Chapter 4: Accepting the Invitation
The window, left slightly ajar, revealed a narrow opening through which the neon glow and scattered streetlights filtered in.
The sound of voices from the stage and the distant orchestra seeped through the walls, down the hallway, and into the office faint but distinct.
The crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling rotated slowly, casting a soft play of light and shadow across the room.
"I did some research," Melvin said, "and found that Hogwarts still uses textbooks written decades ago. 'The Life and Social Habits of British Muggles' was published in the 1970s, and 'Muggles Who Noticed' dates back to the 1950s… Your understanding of Muggles, or rather, No-Majs, remains stuck in the steam engine era utterly outdated."
Melvin spoke freely. This was the result of his correspondence with Ilvermorny's Muggle Studies professor:
"As Professor Fleming wrote in his paper, wizards condescend to Muggles with moral arrogance and see only the surface. Students should adapt to the new era instead of memorizing adventure novels from ten or even dozens of years ago."
"A vision as deep as the Mark on the Stone…"
Dumbledore regarded Melvin with admiration in his clear blue eyes. "Mrs. Burbage has expressed similar thoughts. She often says that wizard arrogance is weakening magic itself, but most wizards still cling to foolish notions of blood purity. They won't even step outside the castle to gaze upon the sky of steel and concrete."
"Mrs. Burbage?" Melvin asked at the right moment, curious.
"A friend of mine an expert in Muggle affairs."
"And a candidate for the Muggle Studies post, I presume?"
Dumbledore smiled, neither confirming nor denying it. "Rather than stay in the castle to teach, she prefers to immerse herself in Muggle society. She plans to lock away her wand in a suitcase and live in London as an ordinary person for a few years."
"For a pure-blood wizard to have such thoughts… it reminds me of the naturalists of the Age of Exploration."
"Naturalists?" Dumbledore echoed, puzzled.
Nicolas Flamel, standing nearby, explained, "The scholars who sailed on those expeditions were often of noble birth well-educated, yet willing to risk their lives exploring the vast unknown world."
Melvin nodded. "Their mission was to open the eyes of an ignorant and stagnant world. I hope the students of Hogwarts can become naturalists of the magical world."
"I applaud your ideals," said Flamel, raising his teacup this time filled with proper black tea.
"As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I give you my word," Dumbledore replied softly but firmly.
After seeing the two old wizards off, Melvin reclined in his chair, eyes half-closed as he watched the slow spin of the chandelier.
At their last meeting, Nicolas Flamel had been the talkative one while Dumbledore mostly listened. This time, their roles had reversed Flamel was quiet, almost withdrawn. Yet one thing hadn't changed: both men kept glancing repeatedly at his ring.
No trace of Legilimency. Only experience, and insight, earned through years of study.
It had taken Melvin nearly six months to confirm that the markings truly belonged to Slytherin.
Life is a road of learning.
He brushed his fingers over the ring, thought for a moment, then rose and left the office.
There was no idle conversation that night. The negotiations went smoothly.
The main hall remained open, the stage still aglow under ornate lights, casting deep shadows across the audience. Near the VIP entrance stood a young assistant, arms crossed, a hint of pride on her face.
Melvin turned toward the stage just in time to catch the most dazzling moment.
The musical being performed was The Green Witch his first major production at the Gershwin Theatre, and the one that had secured both his and his assistant's place on Broadway.
The play featured numerous magical sequences, all designed by Melvin himself a seamless blend of illusion and artistry.
Thinking of it now brought a touch of nostalgia.
Approaching quietly, Melvin lowered his voice. "Claire."
"Mr. Lewynter."
"I'm leaving."
"Headed to Hollywood?" the assistant asked, unsurprised.
"No. To England to study, and explore the market."
"Ah…"
"But you're going to Hollywood."
"Wha ?!"
...
Night had fallen.
Dumbledore walked slowly down the street, eyes lowered in thought, curiously taking in the sights on either side. In his hand was an icy can of Coca-Cola, condensation dripping down the aluminum.
Compared to the red can he'd had last time, this blue variant seemed even sweeter.
Behind him, Nicolas Flamel shuffled carefully along. "If my memory hasn't failed me," he said, "any change in curriculum content requires a written report to the School Board and the Wizarding Examination Authority, doesn't it?"
"Mrs. Marchbanks will agree," Dumbledore said lightly.
He ignored the mention of the Board entirely, took a sip of Coke, and abruptly changed the subject. "Has the Philosopher's Stone been secured?"
"If all went well, it's stored in Gringotts' underground vault but…" Flamel hesitated. "Are you certain this is necessary? There's been no word of You-Know-Who for over ten years."
Dumbledore's smile faded, his gaze turning deep and shadowed. "If Voldemort truly hides in Albania, he won't overlook Quirrell. Souls like his are exactly what Voldemort favors. And if he returns to Britain… he certainly won't overlook the Stone."
Flamel frowned. "You couldn't stop the young man?"
"I tried," Dumbledore said quietly. "I spoke with Quirrell before leaving the school. He's completely lost in his pursuit of dark power. His soul is buried in the shadow of black magic even Fawkes's flame can't purify it."
"Ah…"
"Nico," Dumbledore sighed, "we must admit even the Imperius Curse can't truly change a man's heart. Nor can I change Quirrell's decision."
"I only regret that our days of peace were so short-lived."
...
Letter from Albus Dumbledore
Professor Lewynter,
I apologize for sending this informal letter so soon before your official start date, but life has a way of bringing surprises early. I've encountered a few obstacles in staffing.
You are an exceptionally talented wizard, but the world values appearances and the elder professors of our community are no exception. Word of our meeting has reached them, and several wish to meet you in person. They may ask vague, general questions. Please prepare yourself.
Don't worry too much. They may not understand your ideas, but Madam Marchbanks is open-minded and believes things will go well.
Heavy rains have fallen over Scotland at the end of summer, streaming down from the castle towers like a deluge. I write this while listening to the storm outside my office window, as Hogwarts awaits its newest professor.
Your future colleague,
Albus Dumbledore
Morning, outside the Woolworth Building.
Melvin folded the letter he had received and tucked it into his coat pocket.
He wore the classic attire of a wizard traveler: wand hidden beneath his lapel, brown suitcase in hand unremarkable to the untrained eye.
The neo-Gothic skyscraper rose 57 stories high, about 240 meters, its spire piercing the clouds. Built between 1910 and 1913, its construction speed was so astounding that one could hardly deny the involvement of MACUSA.
To Melvin's mild surprise, the contact assigned to him was a familiar face.
Mr. Graves an Auror from a wealthy family. His mother, Seraphina Picquery, had once been President of MACUSA. Perhaps because of her influence, Graves had always nurtured lofty ideals. After graduation, he joined the Magical Congress, rejecting his family's help, determined to restore its honor through his own efforts.
But his career had not gone smoothly. Twenty years on, he had risen only to Deputy Director of the Auror Office and then been demoted.
Melvin entered the building quietly.
He had recently had a rather unpleasant dispute with Graves.
Having arrived in New York six months earlier, Melvin's stage designs had caused a sensation featured in both magical and No-Maj newspapers.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement soon took notice. After an internal complaint filed post–Easter holiday, Melvin won the case and Mr. Graves was demoted.
Who would've thought?
Now, the middle-aged Auror followed him silently, watching as Melvin registered his wand, received his Hogwarts appointment letter, and completed his departure procedures.
"The Portkey from New York to London will activate shortly. Passengers, please prepare. Ten seconds…"
"I'll miss you, Mr. Graves."
"Shut up."
"Seven, six, five…"
Excerpt from "MACUSA: A History"
Since its founding, the Magical Congress of the United States of America has changed headquarters five times:
1693: After its establishment, MACUSA built a grand magical structure in the Appalachian Mountains.1760: Moved to Williamsburg, Virginia home of then-President Thornton Harkaway.After Harkaway's resignation: Relocated to Baltimore under President Amber Fleming.During the American Revolution: Moved again to Washington, D.C., to avoid conflict and Muggle governance.1892: Following the Great Sasquatch Rebellion, MACUSA transferred its headquarters from Washington, D.C. to the Woolworth Building in New York City.
(End of Chapter)