Back in his office, it was nearly midnight.
Melvin didn't feel tired—quite the opposite. His body thrummed with energy, and his spirits were high.
Feeling the abundant magic coursing through him, he raised his hands, stretching them out naturally. With a mere thought, a brilliant silver light erupted, illuminating the entire room. The glowing aura flowed slowly, enveloping the space as if it were another world entirely.
With ample magic and precise control, he didn't need a wand or incantation—not even a silent spell in his mind. A single thought was enough to cast the Lumos charm effortlessly, almost as if it were second nature.
The simple spell took on an entirely new form. The light's intensity and range shifted dramatically. What was once a soft glow to light his surroundings now shone so brightly it was nearly blinding.
He could feel his command over the silver light, able to adjust its strength and scope at will.
And this was just Lumos. Melvin was certain other spells would show similar transformations. The office was too small to test protective charms properly, and offensive magic couldn't be cast recklessly, so further experiments would have to wait.
"Phew…"
Melvin reined in his magic, closing his eyes to focus inward.
A brilliantly orchestrated spectacle had unfolded across England, stirring the emotions of thousands of witches and wizards. Through some mysterious process, those emotions had transformed into a faint trickle of magic that gathered within him. Tonight, his magical reserves had grown by nearly half his usual capacity.
If there were any foreign will or presence within this newfound power, Melvin was confident he'd sense it—at least some hint of it.
But there was nothing.
He carefully directed the flow of magic within his body, and it obeyed like an extension of himself, responding perfectly to his command.
Throughout the process, there were no anomalies—no strange whispers in his ears, no bizarre knowledge popping into his mind, no altered memories. Everything remained as it should be.
Melvin quietly sensed the magic, still growing slowly, though at a weaker rate.
He could foresee that as more people watched the film over the Easter holidays, his magic would continue to strengthen. The boost might not match tonight's intensity, but it would still be significant over time.
By the wizarding world's informal power rankings, Melvin felt he'd already surpassed senior Aurors and Hit Wizards. He could hold his own against Hogwarts' heads of houses and, with his unique magical edge, might even have an advantage.
As for legendary wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort, Melvin wasn't quite sure. With limited data and no direct encounters, he couldn't say definitively. But at his current rate of progress, he believed it wouldn't take long—perhaps even before Voldemort's return—for him to step into that realm.
"Thank you, Horned Serpent…"
…
Morning came, and Melvin woke feeling refreshed.
As he washed up, he reflected, confirming he hadn't dreamed—especially not of anything unspeakable. His soul was still his own, his mind intact.
"Ugh…"
Nicolas Flamel's stories had made him paranoid.
Shaking it off, Melvin headed downstairs to the Great Hall, his steps light.
The hall was nearly empty, with only a dozen students scattered across the four long tables, sporting dark circles under their eyes and looking exhausted.
"Last night's film on the enchanted mirror got the students so excited they couldn't sleep," Professor Flitwick said with a chuckle. "Even after lights-out, they were up in the common rooms until midnight, debating the champions' adventures. The prefects had to break it up, but they still didn't settle down in their dorms—chattering away about brave exploits."
"They were shouting about defeating Quirrell in their dreams," Flitwick added.
"Sounds like they're itching for their own thrilling adventure," Melvin replied with a smile, glancing around. Several professors were absent, including the headmaster and deputy headmistress. Many elective teachers had left for the holidays, leaving the hall feeling a bit desolate.
Professor Snape was also missing, likely affected by last night's film. To highlight Harry's inner world, Melvin had included plenty of close-ups on his eyes—those clear, green eyes of an eleven- or twelve-year-old, still carrying a child's innocence, neither distinctly masculine nor feminine. It was unclear just how much they resembled his mother's.
"…"
Melvin sipped his milk, skimming that morning's Daily Prophet spread out on the table.
Founded in the early 18th century, the newspaper had started as a local London circular, publishing obituaries, missing persons notices, and wizarding market updates.
To boost sales, it later began covering bizarre stories: a wizard's spell gone wrong landing them in St. Mungo's; a witch lost in the Floo Network resurfacing after twenty years as the mistress of a neighboring village's wizard; a Ministry official found dead at home, with the Malfoys claiming ignorance…
For a long time, The Daily Prophet and other regional papers leaned into sensationalism, rarely bothering with accuracy. When fabricated stories fell out of favor, they shifted gears.
By the 19th century, editors focused on eye-catching content, and reporters went to extremes to gather material, often publishing slanderous or defamatory stories. With no wizarding laws regulating journalism and no Ministry inclination to create them, the Prophet's editorial team faced no consequences.
The current editor, Barnabas Cuffe—a descendant of the tapestry-teaching, troll-dancing Barnabas—was no fool. Far from it. He was a shrewd media mogul who knew the game.
Under his leadership, the paper avoided targeting active Ministry officials and spared the wealthy pure-blood families who funded it. With power and money as its wings, The Daily Prophet soared, becoming Britain's best-selling wizarding newspaper and the primary news source for the country's witches and wizards.
Delivered by owl to subscribers for just one Knut, it published twice daily—The Daily Prophet in the morning and The Evening Prophet at night—with a special Sunday Prophet on weekends.
If news broke, the paper's content could change within hours.
In many ways, it was a steal for the price.
Many wizards called it the Ministry's mouthpiece. It seemed to oppose the Ministry on the surface but often spoke for its officials. Still, with no comparable alternative in Britain, wizards held their noses and subscribed.
Lacking ethics but brimming with skill, the Prophet had already published a report on last night's film:
"The wizarding world's first film debuted last night."
"Enchanted mirrors usher in a new era of wizarding entertainment."
"For the next two weeks, 'First Years Stay Behind' will continue screening, with ticket prices at pubs listed below…"
Skimming the pages, Melvin found nothing but praise, article after article, as if the paper existed solely to serve the wizarding public.
He was surprised, wondering if Wright had secretly taken out ads on his behalf. Then he flipped to a piece by star reporter Rita Skeeter, and the tone felt more familiar.
"The Secret Behind the Enchanted Mirror: Hogwarts' Hidden Conspiracy
By Special Correspondent Rita Skeeter
The wizard behind the production and distribution of enchanted mirrors, Melvin Lewent, is a newly appointed Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. His appointment is steeped in controversy.
An Ilvermorny alumnus, Lewent never completed his education or earned a diploma. As a professor, he's deemed too young and unqualified, yet Headmaster Dumbledore championed his hiring, overriding objections from the Hogwarts Board of Governors and the Ministry of Magic.
Madam Griselda Marchbanks of the Wizarding Examinations Authority has staunchly supported Lewent, appointing him as a special consultant to oversee Muggle Studies curricula, set course content, and design exams for multiple year levels…
Without consulting his predecessor, Quirinius Quirrell (the alleged dark wizard in the film, though any connection remains unclear), Lewent launched sweeping reforms upon arrival. He discarded the previous curriculum and knowledge system, replacing wizard-authored texts with Muggle-written children's primers.
By dismissing past achievements and forcing students to start from scratch, has he introduced unseen risks? Exams to evaluate his teaching are also under his control, allowing him to set standards and judge outcomes, potentially burying any flaws. This reporter interviewed several parents who expressed deep concern.
The enchanted mirror project was developed during Lewent's busy teaching schedule. Around Halloween, it debuted at Hogsmeade's Three Broomsticks (this reporter is unaware of any specific relationship between Lewent and pub owner Madam Rosmerta, and will not speculate further). Using Hogwarts Quidditch matches to gain traction, the mirrors drew huge crowds to pubs, with two months' revenue surpassing the previous year's total.
With these profits, Lewent quickly rallied a group of pub owners to form the Mirror Club, expanding the enchanted mirror business across England.
Discerning witches and wizards will notice this is a magical imitation of Muggle technology. Lewent's true intentions remain unclear. Dolores Umbridge, head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, once filed a complaint, but as before, Madam Marchbanks dismissed it in court, ending the matter.
For the past month, pubs nationwide have been hyping this film, culminating in a synchronized Easter release. The trailer ends with centaur-like hints of You-Know-Who's return. By slyly timing these suggestions with Easter, Lewent has sparked widespread curiosity. Is this shocking story true?
Of course not. Though the film claims to be 'based on true events,' this is merely a clever trick by Lewent.
This reporter's investigation confirms a dark wizard did infiltrate the Forbidden Forest and attack unicorns. Rufus Scrimgeour investigated, and Quirinius Quirrell vanished mysteriously the next day… but these events occurred after the Christmas holidays. The film rearranges timelines and fabricates sequences to craft an exciting adventure.
Minister Cornelius Fudge assures the wizarding public that fictional stories are just that—stories—and these images are merely Muggle-inspired entertainment. No cause for alarm. Meanwhile, Madam Umbridge is considering legal action against Lewent for spreading false information and rumors.
Star reporter Rita Skeeter will continue to bring you the truth.
The article ended there, flanked by narrow columns quoting prominent wizards' opinions on the film.
"Gilderoy Lockhart: A somewhat rough adventure tale. The first-years' quest feels rushed, but the format is innovative. If my search for the yeti in the East were turned into visuals, it might be even more spectacular."
"Celestina Warbeck: Like me, Professor Lewent is a pioneer in wizarding arts. I'm delighted to see something fresh emerge."
"…"
"Is this praise or criticism?" Melvin muttered, rereading the article with a thoughtful expression.
The front page was all promotion, but Skeeter's piece in the inner pages was a scathing takedown. The same paper, under the same editor, with completely contradictory tones.
The Daily Prophet's coverage was just the beginning. By mid-morning on the first day of the holidays, Hogwarts' owlery was swamped with incoming post.
The wizarding world still relied on letters for communication—slow but convenient in its own way. Wizards who learned from the Prophet that the film's creator was a Hogwarts professor knew exactly where to send their mail. The excitement from last night, briefly calmed, flared up again after the morning's reports, prompting a flood of letters.
Some were even Howlers.
"Curse you, Lewent! Are you the one spreading nonsense about You-Know-Who's return? You daft dragon-gut, Ilvermorny-bred Bigfoot!"
"…"
The sender's insults were oddly well-researched, referencing the Bigfoot riots that New York wizards had faced, hence the jab at Melvin as an "Ilvermorny Bigfoot." Caught off guard by the verbal assault, Melvin's control over Fiendfyre was precise enough to incinerate the Howler before it could spew more filth.
It wasn't just Melvin. Other professors received letters from friends and family asking for the truth, and parents wrote to their children, hoping to piece together clues.
The biggest recipient, of course, was the film's star, Harry.
…
Near noon, the Gryffindor boys' dormitory was still dark, the door shut tight, black curtains blocking out the sunlight.
Harry lay in bed, half-asleep, dreaming that Hermione was forcing him to revise, piling book after book onto him until they grew unbearably heavy.
Finally, he felt like he couldn't breathe.
"Gah!"
Harry bolted upright, sending a cascade of letters spilling off his bed and onto the floor.
"?"
He froze. The last time he'd seen a scene like this was when the Dursleys tried to block his Hogwarts acceptance letters.