As dusk settled, Tarclott hurried down the street, clutching a black suitcase. His steps were anxious yet cautious—usually he'd slip and slide on the snowy roads, but today he feared falling.
Ignoring a neighbor's greeting, he rushed home, locked the doors, drew the curtains, and crouched by the fireplace.
Opening the suitcase, he carefully extracted a small Memory Mirror from a nest of cotton. Though he'd watched hundreds of Quidditch matches at the pub and seen films in the dim third-floor screening room, Tarclott had never been so close to a Mirror. The quartz glass, swirling with silver mist, felt like a delicate work of art.
He examined it closely, struck by its difference from other alchemical creations he'd encountered—no intricate carvings or strange glows, just a simple, unique charm he couldn't quite describe.
Following the manual, he opened the back slot, sprinkled in the included Floo powder, and ignited it with the fireplace's flames.
Unlike the usual green blaze, the powder burned slowly, its fluorescence spreading grain by grain, like some exotic spice. A tiny pinch could burn for hours.
As the glow intensified, the silver mist stirred, forming faint outlines that gradually filled with color. Clear knocking sounds echoed from the Mirror's sides.
A former Quidditch player, Tarclott instantly recognized the sound of Beaters striking Bludgers.
The screen showed teams in familiar uniforms—Scotland versus Canada, a revenge match after the World Cup finals! Scotland was leading by a wide margin!
Captivated by a single frame, Tarclott, a diehard Scotland fan, was hit by an unprecedented viewing experience. He crouched by the fireplace, utterly absorbed in the intense match.
---
Night fell.
Malcolm pushed open his neighbor's door and froze, startled.
The large room was pitch-black, unlit by candle or fire. A figure crouched by the hearth, face illuminated on one side by the dying embers' red glow and on the other by the Mirror's silver light.
It looked like some eerie, two-faced creature!
Recognizing Tarclott, Malcolm patted his chest. "What're you doing squatting there? Not at the pub drinking?"
"Oh, watching a match," Tarclott replied, snapping out of it. As he stood, his knees buckled, nearly sending him tumbling.
Malcolm rushed to steady him, grumbling, "Watching what match? Anything good on lately? How'd I miss it…"
His words trailed off as he saw the Memory Mirror and its contents.
Instantly hooked, he forgot about helping Tarclott to the sofa. He stood transfixed for minutes, then slowly crouched, lost in the match's visuals.
---
Dorset, Western England.
The Scamander family returned from a trip. Family vacations were a tradition—supposedly to show the kids the world and rare magical creatures, but Rolf knew his grandfather Newt was the most enthusiastic.
With the holidays nearing an end and school approaching, the family was busy packing.
"Rolf, fetch the copper cauldron from the storeroom. You'll need it next term," Grandma Tina called.
"Got it, Grandma!" Rolf replied, clattering off to the storeroom.
The storeroom was a mess of accumulated parcels from their absence. Digging through was a chore.
Rummaging through the pile, Rolf found a shopping receipt from Pottage's Cauldron Shop. As he grabbed the parcel to leave, a peculiar note caught his eye.
"The young snake hatched successfully. Please accept this gift as thanks. —Melvin Levent"
"From Professor Levent to Grandpa?" Rolf scratched his head, curiosity getting the better of him. He tore open the kraft paper, opened the suitcase, and pulled out a Memory Mirror with its manual.
A teenager's knack for tinkering kicked in. Following the instructions, he soon activated the Mirror.
And promptly became obsessed.
An hour later, Newt wandered in, spotting his grandson by the fireplace. "Your grandma's threatening to stuff you in a cauldron. What're you hiding here for?"
"Huh?" Rolf looked up, disoriented by the darkened sky, as if time had slipped away.
"What's got you so engrossed?" Newt ambled over, peering at the Mirror. It showed a lone Pacific island battered by a tsunami, with a massive bird wreathed in lightning soaring over the waves.
---
"Newt! Rolf!" Tina burst in, exasperated yet amused at the old man and boy by the fireplace. "What in Merlin's name has you two so bewitched?"
Approaching the hearth, she saw the Mirror's contents and softened, a nostalgic look crossing her face. "A Thunderbird…"
---
Ministry of Magic, Senior Undersecretary's Office.
Umbridge waited until her colleagues had left before exiting her office and stepping into the fireplace to head home, carrying a box draped in black cloth containing a household Memory Mirror.
Since her promotion to Senior Undersecretary, power brought perks. A mere hint of her interest, and subordinates procured the Mirror, charging it to the Ministry's accounts.
Her family's old manor in Wiltshire, like many pure-blood homes, mirrored her office: thick carpets, polished wooden doors with nameplates for each room's occupant.
She connected the Mirror to the Floo Network per the manual, and soon images and sounds filled the room.
Footsteps descended from the upstairs room. A stooped old wizard approached, lingering behind her before asking in a frail voice, "Isn't that a Muggle television?"
"What did you say, old man?" Umbridge snapped, her usual saccharine tone gone.
The old wizard, Orford, glanced at her nervously. "I said it's like a Muggle television. I saw one at your mother's place before we split."
"Don't mention that Muggle woman!" Umbridge shrieked, her voice sharp and piercing. "You want to go back to them, don't you? Your Muggle ex-wife, your Squib son! You, a dead-end maintenance worker!"
"If not for you dragging me down, if I weren't an Umbridge, if I were pure-blood, I'd have been Undersecretary long ago!"
"…"
Orford bowed his head, enduring his daughter's screams, his eyes closing in pain.l