The final question dampened the lively atmosphere. The pub owners fell silent, filing out of the room with unreadable expressions.
These historic pubs all had storied pasts. The ones in Hogsmeade had served as command posts during the Goblin Rebellions, the Leaky Cauldron had orchestrated the reconstruction of Charing Cross Road, and the Swill Sink Pub had been a frontline outpost against giants…
Pubs had always been hubs for information and private trade. The witches and wizards present were veterans of turbulent times, having seen, heard, and fought against Death Eaters themselves.
Eda of Godric's Hollow had refused Death Eater recruitment. Old Tom had sheltered Muggle-borns and half-bloods under the shadow of the Dark Mark. Old Wil had escaped You-Know-Who's pursuit. Alfie and Jack, before opening their pubs, had aided the Ministry in rooting out dark wizards.
You-Know-Who would return someday…
So what?
When the time came, they'd grab their wands and fight again.
The meeting room gradually emptied. Melvin sat with a glass of soda water, reflecting that these warnings had some effect. The wizarding world wasn't just the Order of the Phoenix standing against the darkness.
Click…
The door creaked open again. Wright poked his head in, carrying a shoulder bag and grinning broadly.
He'd been spending a lot of time with Nicolas Flamel lately, reaping two main benefits. First, food—Flamel and his wife, being French, served unrivaled cuisine. Their lavish, exquisite dinners left Wright dazzled and noticeably rounder. Second, perspective—Flamel, a 14th-century wizard, had seen six centuries of catastrophes, some threatening to topple human civilization itself.
Spending time with such a legendary wizard, hearing tales of grand disasters, made You-Know-Who's threat feel almost trivial by comparison.
In short: a broader mind and a broader waistline.
Taking an empty seat, Wright rummaged through his bag and pulled out an enchanted mirror, showing it to Melvin. "Check this out!"
It was a compact mirror, about 32 inches diagonally, slightly bulky and squarely shaped, clearly inspired by Muggle televisions. A row of slots at the base held crystals that looked like buttons.
"A new model? Doesn't seem that special," Melvin said.
"I made it with Mr. Flamel."
"This is what you've been working on?"
"Yep."
Wright nodded solemnly, setting the mirror on the table. "This is my new design. We optimized the production process to cut costs significantly. The most expensive part is the silver mist potion. With house-elf help, this mirror costs just two hundred Galleons to make."
After a brief overview, he drew out a wisp of memory and fed it into the mirror.
The silver mist swirled for a few seconds before the mirror displayed images and sound, nearly identical to other enchanted mirrors.
"I call it a household mirror," Wright said, sliding it toward Melvin. "This is my thank-you gift to you."
"What would I do with it?"
"I know you'll find a use for it."
"…"
Melvin picked up the small mirror, inspecting it.
It was still made of quartz, clear and pristine, filled with an improved silver mist potion that churned as he tilted it—thicker than the gas-liquid mist in a Pensieve.
Wright continued, "It's not just the size. We added new components. See the crystals in the slots? They're connectors based on the Floo Network's principles."
Melvin sat up straighter, his expression growing serious. "Is it what I think it is?"
"Exactly what you're thinking—like a Muggle cable network."
Wright grinned, trying not to look too proud. "The Ministry already has the Floo Network, managed by the Department of Magical Transportation's Floo Network Authority. It connects all of Britain across space. The system was designed by the Egyptian Alchemy Center, with Flamel as the lead architect. My grandfather helped build and maintain it, leaving behind plenty of notes. Flamel and I hit it off and came up with this household mirror."
Melvin studied the crystals in the slots, still stunned but finding it reasonable upon reflection.
The wizarding world's society was archaic, but its productivity and technology were anything but. In some ways, they were unimaginably advanced.
Magic didn't follow physical laws. The Floo Network didn't just transmit signals—a handful of Floo powder and a burst of green flames could transport physical matter across space.
Outrageous, but logical.
"So, it can broadcast television programs?" Melvin asked.
"It can."
Wright nodded, then shook his head. "It's built on the Floo Network, so it needs cooperation from the Ministry's Department of Transportation."
"Oh, the Ministry's cooperation," Melvin echoed lightly, pausing before continuing. "Two months ago, Umbridge tried to ban enchanted mirrors. Fudge is at odds with Hogwarts over the film. Do you think they'll agree to cooperate?"
"Don't ask me! That's your problem to solve," Wright said, sitting up straight with the confidence of a technician.
…
Strolling through Hogsmeade's streets, warm sunlight bathed Melvin as he sorted his thoughts.
Broadway stages came in different sizes, and so did Muggle screens. Big screens suited immersive content like films or sports; smaller screens were better for light entertainment or information-heavy programs.
Extending this medium into every wizarding household was a future goal. The hardware was ready, but without content, progress was stalled. Melvin alone couldn't meet such a massive demand…
Ideas flickered through his mind. Following the Muggle path was a start, but the wizarding world's unique context meant he couldn't blindly copy their model.
He'd wait. The timing wasn't right yet.
Passing the Hog's Head, Melvin glanced inside through the half-open door and locked eyes with a middle-aged wizard at a round table near the entrance.
The man, in his forties or fifties, was of medium build with neatly groomed gray-streaked hair and beard. His high hairline and hooked nose gave him a distinguished look. His robes were impeccably pressed, a quill pinned to his chest.
Melvin noticed him immediately—wizards who showed their faces openly in the Hog's Head were rare.
The wizard spotted Melvin too, his eyes lighting up. Setting down his smoldering Firewhisky, he hurried over.
"Professor Lewent, at last!" The man extended a hand, his voice rich and resonant. Well-maintained and with a neatly trimmed beard, he exuded charm with a hint of cunning. "Barnabas Cuffe."
"The editor of The Daily Prophet?" Melvin's eyes flashed with surprise, quickly masked as he offered a polite smile and shook his hand.
Unlike the sensationalist Rita Skeeter, Cuffe wasn't a muckraker who twisted facts or used shocking headlines to grab attention. He was a mastermind behind the scenes, orchestrating the paper's layout to steer public opinion.
He was a shrewd operator. During the Wizarding War, he'd balanced reporting to inform witches and wizards without provoking the Death Eaters. After Voldemort's fall, The Daily Prophet became the Ministry's mouthpiece, with Cuffe's articles serving as official statements while subtly hinting at dissent or questioning authority to maintain the paper's reputation.
A sly old fox.
"Professor Lewent knows my name? I'm honored," Cuffe said, his smile warm. "After the film's release, I wrote to request a visit, but I never heard back… I suppose you've been getting a lot of letters?"
"Mostly Howlers," Melvin replied.
"Some people ignore the truth, thinking if they bury their heads in the sand, disaster won't come," Cuffe said with a sigh, getting to the point. "May I invite you for a drink? At the Three Broomsticks, not here."
"You waited for me here on purpose?" Melvin asked.
"I heard nearly every pub in Britain has installed enchanted mirrors, except the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, which hasn't suffered business-wise. It's unique, so I came to see for myself," Cuffe explained. "Turns out, it's well-positioned to observe wizards coming and going."
"It was a command post during the Goblin Rebellions. Quite special," Melvin noted.
They chatted about the quirks of various pubs, heading toward the Three Broomsticks with an unspoken understanding.
As the editor of The Daily Prophet, Cuffe knew countless secrets. Melvin's quick mind made for lively conversation, and they hit it off.
Half an hour later, Melvin brought Cuffe back to the Three Broomsticks. Under Madam Rosmerta's surprised gaze, he ordered food to be sent to a third-floor room.
Cuffe traced the history of the Leaky Cauldron, the founding of Diagon Alley, Daisy Dodderidge's original vision, and the Abbott family's takeover of the pub. He even touched on how wizards used Memory Charms to thwart Muggle plans to demolish Charing Cross Road in the late 19th century, preserving the Leaky Cauldron.
"…Over the past few centuries, Muggles have achieved unprecedented feats, and Charing Cross Road is one of them. What do you think, Professor?" Cuffe asked.
"The Leaky Cauldron's steeped in history and legend, but its drinks are too traditional, and the hygiene leaves much to be desired. The Three Broomsticks does it better…" Melvin replied.
Cuffe tried to steer the conversation toward Muggle topics, but Melvin stayed on track, discussing pubs, recommending the Three Broomsticks' signature brews, and explaining their recipes.
Both men were playing coy, each pretending to be oblivious.
After half an hour of verbal sparring—Melvin discoursing on the best oak barrels for mead and the ideal temperature for Butterbeer—Cuffe's patience wore thin.
"Professor Lewent, I'd like to propose a collaboration," he said, cutting to the chase. "The Daily Prophet wants to produce a news program for enchanted mirrors. We've spoken to pub owners, and it seems the Mirror Club planned for this from the start, even encouraging others to create their own programs. They thought it'd be limited to Quidditch, but we want to be the first to try something new."
Melvin toyed with his glass, feigning contemplation.
Cuffe pressed on. "Listen, Professor. Some old purists still cling to pure-blood supremacy, but more wizards are embracing Muggle ways. They love the novelty. The future is one of harmony between wizards and Muggles.
"Short-sighted witches like Umbridge can't stop Muggle influences from entering our world. The tide is unstoppable, like the Wizarding Wireless Network or the enchanted mirrors…"
Melvin listened to the editor's pitch, deeply impressed.
Not all wizards were narrow-minded or determined to keep the wizarding world stagnant. Some, like Cuffe, were sharp and forward-thinking.
Never underestimate the wizarding community.
"…The mirrors have untapped potential. We could make smaller ones, broadcast less polished programs, and gain massive influence—maybe even reshape the wizarding world," Cuffe said.
"A news program is a solid choice," Melvin agreed, adopting a thoughtful tone. "For The Daily Prophet, it's a perfect fit. Turning print into visuals is straightforward, quick to produce, and can build a loyal audience fast, letting you control the narrative and set the agenda."
He flashed a knowing smile. "Then you could sway public opinion. On a basic level, you might boost a pub's business. Dig deeper, and you could influence Ministry elections or Quidditch betting odds. What do you think, Mr. Cuffe?"
"…"
Cuffe held his breath, unsure whether he was dealing with a young professor barely out of school or a cunning old wizard with deep schemes.
He dropped all pretenses, regarding Melvin seriously, weighing how to gain the trust of the Mirror Club's overseer and what his publishing house could offer. He didn't speak rashly.
Melvin sipped his soda water, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "Just my own musings. The mirrors do need a news program, but the timing's not right. They're in pubs now, and thrill-seeking patrons want exciting Quidditch matches, not daily news.
"The Prophet needs time to refine its program too. Let's wait. I'll reach out to you when the time comes, Editor Cuffe."