, and bluebells bloomed in patches, carpeting park flowerbeds in blue.
After a winter of quiet, trade routes were bustling again. With the holidays, magical creatures from other countries and races flooded Diagon Alley, creating a lively scene.
A handsome wizard stood alone in a bookstore's corner. Luckily, traveling merchants didn't frequent bookshops, so it wasn't too crowded—otherwise, he'd be swarmed.
He'd just finalized a deal for his new book's royalties.
The shelves were lined with his works, his posters plastered above, and his smiling cutouts stood in the shop's windows, charming passersby. A few witches huddled by the bestsellers, their praises just audible from his corner.
His popularity had waned since his heyday.
His recent books—reference guides and memoirs—lacked the spark of his earlier hits. The yeti story was done, the werewolf and vampire tales were told, and new adventures were hard to come by. His editor was hounding him, and with steep contract penalties, he'd churned out filler to appease fans. Sales were underwhelming.
Gilderoy Lockhart stood silently in the corner's shadows, too moody to greet his fans, fretting over his next book.
Footsteps echoed in the aisle.
A stunning young witch entered, spotting the group of women chatting. She joined them with quick, light steps—apparently one woman's niece. They discussed the upcoming Witch Weekly Most Charming Smile award, hinting that a certain bestselling author was a top contender.
Lockhart's lips curled into a grin, ready to step out and campaign for votes.
But the young witch suddenly gasped, "It's almost time!"
"Then let's go!" another said.
"Aren't you buying a book?"
"Books can wait! The mirror's showing only three screenings tonight, and I barely snagged premiere tickets." The woman dragged her friend and niece out, their hurried steps fading as a middle-aged witch grumbled, "That blasted Old Tom wouldn't even give me a discount…"
Lockhart watched them go, his smile frozen, one foot still half-stepped forward before he quietly pulled it back.
The pub's mirror… hadn't the bookstore manager given him a ticket earlier?
Evening, as dusk settled.
In Hogsmeade, West Overton Street's shops glowed with oil lamps, blending with streetlights to brighten festive Easter ribbons.
Far from the bustling village, the Crouch manor stood dim, almost devoid of Easter decorations. Few lamps or torches burned, with only faint light from the living room and kitchen.
The walls, built of pale gray stone, were spotless. The kitchen was orderly, with no unnecessary items; the table and dishware gleamed. For a family like the Crouches, though, it felt too sparse.
It didn't look like a pure-blood manor.
A small, frail house-elf shuffled out of the kitchen, wringing her hands. She glanced at her master, dozing on the sofa, and stammered, "Master… I heard the pub's holding an event tonight. A Quidditch match, perhaps? Young Master loves Quidditch. Let him go see it—he could wear the Invisibility Cloak, hide in a corner."
She peeked at the figure on the sofa, took a deep breath, tears in her eyes. "Young Master hasn't left in years. Let him breathe fresh air. If Mistress were alive, she—"
"It's what he deserves," Crouch cut in coldly, his voice soft but firm. "The pub's not showing a match tonight. It's Potter. That Potter who brought down the Death Eaters."
"Let Death Eaters watch Potter?" he scoffed, his sharp tone making the house-elf flinch.
No one noticed the candle in the kitchen flicker.
"You two, what're you dawdling for? Hurry up!"
On Hogsmeade's streets, two middle-aged witches tugged their kids, rushing into the Three Broomsticks.
The two being nagged were their husbands, regular patrons of the pub: Tucklot and Malcolm. They'd watched the trailer during a match and booked tickets before it ended, securing prime center seats for their families.
They'd deliberately picked separate spots for a better viewing experience, handing the tickets to their wives for safekeeping, eager for Friday's premiere.
But somehow, their wives had become fast friends and swapped seats with Madam Rosmerta. Now their families were stuck side by side.
The thought of sitting together for hours made both men squirm.
Still, the tickets were sold out, and it was too late to change. Grudgingly, they climbed to the third floor, entering a spacious hall packed with Hogsmeade locals.
"Mr. Flume? Mrs. Flume! You're here too!"
"Good evening, Madam Puddifoot."
"No wonder the streets are quiet—half the shopkeepers are here!"
"Hahaha…"
The atmosphere in the screening hall was electric, even Madam Rosmerta was nervous.
This event would decide the mirror's future. Pre-sale tickets had sold well, but wizards might not embrace this new entertainment. If it flopped, Professor Levent's plans would need a major rethink.
Rosmerta exhaled deeply, her loud voice cutting through the chatter: "Quiet!"
All eyes on her, she approached the large mirror at the front, waved her wand to douse the hall's lights, and dipped her wand into a glass vial. She drew out a shimmering silver mist, carefully placed it in the mirror, and gave her wand a gentle flick.
The mist swirled, the mirror flashed, and the screen went dark before white text appeared:
The First Years Stay Behind
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