Chapter 5: The Elderly Mrs. Marchbanks
Melvin gripped the old staff tightly. A faint tremor ran through it, and its surface shimmered with a dim blue light. Suddenly, a forceful suction burst forth, pulling his palm against the staff's midsection. In an instant, the surrounding space quivered.
Everything before him stretched and twisted, his vision blurred. The powerful pull felt like a cold iron hook lodged behind his navel.
Seconds later, he arrived in another country under another magical government the British Ministry of Magic.
Still dazed after landing, Melvin composed himself and found he was in a narrow, square room. The walls were paneled in polished dark wood. There was no light, only faint golden glimmers tracing the decorative lines in the wood.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,"
a cold female voice boomed out of nowhere high, clear, and disembodied, as though an invisible woman stood behind him.
"A classic Cockney accent…"
Melvin muttered under his breath. The door before him opened, revealing a familiar face framed by silver hair and beard.
"Dumbledore."
"Many wizards find that voice too cold it makes the Ministry and the Wizengamot seem unfriendly. I agree, but changing it is far too complicated, so it's remained as is…"
Dumbledore smiled kindly and handed him a small silver badge. "Anyway, welcome to London, Professor Lewynter."
Melvin accepted it. It was a silver token inscribed with his Ministry registration: Melvin Lewynter, Employee.
"To think the Headmaster himself would greet me in person… Hogwarts' orientation is more thoughtful than I expected."
"The school has a few extra procedures for hiring foreign professors, in addition to the evaluation I mentioned in my letter. I'll explain the details on the way. Let's head there first."
"..."
Melvin thought Dumbledore's tone carried a subtle undercurrent, as if there was something unsaid behind his words.
He pinned the badge to his chest, picked up his suitcase, and stepped out of the room.
It was his first time entering this world-famous magical government. Melvin gazed curiously around him, dark pupils reflecting the ambient glow.
A wide, straight corridor stretched ahead, its polished wooden floor gleaming. Dozens of fireplaces lined the walls wizards constantly stepped in and out, emerald-green Floo flames flaring brightly. Overhead, a magically constructed dome embedded with golden symbols rotated gently in continuous motion.
Melvin followed Dumbledore down the corridor toward the atrium.
There stood the famous Fountain of Magical Brethren. A group of pure-gold statues rose at the center of a circular pool. Around them, intelligent magical creatures gazed up at the central witches and wizards with reverent expressions.
It was blatant racism decades later, such statues would be condemned.
Turning left, he saw a security checkpoint ahead, manned by a bearded wizard behind a square desk.
A sign read "Security Inspection." On the desk stood a single brass-scale tray. When a wand was placed upon it, a soft click sounded and a thin slip of parchment slid out beneath.
"Twenty-five centimeters… wand core: water serpent horn… lifespan… two years?"
A rare core and a lifespan that didn't match the wand's apparent age.
The middle-aged wizard looked surprised.
"Yes,"
Melvin nodded with a polite smile and passed through without issue.
The entire process was somewhat careless, but Melvin knew his answer hardly mattered. After all, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was nearby if Dumbledore couldn't ensure the Ministry's security, then no amount of strictness would matter.
As they passed through the final doorway, Melvin suddenly remembered to ask, "Headmaster, what exactly did you mean by those 'additional procedures' you mentioned?"
"I owe you an apology."
"…For what, exactly?" Melvin had a bad feeling.
"The Board of Governors cannot directly interfere with school affairs, and faculty appointments require no approval. The original plan was for you to begin teaching immediately…"
Instead of heading for the lift, Dumbledore stopped before a black wooden door. "But Mr. Malfoy caught wind of the curriculum changes and appealed to the Wizarding Examinations Authority."
Melvin realized this must be the meeting of veteran examiners mentioned in the letter. "And…?"
"Mrs. Marchbanks has convened a session to discuss whether the curriculum should be altered. After careful thought, I believe the new Muggle Studies professor is the most suitable person to persuade the committee."
Dumbledore pushed open the door, stepped aside, and gave him a wink.
"…"
The letter hadn't said the meeting would be so sudden.
Melvin's face remained impassive as he looked at the Headmaster. He already felt a hint of resignation before even officially beginning his post.
Still, he swallowed it down.
He entered the room; the heavy door closed behind him.
The meeting chamber was dim and not very spacious. A round table sat at its center, surrounded by many elderly witches and wizards.
Griselda Marchbanks was among them slightly hunched, face deeply wrinkled, eyes clouded, her presence ancient beyond belief. Melvin could only compare her to Nicolas Flamel.
The old wizards sat in total silence. No greetings, no conversation. Their decrepit stillness was so profound that, if not for their slow, shallow breathing, one might have mistaken them for wax figures.
Melvin found a seat, set down his suitcase, and seeing no sign of introductions, cleared his throat.
"Melvin Levent, greetings," he said,
his tone neither humble nor arrogant, his voice courteous and composed.
"Speak up."
"…What?" Melvin looked up. The old witch had spoken.
"I said speak up, young man!"
Mrs. Marchbanks' first impression of Professor Levent was that he was young at least compared to the ancients gathered here.
And Marchbanks had never looked down on youth.
In this country with a long magical history, the Examinations Board was a remarkably young institution founded a little over five centuries ago, compared to the Ministry, the International Confederation of Wizards, or the Quidditch Association.
Marchbanks herself had been an examiner since the previous century. She had personally overseen Albus Dumbledore's N.E.W.T.s and had held him in high regard ever since that final exam nearly a hundred years ago.
"Understood,"
Melvin thought quickly.
As none of the aged wizards asked questions, he wasn't sure what to say. He seemed to be the only one presenting today. Running through a familiar structure in his head, he swiftly drafted an improvised speech:
"I have a dream: Wizards and Muggles."
A subtle charm carried his voice naturally throughout the round hall.
"Five hundred years ago, a great British wizard founded the Magical Council, uniting the world's magical intellects. Three hundred years ago, Britain established a magical government the Ministry of Magic, a beacon of light bringing hope to thousands of wizards suffering amid Muggle conflict…
Britain was the first nation to found the Wizarding Examinations Authority! Yet many have forgotten its original purpose to select and train wizards of exceptional talent, to respond to impending magical crises…"
It was a little odd, but somehow stirring.
Mrs. Marchbanks, hunched in her chair, slowly straightened her back and fixed her gaze on the young man. Through her clouded eyes, a spark of clarity began to shine and that light grew brighter and brighter.
She seemed to see a young wizard from a century ago once more.
Griselda Marchbanks, "Famous Wizard"
Griselda from the Old German "gris" (gray) and "hild" (battle). The name appears in medieval tales by Boccaccio and Chaucer as that of a long-suffering wife.
(End of Chapter)