In early May, the Scottish Highlands basked in the gentle warmth of early summer sun, pleasant without being scorching.
At half-past nine in the morning, bright sunlight streamed through the windows of the Three Broomsticks, illuminating the third-floor meeting room. Unlike the other rooms, this one had a smooth, curved table at its center, surrounded by members of the Mirror Club, their voices buzzing with barely contained excitement.
The Easter holidays were nearly over, and the film's earnings had been tallied.
"Over the entire Easter break, our pub showed ten screenings a day, every one sold out. In just half a month, we sold seven thousand Galleons' worth of tickets," Madam Rosmerta said, holding a glass of violet water, her tone tinged with awe.
The Three Broomsticks had two enchanted mirrors and three floors, with plenty of space to host two groups of viewers without disrupting the regular drinking crowd. Some wizards, unable to get tickets at other pubs, came here to try their luck.
The ripple effect boosted business for other shops along Hogsmeade's streets as well.
In just two weeks, ticket sales alone brought in five thousand Galleons. Adding food and drink revenue, the Three Broomsticks had earned nearly twenty thousand Galleons.
Old Tom, Alfie, and Jack sat together, their faces also lit with smiles. While they hadn't earned as much as Rosmerta, their profits were still substantial—matching what they'd typically make in a year or two.
Each pub had pocketed at least five thousand Galleons.
For prominent pure-blood families, a few thousand Galleons might be mere monthly rent for a few shops, but these pub owners were thrilled—not just for the money, but for the Mirror Club's promising future.
The wizarding world lacked this kind of entertainment. With quality content, they could keep raking in these kinds of profits.
If they could produce films regularly, their families might one day be as renowned as the oldest wizarding clans.
Compared to high-cost, low-repeat businesses like broomsticks or potions, the enchanted mirrors thrived on high volume and low margins. Nearly every viewer watched the film multiple times, some witches even a dozen times, often dragging friends and family along.
Counting the earlier revenue from broadcasting Quidditch matches, the cost of buying the mirrors had already been recouped.
Melvin sat at the head of the table, calmly accepting the shares handed over by each pub. Linen sacks heavy with gold Galleons were passed to him, and he tucked them into his briefcase without counting.
In the Muggle world, the film industry had evolved over two centuries, starting with silent black-and-white films, gradually adding sound and vibrant color, improving clarity and visuals, and building an entire industrial system—equipment production, filming, distribution, and screening.
With robust systems and legal protections, interests were well safeguarded.
Melvin had skipped the groundwork. Using advanced alchemical techniques, he created the memory mirrors, lured pub owners with Quidditch broadcasts, and quickly built a rudimentary cinema network. Filming was simplified to editing memories based on real events, and distribution costs were practically nil.
A basic system meant loopholes. In the Muggle world, some cinema owners might hide box office earnings to pocket extra cash.
But this was the wizarding world. Magical contracts closed those gaps.
When the pub owners bought the mirrors, they'd signed binding magical contracts with Melvin under their true names. Any breach harming the other party would trigger a powerful curse.
No one could skim the ticket money.
"Theoford, three thousand Galleons…"
Old Will's customers, mostly retired Aurors, were sensible and didn't rewatch excessively, so his earnings lagged behind the Three Broomsticks.
"Godric's Hollow, two thousand five…"
With fewer wizards in Godric's Hollow, business was slower.
"Diagon Alley, five thousand…"
Alfie's customers were mostly retired Quidditch players with deep pockets.
"Upper Flagley, six thousand…"
Jack's customers were even bigger spenders.
One by one, the last to report was Wright, standing in for Borgin, who couldn't attend. He handed over the earnings from Knockturn Alley's underground pub.
Tucking the final sack into his briefcase, Melvin gave it a light shake. The Undetectable Extension Charm kept the weight unchanged, but according to the pub owners, the case now held nearly a hundred thousand Galleons.
The Ministry didn't tax, so this was pure profit. If stored in Gringotts' vaults, it could pile into a small hill.
He could store it, but why bother…
Melvin's brow twitched as a sudden thought struck him: Hufflepuff's Cup was still hidden in a Gringotts vault. Could he find a way to get his hands on it?
Lost in thoughts of robbing Gringotts, he didn't notice the room growing quiet. Looking up, he saw the pub owners waiting for him to speak.
Madam Rosmerta prompted softly, "Professor Lewent, what's next?"
"Next…" Melvin set aside his Gringotts heist plans for now and paused thoughtfully. "The Easter holidays are over, so the film should come down. Your pubs can return to normal operations, using the mirrors to show free Quidditch matches."
"Why?" Ada from Godric's Hollow asked.
"The novelty wears off eventually. People get tired of the same film, but Quidditch never gets old. Plus, matches drive up drink sales…"
A ticket cost five Sickles, about the price of two beers. Excited fans could down dozens, even hundreds, of drinks in a night, easily outspending a whole theater's worth of ticket sales.
As the holidays wound down, sharper owners like Old Will and Alfie had noticed that tickets weren't selling out anymore. The frenzy of all-night ticket rushes had faded.
Of course, some viewers still wanted to watch.
After discussion, the pub owners decided to schedule daytime screenings on weekends, with evenings reserved for Quidditch.
"Summer's coming, and school Quidditch finals are starting soon. Hogwarts has professors providing footage, but keep an eye on Durmstrang. Alfie, don't you know their headmaster? Karkaroff, right?"
"Yes, he used to be an English wizard."
"Lots of teams have summer matches. Try to get the footage right after the games, Jack."
"…"
By ten-forty in the morning, the Mirror Club, flush with profits, finalized their strategy for the next few months and began to wrap up the meeting.
Old Will rose slowly, leaning on his cane, and took a few steps toward the door before turning back to Melvin at the head of the table. "Professor Lewent, those things the centaur said… are they true?"
The room fell silent, as if someone had cast a Muffliato charm. Even the owners near the door paused, ears perked, waiting for the young professor's response.
Melvin leaned back in his chair, tilting his head. "Didn't the film say so at the start?"
Old Will's face grew somber. He nodded and walked out.
The film had two disclaimers, but the professor only mentioned the first—
This story is based on true events.
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