Newcastle upon Tyne, located 450 kilometers north of London on the east coast, is a three-to-four-hour train ride from the capital and just 13 kilometers from the North Sea.
Thanks to the North Atlantic Current and monsoons, Newcastle's climate is relatively mild compared to other regions at the same latitude. The mid-February weather here is much warmer than the Scottish Highlands.
Newcastle Brown Ale is a world-famous beer, and its local football club, Newcastle United, boasts the most fans in all of England. With these trademarks, this rusty, coal-burning industrial city successfully transformed into a tourist destination. On weekends, thousands of visitors from northern England flock to Newcastle.
The large numbers of students and tourists give the city a different character, and even a slightly old-fashioned wizard could blend into the crowds without looking out of place.
"Editor Guffey, is the production of your news program going smoothly?" Melvin said, holding a glass of beer. The foam on top popped with a faint sizzle, a surprisingly relaxing sound.
"Not good, not bad. At first, I just wanted to imitate the Muggles' news shows, but I've discovered a lot of difficulties in practice. They have professional teams of reporters, editors, behind-the-scenes staff, and hosts who have trained for years."
Barabas Guffey didn't know why the young professor had chosen this place for a business talk, and he wasn't going to ask. He had been so busy he was exhausted, and the fatigue was evident in his voice. "I've told the wizards at the Daily Prophet to watch Muggle news, but some of the pure-bloods are unwilling; their minds just can't make the switch."
The pub was a converted old warehouse, and the owner had kept the original features during the renovation. The straight, simple lines and rough, minimalist decor gave it the feel of a 20th-century steelworks. At the moment, the pub was mostly full of tourists.
Barabas wore a stiff, peaked-lapel robe and a knitted scarf. A discreet quill pattern adorned his chest, making him look a little old-fashioned, but it suited a man his age.
Melvin wore a black trench coat over an old-fashioned white shirt, dressing like a tourist on a weekend getaway, though his handsome face made him stand out slightly.
Outside, boats moved along the river. On both banks were beautiful pedestrian bridges, stylish hotels, and centers for art and music. Farther in the distance, you could see the sea, its dark color and crashing waves looking like white lines in a child's doodle.
Melvin tasted the pale ale. It had a faint salty, briny taste, supposedly from a unique saltwater mixture used in brewing. He suspected they just used unfiltered seawater or let rainwater get into the fermentation tank. Either way, it wasn't good.
"Isn't that our purpose?" Melvin chuckled softly. "To bring the Mirror of Shadows to the entire magical world, to create a video news source for wizards. One day, their pure-blood notions will be swept into the rubbish bin."
Barabas Guffey nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "With the smaller Mirrors of Shadows on the market, you must have made a lot of money, haven't you?"
As the editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, Guffey had read many articles about the Mirrors of Shadows. It was a new invention, yet it had become a household staple in a very short time. Some pure-blood families even used it to show off their status, placing a mirror in every room that had a fireplace.
Different pubs had different prices, but even the most common ones like the Oak Barrel and the Leaky Cauldron had mirrors with a steep price tag, not to mention the ones sold to pure-blood families at the White Ink Bar. He even suspected the profits were enough to buy the Daily Prophet outright.
"Oh... I leave all that business to Wright. I haven't really paid attention to how many Galleons we've made." Melvin took another sip of the pale ale, his expression unbothered.
Guffey glanced at the young professor, wanting to say something but holding back.
"Professor Levent has higher ideals and pursuits. The Mirror Club has enough profit to sustain itself, but the Daily Prophet is a different story." Guffey sighed, his face filled with worry. "We've focused most of our staff on making the video news, so the workload is high, the pressure is huge, and we still haven't made a profit. My staff and the board of governors are very unhappy with me."
Melvin raised an eyebrow. "So, is the editor-in-chief planning to stop our free screening partnership?"
"No, I'm here to talk about advertising," Guffey said, his tone suddenly more upbeat. "I've studied the Muggles' ways of making money from the news. One is subtle, hidden ads, and the other is pre-roll ads. Both seem to have pros and cons. The paper is leaning toward doing both, and I wanted to get your opinion."
The subtle ads would be reporting on vaguely related news, like a shop opening that drew a massive crowd, a product selling out, or a child crying so much for a product they had to be taken to the hospital. On the surface, it would be news, but in reality, it would be a promotion. The benefit was that it was hard to detect and didn't cause annoyance, so the promotion would be more effective. The downside was that it would severely damage the paper's credibility. In the beginning, viewers wouldn't notice, but once they caught on, they would suspect every piece of news was an ad. In the long run, they might stop watching the show altogether.
The pre-roll ads would be obvious, running commercials before the program. While it might annoy viewers, it was straightforward, and their dislike wouldn't be associated with the program itself.
Guffey was one of the first wizards to connect with the Muggle world, so he knew the difference between the two. His question to Melvin was a test to see what his thoughts were on splitting the profits. He was a cunning old fox, but not as sharp as Dumbledore.
Melvin shook his head. "Mr. Guffey, I don't care about the advertising revenue, nor will I interfere with the management and production of the Daily Prophet news. You should make the choice yourself."
Guffey paused, saying nothing for a moment.
"Editor Guffey, you are a very rare wizard in our world. You can see the brilliance of Muggle civilization. When you first saw the Mirror of Shadows in a pub, you immediately decided to come find me in Hogsmeade to discuss a partnership. I respect that very much," Melvin said with a soft smile. "I think you can understand my thinking. The Mirror of Shadows isn't just a tool to earn Galleons. It's a window to connect wizards all over the world and to connect wizards with Muggles. I plan to turn the Mirrors of Shadows into something as massive as Muggle television, but we're just getting started.
"The Mirrors of Shadows need more content. I need more people to join in. I hope you can gain wealth and fame from it, so you'll be more motivated to build the network. So, you don't need to worry. I won't kill the goose that lays the golden eggs."
Guffey's face relaxed at the firm reassurance, and some of his exhaustion faded.
While he was still stunned, Melvin finished the rest of his pale ale, tasting the drink with a slight grimace before putting the glass down. "Well, that's enough for today, Mr. Guffey. I wish the Daily Prophet news all the best."
Guffey sat in his chair, watching the young professor leave the pub, then stared at the glass in front of him. Bubbles rose and popped, giving off a faint aroma of beer.
The young wizard said he admired him, but Guffey respected the young professor even more.
"I need more people to join in, so they can gain fame and wealth."
How many wizards can live for one or two centuries and still not give in to their greed, wanting to seize every bit of profit they see? Yet this young wizard could let it all go. What kind of mind and heart was this?
Lost in his thoughts and memories, Guffey took advantage of the rare moment of quiet to close his eyes and rest. After an unknown amount of time, he heard footsteps approaching.
"Sir? This gentleman?"
Guffey opened his eyes to see the pub's waiter smiling at him.
"The bill, please. Two Brown Ales, 10 pounds."
"?"
Guffey was dumbfounded.
Peter Pettigrew reached out with a trembling hand, breaking off the last piece of the wooden board. The jagged splinter fell into the sea, swept away by a wave. The board was now less than half its original size, and the wind and waves continued to rage.
Peter was curled up on the board, sweating profusely. The sea wind blew against him, and the evaporating sweat made him feel weak. His eyes, which hadn't closed for a day and a night, were starting to shut on their own, but he stayed awake, trying to keep the board balanced and his body warm.
After resting for a moment, he felt a little better and cast a Hover Charm to keep the board moving forward. He was blessed by good fortune, and the rest of his journey was calm, with no more overwhelming waves.
Peter sighed in relief and took a piece of cheese from his pocket, wolfing it down. He then used a spell to create some drinking water. He wasn't full or hydrated, but his energy and magic had recovered slightly. He regretted breaking off the rest of the board; he could have used a Transfiguration spell to turn it into something to keep him warm.
The waves surged over and over. The damp sea air blew against him, and his vision was blurry. He had little energy and magic left and didn't know how much farther he could go. If only he could get out of the Apparition lockdown area, he could escape on his own.
Peter forced his heavy eyes open and placed his wand on the inside of his arm. He looked at the mark there and realized it was his left arm, where the Dark Mark was. He froze for a moment, then switched his wand to his other hand, pressing the tip against the inside of his right arm. He bit his lip and poured the last of his magic into it.
The faint silver mark of the Ouroboros glowed. His magic carried his sincere prayer, traveling through layers of space to an unknown distance.
But there was still no response. Peter's face filled with despair. In his haste, he had only managed to grab the information he needed and was so desperate to escape the island prison that he just found a board and started sailing. He thought he could find a safe place to Apparate or contact that professor once he was out of Azkaban's range.
But he had underestimated the terrifying power of the ocean and its waves. For the first hour or two, he could still see Azkaban behind him, and though he didn't know the exact location, he had a reference point to correct his direction. But things got more complicated after that. After sailing for so long, he felt exhausted, so he took a short nap. When he opened his eyes again, Azkaban was gone. All around him was nothing but endless gray water and mist.
He was lost.
As a middle-aged wizard who had survived a war, Peter didn't immediately lose his mind. He used a Point Me spell to find his way, but the ocean seemed to have its own magic. The charm would change direction every so often. Was he just sailing in circles? This realization sent a jolt of terror through him. He started casting the charm more frequently and realized the waves were what were pushing him off course, so he could correct his direction by casting the charm regularly.
After a few hours of sailing like this, Peter began to feel that something wasn't right. He had been sailing for almost a full day and was still within Azkaban's range. He couldn't Apparate, his energy and magic were almost gone, and the waterlogged board was in danger of breaking apart. All these things added up, and Peter was gradually sinking into despair.
The remaining piece of wood seemed too small to hold a middle-aged man, and his food was running out. After careful consideration, Peter decided to transform into his Animagus form to rest and regain his strength.
He put away his wand and became a rat. Things immediately improved. The sea wind was no longer so cold and miserable, and the board felt much lighter, gliding easily on the water. Peter even felt like he could finally get a good rest.
"Caw..."
A shadow fell over the narrow board. Scabbers the rat recognized the shape of that shadow: a soaring seagull. Scabbers looked up, his round eyes meeting the seagull's, and a chill went down his spine. The scraggly fur on his body stood on end. Seagulls are omnivores, but the ones that eat chips and bread usually stay near the docks. The ones out on the open sea are mostly predators!
The moment the rat and the seagull met eyes, the seagull's wings beat as it dived, its sharp talons rushing toward the rodent on the board.
Scabbers scrambled out of the way, turning back into his human form. He cast a hasty spell. Though it didn't hit the wild bird, the sight of a tiny rat suddenly becoming a hulking man terrified the seagull, which squawked loudly and flew away.
Bloody thing!
As Peter sighed in relief and transformed back into a rat, a thin, scaly body climbed onto the board, its scales slick with cold seawater. It was a snake!
Scabbers' head snapped around, and he let out a short, terrified squeak as he breathed in the salty, cold air.
"Squeak!"
Scabbers wanted to change back, but when he met the snake's eyes, he froze for a moment. When he came to, the snake had already lashed out with its tail, striking Scabbers with a whip-like motion. The powerful blow sent the rat flying.
He tumbled through the air. His already-dizzy rat brain was shaken even more. Before he could recover, a much taller figure approached. He couldn't dodge in the air. Someone grabbed his tail, holding him upside down, even giving him a playful little shake.
Scabbers wriggled, struggling to get free, but when he saw the person's face, his panic was replaced by intense relief.
The young professor's voice was full of confusion.
"You sent me a signal last night, and after all these hours, you're still stuck in Azkaban's vortex?"
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