Malfoy Manor, Second-Floor Study
The fireplace roared with a lively crackle, casting a warm glow across the room. A Floo mirror hung nearby, its powder box emitting a faint emerald shimmer. The ornate gold-and-silver inlay on the mirror spelled out "Pureblood Prevails." The evening broadcast of The Daily Prophet echoed softly through the study.
"This evening, a middle-aged wizard was apprehended by Aurors for allegedly posing as an Inferius to commit burglary. Eyewitnesses report the wizard used a homemade potion to mimic an Inferius, attempting to sneak into a wizard's home in Godric's Hollow. The Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement stated the wizard faces multiple charges, including illegal use of a Transfiguration potion, trespassing, and disturbing the wizarding community…"
The Floo mirror displayed an elderly wizard, fuming. "He was shuffling along, groaning like something straight out of a grave! Nearly gave me a heart attack, only to find it was some living git's face! He had the nerve to claim he was 'just passing through.' Utterly shameless!"
Lucius Malfoy sat behind an expensive walnut desk, a steaming teacup at his side. He skimmed through a stack of documents and letters from various counties, the parchment spread out in slight disarray. A pile of contracts, dense with numbers, loomed on the desk, looking headache-inducing.
Lucius paid little mind to the news' gossip, his eyes glued to his papers. He only paused when the broadcast mentioned Ministry policy changes or personnel shifts.
"This morning, Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge delivered a public speech. Her proposed Anti-Werewolf Legislation has sparked significant controversy.
"Supporters argue it's a necessary response to recent werewolf attacks. Since 1980, werewolf incidents have outpaced those of dark wizards, with more vicious outcomes. Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf leader, is responsible for numerous atrocities. An anonymous pureblood wizard stated, 'Umbridge is finally doing the right thing. Those beasts should've been locked up ages ago.'
"Scholars like Caradoc Bubbage oppose the measure, calling it discriminatory and likely to limit the rights of well-meaning werewolves, potentially driving desperate ones toward crime…"
Lucius watched Umbridge's smug smile on the mirror, his thoughts drifting to recent news about the Wolfsbane Potion. He sank into contemplation.
Click.
The door opened, and an elegant woman entered. Her fair skin and blonde hair complemented her meticulously chosen attire—a finely tailored robe, its fabric shimmering subtly, exuding wealth. Her straight posture and graceful neck spoke of poise and refinement.
Narcissa closed the door, holding an envelope. She glanced at her husband. "You've been holed up in here all evening. Trouble?"
"Just something curious," Lucius said, setting down his quill. "I'm not sure if it's coincidence or someone's scheme. Not long ago, they awarded the Order of Merlin to Belby for inventing the Wolfsbane Potion. Now, right after the Christmas holidays, our dear Senior Undersecretary pushes her Anti-Werewolf Legislation."
Narcissa frowned, her mind sharp beyond the ballroom. She knew the dance of power and Galleons. "You think they're working together to corner werewolves, forcing them to drain their savings on Wolfsbane?"
"It's not certain yet, but it's clear potion-makers and ingredient suppliers stand to profit."
"We have investments in the ingredient trade. Should we get involved?" Narcissa asked.
Lucius shook his head. "Werewolves are mostly penniless. What profit is there to squeeze from them? That's why I'm skeptical it's a planned move. Spending all these resources just to sell Wolfsbane? The ingredients are costly, and few can afford it. It's a losing venture."
He glanced at Umbridge's toad-like face on the mirror. "If our dear Undersecretary keeps grandstanding like this, she might stir up enough werewolf resentment to invite retaliation from the more radical ones."
Narcissa followed his gaze, already planning to probe Mrs. Parkinson at the next gala.
"Cissy, what's that urgent letter? Who's it from?" Lucius asked, noticing the envelope.
"It's from another Order of Merlin recipient—Professor Levent, the Muggle Studies expert…"
Lucius took the letter, opening it. The paper was smooth and white, clearly Muggle-made, written with a fountain pen rather than a quill. Professor Levent's words were direct, skipping pleasantries. Lucius finished the short page quickly.
"What does the professor say?" Narcissa asked.
"Floo mirrors have spread across wizarding Britain, and nearly every household watches their programs. Levent suggests I hire a team to produce films about major magical historical events, subtly featuring noble, hardworking Malfoy ancestors to polish our family's reputation."
Lucius looked slightly bemused.
That was his polished version. Levent's actual words were blunter: sneak in some self-serving propaganda, like Lockhart did, but more discreetly. If done right, it could make school life easier for Draco.
"Sounds like a clever idea… but we know nothing about Floo mirrors or how to make this work," Narcissa said, puzzled.
"Levent says he can connect us with the Mirror Club for help."
"What's the cost? Just Galleons?" Narcissa's business sense kicked in.
"A letter of invitation in your sister Bella's name… and," Lucius's expression turned odd, "a house-elf."
---
Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room
Torches and candles still flickered, and the fireplace glowed warmly, its Floo connection still active. According to George and Fred, Professor McGonagall had mentioned the Floo would stay open through the weekend, but Dumbledore would likely adjust it with his Headmaster privileges come morning.
The young witches and wizards crowded around the Floo mirror.
The evening news had just ended, and they were hooked. Watching the mirror felt entirely different from reading the Daily Prophet. The vivid images made the news feel real, as if they weren't stuck in a secluded boarding school but at home, a step away from London or Diagon Alley.
The scent of biscuits and sweets filled the air. Ron, munching and feeding Scabbers, sighed, "Muggles are so fascinating."
Harry and Hermione, having grown up with televisions, weren't as enthralled. They only perked up for Quidditch matches or Magical Creatures Weekly. Otherwise, they preferred books or homework.
For a moment, Ron envied Muggles.
The mirror played Celestina Warbeck's latest song as the hour grew late, nearing curfew.
Percy stood resolutely in front of the mirror, the fireplace's flames making him look heroic. "Tomorrow's Monday, a school day. No matter what you say or what excuses you have, I'm shutting this mirror off. You lot need to get to bed!"
Ron glanced at the front row, where his other brothers sat.
But George and Fred didn't protest. Facing Percy's stern expression, they grinned.
"Percy's right. School tomorrow," George said.
"No more late nights. Off to bed, everyone," Fred added.
The twins stood, pulling their roommate Lee Jordan upstairs. Oliver Wood and the Quidditch team followed without complaint, as did the seventh-years.
They actually went to bed. Unbelievable.
Minutes later, Percy doused the Floo powder, locked the mirror in a drawer, and waited as the clock struck ten. The torches and candles dimmed, and no one intervened.
Disappointed, Ron trudged to the dormitory, head low.
After washing up, Ron sat on his bed, arranging Scabbers' bedding—a repurposed cushion for a pillow and an old tablecloth for a blanket. He gently tucked the rat in, then slipped into his own bed, yawning deeply. As he closed his eyes, Neville's steady breathing filled the room.
It was a night like any other. Ron should've drifted off easily, lulled by the darkness outside. But sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a sleek Knarl or the mirror's silvery glow.
After what felt like ages, Ron opened his eyes. Scabbers slept soundly. He rolled over, gazing out the tower window.
In the dark, someone else stirred. Seamus, from the next bed, whispered, "Ron, you awake?"
"Yeah," Ron mumbled. "Stayed up too late last night, slept all day. I'm wide awake now."
"Since we can't sleep, wanna sneak to the common room and watch the mirror?"
"Percy locked it in the cabinet."
"You telling me you don't know Alohomora?"
Ron sat up, eyes gleaming.
They crept out, tiptoeing through the castle. Before reaching the spiral staircase, they heard rustling in the common room.
No torches or candles lit the space, only the faint glow of dying embers in the fireplace. The cabinet stood ajar, its copper lock dangling. Shadows huddled around the mirror, their faces faintly lit by its silver light.
Lee Jordan, George, Fred, the entire Quidditch team (minus Oliver Wood), and the seventh-years were there.
No wonder they'd agreed so easily—they'd planned this all along!
Ron and Seamus exchanged grins.
---
Morning, 10 a.m., Transfiguration Classroom
Percy sat by the window, breathing in the crisp morning air. The early spring chill sharpened his senses, waking him fully.
He opened his textbook and notes, the margins filled with annotations. Sixth-year Advanced Transfiguration was intense. Professor McGonagall no longer drilled basics, focusing instead on complex principles. Every lesson demanded full attention; a moment's distraction meant hours of catch-up.
McGonagall entered and began lecturing.
Percy noticed two students at the next table, heads down—one Gryffindor, one Ravenclaw. Neither took notes nor listened, their heads bobbing like drowsy chickens. It reminded Percy of Professor Binns' History of Magic class. They were clearly dozing.
During a discussion on the principles of internal organ Transfiguration, the Gryffindor boy fell fully asleep, his head thudding onto the desk, nose askew from the impact.
He gasped, clutching his nose, and looked up to meet McGonagall's stern gaze, realizing he was in class.
"Ellis Darne," McGonagall's voice was icy.
"Professor…" the boy mumbled, mortified.
"Is my class boring, Mr. Darne? So dull you fall asleep?"
"No, it's not—"
"Then perhaps you've mastered today's material and find it too simple?"
"No, that's not it either."
McGonagall opened her mouth for a sharper rebuke but paused, noting his exhausted face and heavy dark circles. "Give me a proper reason, Mr. Darne."
Ellis stayed silent, unwilling to snitch on his classmates.
But Hogwarts professors weren't fooled by silence, especially not on classroom matters. Students caught out hoped to take the blame alone, but their dark circles were a dead giveaway. Even the few dark-skinned students who didn't show circles looked visibly drained.
McGonagall's sharp eyes and authority soon uncovered the truth. She called out every sleep-deprived student, interrogating them with piercing stares. In five minutes, she had the full story: they'd stayed up watching the Floo mirror.
"After the prefect went to bed, we snuck back to the common room and watched the mirror all night, only packing up near dawn. That's why we're so tired."
Percy stood frozen, stunned.
---
Meanwhile, Muggle Studies Classroom
All the dozing students stood at the back of the class, while others were told not to approach but could mock freely, as long as they didn't disrupt the lesson.
Professor Melvin stood by the lectern, grading papers one by one, cross-referencing names. If the paper belonged to a student at the back, he critiqued it aloud.
"This paper, written from a pureblood perspective, discusses the negative impacts of Floo mirrors. Titled 'How Overly Muggle-Influenced Content May Diminish Wizarding Aesthetics,' it argues that pureblood wizarding aesthetics are uniquely magical, while mirrors and their programs, modeled after Muggle inventions, risk diluting that purity."
Melvin grinned at a boy in the back. "Mr. Burstead, it seems your aesthetics have already been swayed."
The boy blushed, head down, as the classroom erupted in laughter.