Chapter 20: First Experience at the Three Broomsticks
The wax seal bore the emblem of a Coiled Serpent.
"Malfoy Manor – Wiltshire, addressed to Lucius Malfoy personally."
He opened the envelope, unfolded the parchment decorated with silver-green patterns, and began to read.
Dear Father and (the word "Mother" was crossed out):
I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing it with the peacock quill I brought from home it makes my handwriting much more respectable than those inferior quills Hogwarts provides, which seem tainted with troll saliva.
The Sorting Ceremony went exactly as I expected. The ragged Sorting Hat brushed my hair and shouted "Slytherin!" as if it had been burned. Prefect Flint's applause nearly overturned the long table. The pure-blood etiquette you taught me fits here perfectly…
As for your question about Potter, allow me to explain. This so-called "Savior of the Wizarding World," the son of the Lord who lacks basic manners, refused my offer of friendship on the train preferring the company of that red-haired Weasley rather than accepting the kindness of a Malfoy.
Crabbe and Goyle behaved as expected, though their brains seem to have been replaced entirely with treacle tart. They make decent attendants, at least keeping unwanted people away. Then there are the pure-blood traitors like Longbottom, who keep frogs in their pockets…
The first half of the letter was neat and fluent clearly pre-written with care. The Malfoys were well trained in such things.
But the second half turned frantic, the lines overlapping with ink blots, as if written in panic.
*"I have something urgent to report: the newly appointed Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, Melvin Lewyn, has observed Professor Snape's behavior and, using a Muggle method known as psychology, deduced that Professor Snape was once in love with my mother.
This conclusion, he claims, is derived from the ingredients of the Draught of Living Death and from my mother's name. The evidence… is detailed and convincing…"*
A long smear of violet ink followed.
The signature below was immaculate clearly written beforehand:
May Merlin bless the Malfoy family with eternal glory.
Your loyal son,
Draco.
Snape's eyes stayed fixed on the letter, his fingers trembling, veins bulging as a cold anger filled his expression.
"Detailed and convincing?"
It was clearly baseless nonsense from that fool Lewyn some idiotic Muggle pseudoscience meant only to test Potter's basic potion skills!
When had he ever been in love with Narcissa?
Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy were six years older than him. When he'd entered Hogwarts, they were already graduating their contact later had been purely Death Eater business.
"…"
Fortunately, he had reached the Slytherin common room just in time to intercept the letter. Otherwise, the reputation of Severus Snape former Death Eater, now Potions Master would have been irreparably damaged.
Calmly, he conjured Fiendfyre and burned the parchment to ash.
The red flames reflected on his expressionless face, giving him an eerie glow.
Snape decided he would definitely find a chance to have a "chat" with Professor Lewynter.
Late that night – The Astronomy Tower.
A silver-haired figure climbed silently onto the terrace, glancing back often to ensure he hadn't been followed. His turquoise robe and slippers gave away his haste.
Draco raised his wand toward the Owlery and released a faint pulse of magic.
Moments later, the sound of beating wings approached a sleek, dark-eyed nocturnal owl landed gracefully on the railing.
It was a Malfoy-trained night owl.
Draco handed it a sealed envelope and watched it fly into the dark sky. Only then did he breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
The Malfoy family creed, passed down for generations, echoed in his mind:
"What is revealed is deception; the true act is always done in the shadows. A Malfoy is never discovered."
Hogsmeade Village
According to the Chocolate Frog Card description, Hogsmeade was founded a thousand years ago by the medieval wizard Hengist of Woodcroft, shortly after the four legendary founders established Hogwarts.
It was one of the few all-wizarding villages, its heart a commercial street lined with cozy homes. Not bustling but peaceful.
The Three Broomsticks was the liveliest spot in town, always packed on weekends, its business thriving.
Its owner, Madam Rosmerta, was an elegant, striking woman more beautiful, some said, than a veela.
Whenever she appeared behind the bar, a cluster of wizards and witches would gather to chat and flirt, eager to impress her with news or stories.
Rosmerta, for her part, smiled warmly as she served drinks, engaging her patrons with curiosity. She asked about Harry Potter's whereabouts during his ten-year absence, when the adventurer Gilderoy Lockhart would visit for a book signing, and what cocktails were popular in Albanian taverns.
Those who failed to answer were quickly teased by others, fueling even more laughter and sales.
Her charm was legendary. Even Dumbledore, Professor Flitwick, and Minister Fudge were known patrons. A few who had tried to cause trouble in the past had been swiftly thrown out never daring to return.
Some old witches whispered that Rosmerta was cursed that misfortune befell any man close to her. Years ago, the tavern had been called The Two Broomsticks, but after her husband Mr. Rosmerta's mysterious death, the sign was changed to The Three Broomsticks.
The moment Melvin Lewynter stepped inside, he regretted it.
The tavern was loud, smoky, and overwhelmingly crowded.
He found a seat by the window for some air. Almost instantly, Madam Rosmerta brought him a mug of oak-aged mead. Its aroma was rich and sweet the same kind Dumbledore loved.
Melvin blinked.
"I'm Professor Lewynter, of Muggle Studies."
Rosmerta smiled brightly.
"That's on the house! A special offer for Hogwarts staff their first mead is free. Dumbledore adores it. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick always praise it too. Trelawney's a regular, though she prefers sherry."
Melvin nodded and took a sip.
"Quite nice… I'll take another."
Rosmerta smiled, pleased until he continued, completely seriously:
"Amber-brown color, ideally a golden amber hue. Medium viscosity solid structure. Initial aroma: classic fermented orange blossom nectar with ripe apricots, balanced by vanilla pod and toasted hazelnut from the oak. The sweetness is well-controlled, low alcohol, with woody tannins providing structure mid-palate. Finishes with a honey-wax sweetness superior to most traditional meads."
"???"
Rosmerta blinked.
Structure? Tannins?
Was he critiquing her mead like wine?
"You might try adding brewer's yeast and some Eastern European oak for spiced clove and nutmeg notes. A bit of chestnut wood chips for a secondary aging. Smoked honey could add texture "
Realizing her bewilderment, Melvin fell silent.
He had clearly memorized those fancy phrases just to sound impressive and now they'd escaped his mouth like a bad reflex.
After a moment, he smiled sheepishly.
"What I meant was thank you, Madam Rosmerta. I really like this mead."
She nodded slowly, still mulling over his strange suggestions. Then she turned back to the bar only to pause halfway.
"You mentioned brewer's yeast and Eastern oak…"
Melvin chuckled.
"I know a few Muggle brewing manuals. I can bring you one next time."
"Are brewing secrets… valuable?"
"They're Muggle books barely a few Galleons. Consider it a gift."
"Thank you, Mr. Lewynter."
"…"
As she walked away, the tavern suddenly seemed quieter. Melvin unpacked the parcel he'd collected from the Owl Post and sipped his drink while examining it.
The deerskin parchment was thick and waterproofed with beeswax and pine resin. Unfolded, it revealed a detailed map of magical settlements across Denmark and Ireland complete with ratios of magical to non-magical residents, pure-bloods to half-bloods, even goblins and trolls.
Their total numbers barely rivaled Hogsmeade's population.
Because of their small populations, large magical communities were rare. Many wizards lived quietly among Muggles especially during eras of witch-hunts, when secrecy offered safety.
Beings like vampires, goblins, and werewolves unwelcome in the open preferred these hidden settlements. Together they formed a unique magical ecosystem.
Melvin studied the map for a while, then folded it away.
Next came a letter from Mr. Borgin, inviting him to a special gathering in Knockturn Alley the following week attended by witches and wizards interested in Muggle technology. Borgin could provide introductions if needed.
Half an hour later, Melvin mailed his reply and walked back along Hogsmeade's nearly deserted street.
Most shops were closed, their windows bare, clerks half-asleep behind the counters. Business in Hogsmeade was quiet this time of year except on Hogwarts weekends, when third-year students and above flooded the town.
Only Honeydukes remained lively, thanks to its mail-order sweets business, which alone kept the Owl Post Office running.
Melvin paused at the candy shop's door, greeted Mr. and Mrs. Flume, and, after a brief chat, was granted access to the cellar beneath the store.
"I do like that name… Hogwarts," he murmured.
The cellar smelled sweet, packed with boxes stacked high. In the center was a trapdoor, blending perfectly with the gray floor.
He opened it, revealing a narrow stone staircase leading into darkness.
Melvin climbed down and quietly shut the trapdoor behind him.
Meanwhile – Fourth Floor of Hogwarts.
The corridors were lined with suits of armor and old statues of wizards. Most rooms here had long been unused dusty, filled with broken desks and the musty scent of decay. Even the most mischievous Gryffindors avoided them.
Only two rooms remained active:
the Charms classroom, used daily;
and the Trophy Room, filled with awards and medals popular with curious students (and with Filch, who made them polish it for punishment).
The hallway also displayed stone effigies of witches and wizards, each inscribed with short phrases some inspiring, others cautionary.
Some honored inventors of spells or potions; others mocked failures like one wizard who lost his nose in an experiment, or a witch who brewed herself into a ghost.
One statue, of a hunchbacked, one-eyed witch, stood out. Roughly carved from dark stone, its inscription was long worn away.
On a quiet Saturday morning, a faint tapping suddenly echoed from inside the statue.
Dong-dong…
Dong-dong…
(End of Chapter)