Muggle Studies Professor's Office
Melvin sat behind his desk, unscrewing a fresh bottle of ink and picking up a rarely used quill from Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. He dipped it in, the ink carrying a faint scent of a rain-soaked forest.
He scribbled a few names on a piece of parchment, his thoughts gradually sharpening.
The Daily Prophet, Barnabas Cuffe, Rita Skeeter…
His mind drifted to the conversation in the pub earlier that day, and to the cunning, fox-like editor-in-chief.
Centuries ago, a wizard tried teaching a troll to dance ballet. Ever since, "Barnabas" became "Silly Barnabas," a name used to mock the idea that Muggles and trolls were unteachable lesser beings. The story was woven into a tapestry still hanging at Hogwarts, chuckled over by students even now.
Barnabas Cuffe, named after his ancestor, inherited that same open-mindedness.
But he wasn't a laughingstock. He actively engaged with Muggles, soaking up their vibrant culture to fuel his own success, creating The Daily Prophet, a unique wizarding newspaper.
Eye-catching headlines, neutral stance, low prices, high sales…
When the magical mirror first appeared, The Prophet took a wait-and-see approach, reporting it as routine news. When Umbridge launched her lawsuit and Dumbledore, alongside Madam Marchbanks, used the Wizengamot to shut it down, they kept watching.
But once the film premiered successfully—some parts even pushing Fudge's limits—and the mirror kept running smoothly, raking in profits, Barnabas Cuffe was convinced. This mirror would reshape the wizarding world. So he approached Melvin, eager to hitch his news program to this rising star and boost The Prophet's influence.
Cautious, cunning, ambitious, and bold…
Honestly, the man was a textbook success story, a sly old fox.
The Daily Prophet dominated British wizarding press, reaping hefty profits from the Ministry and pure-blood families alone, not to mention other advertising revenue. Barnabas Cuffe was loaded.
During the wizarding war, the paper relayed messages, published obituaries, mourned the fallen, and broke the news of Voldemort's defeat across Britain. Post-war, it helped restore order and stability without becoming the Ministry's puppet. Cuffe earned respect and a solid reputation.
In some ways, he was a lot like Dumbledore.
The Mirror Club needed other wizards to produce programs and develop the mirror further, but Cuffe couldn't be allowed to dominate. The day's negotiations and subtle power plays were to ensure smoother cooperation later. The timing just wasn't right yet.
"How do we get the Ministry to play along?" Melvin muttered. "Could we push a Wizengamot vote for this kind of partnership? Or maybe just oust Fudge—frame him, stir up a scandal…"
He shook his head, snapping out of it. Too much time at Hogwarts was rubbing off on him—those Slytherin tendencies were creeping in.
A knock came at the door.
Knock, knock…
"Come in."
The lock clicked, the door swung open, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped inside, eyes wide as they took in the room. They'd followed Malfoy here once but hadn't dared disturb anything. This was their first proper visit.
Empty bookshelves, a polished desk, a small magical mirror on a shelf—much smaller than the one used in the Great Hall. The room felt… particular. Tidy, deliberate, with an indescribable vibe.
Harry and Ron seemed a bit nervous.
Hermione, more familiar with the professor, spoke up. "Professor Levent, Percy said you wanted to see us. What's this about?"
Melvin smiled. "The film's box office numbers are in. I called you three, the stars of the show, to talk about your pay and shares."
"?"
The trio tilted their heads, confused.
Normally, for any production, pay and profit shares are settled upfront. But the wizarding world was different, and the mirror was a special case. Back then, Melvin, not exactly a model of teacherly ethics, had used Norbert the dragon to coax—or strong-arm—the kids into signing contracts without fully understanding.
Forcing kids to work and tossing them a token reward afterward? It sounded a bit like an illegal operation.
Harry and the others thought dealing with Norbert was their reward. They hadn't expected more, let alone something substantial.
"Let's be clear," Melvin said. "This isn't an adventure where pay is based on contribution. Dumbledore gave you three similar House points, but the film's pay is based on screen time, so your shares differ."
Melvin prided himself on being unlike those heartless dark wizards. Considering he'd "employed" kids, he wasn't skimping on their pay—it was generous by any standard.
"Harry, your share is two thousand Galleons. Hermione and Ron, you each get one thousand."
"…"
Across the low square coffee table, the three sat on a long sofa, stunned by the numbers. Their eyes widened, and they froze.
Melvin poured them chilled pumpkin juice, unfazed. "I'll be upfront. The film earned me a hundred thousand Galleons over Easter. You three, as the leads, get only four thousand. Does that seem unfair?"
Ron was still dazed.
Hermione was calculating how many pounds a thousand Galleons equaled.
Harry snapped out of it first, shaking his head. "Not at all, Professor."
"Protecting the Philosopher's Stone was our own reckless idea," he continued. "We probably broke two hundred school rules in the process. Not getting expelled and earning House points was more than enough."
He paused. "You turned our foolish antics into an epic adventure, Professor, and spread our names across Britain. That's more than we ever expected."
Hermione nodded. "You did all the real work—making and promoting the mirror, extracting memory footage, distributing it to wizarding pubs nationwide… Strictly speaking, we were just chosen."
Ron, catching their drift, nodded eagerly. "Yeah, yeah, a thousand Galleons is plenty!"
The Weasley vault had never seen that many Galleons. Ron was already imagining his parents' praise, plotting how to casually drop the news to rub it in George and Fred's faces. They'd see who was the "useless" Weasley now!
"…"
Their responses were remarkably mature, catching Melvin off guard.
Especially Harry. He didn't care about the Galleons, quickly grasping the bigger picture: their adventure was a self-driven quest to protect the Stone, not for filming. The rewards were a bonus.
Was it because the Potter vault was overflowing, making money meaningless to him? Or had Voldemort's lingering influence sharpened his instincts for handling these things?
Reflecting, Melvin noted Harry's first year: sloppy homework, frequent tardiness, chatting in class. Yet most professors—except Snape—thought highly of him.
"Maybe he's just naturally charismatic…" Melvin mused silently.
He waved the pumpkin juice pitcher aside and passed out snacks, dropping the pay topic to ask about the effects of their newfound fame.
Real events, edited and displayed on the mirror, stripped away the mundane details. With music and visuals amplifying their courage and wit, the film gave them an almost mythic charm.
To the castle's young students, the trio practically glowed with holy light.
Everywhere they went, people trailed them. At meals, admirers came up to express awe or pass on their parents' praise.
Even Slytherins' glares had softened.
"Yesterday, I was in the third-floor bathroom, and Justin from Hufflepuff waited outside my stall to say hi. I didn't know what to say back," Harry said, exasperated.
Melvin chuckled. "It'll last a while. But once Snape chews you out in Potions or McGonagall calls your Transfiguration homework sloppy, they'll realize the legendary Harry Potter is just a first-year, not some mythic hero."
"Like at the start of term," Harry said thoughtfully.
Hermione sighed in relief.
She'd been a friendless bookworm before. Now, as a popular figure, she felt eyes on her constantly, like Devil's Snare vines lurking behind her. It was unsettling.
"I think being famous is pretty great," Ron said, earning skeptical looks from his friends.
"I agree with Ron," Melvin said. "A famous witch once said, 'Get famous young.'"
He took his time chatting with them, more curious about their magical growth.
He'd thought only he, gifted by the Horned Serpent, could influence others' magic collection. But Nicolas Flamel's insights showed this wasn't unique—many wizards had similar traits.
So he wanted to see if the trio showed any changes.
In the original story, Harry's growth was unnaturally fast: dueling professors by third year, facing Voldemort in fifth, defeating the greatest dark wizard ever by seventh.
Melvin suspected some influence, though no signs showed yet.
They drank cup after cup of pumpkin juice from a seemingly bottomless pitcher. The snacks were tasty, but as curfew neared, Ron grew restless.
"Professor, um…" Ron stared at his shoes, voice muffled, hesitant. "When do we get the pay?"
"That many Galleons can't just be handed over to stuff in your trunks, right? I'll pass it to Professor McGonagall to give to your parents."
Melvin's casual reply seemed to ease Ron's tension, his shoulders relaxing. The laid-back attitude was oddly comforting.
Unlike Harry, with his ancestral wealth, or Hermione, from a well-off family, Ron's situation was tighter. Even his wand was a hand-me-down.
Harry scratched his head. "Who'll hold mine? Hagrid?"
"…"
Silence fell.
Melvin sipped his juice, steadying himself.
Student issues were Merlin-level complicated. No wonder McGonagall rarely smiled.
"I'll talk to Dumbledore and Hagrid. We'll take you to Gringotts to deposit it in your family vault."
"Oh."
"Professor, I have a question," Hermione said, raising her hand timidly. "I don't want Galleons. Can I get a different reward?"
"…"
Melvin looked into her bright eyes. "What kind?"
"I want you to be my tutor."
"?"
Seeing a chance, Hermione explained eagerly. "Professors McGonagall and Flitwick teach the whole class, sticking to the book. Even their extra lessons are limited. Some topics I'm curious about are outside the curriculum. I could ask after class, but that's tedious. So I'd like you to tutor me."
At Gringotts' exchange rate, one Galleon was about five pounds. A thousand Galleons—five thousand pounds—sounded huge, but for a private dental practice, it was pocket change.
Girls from families like hers knew what truly mattered.
"…"
Melvin considered the idea.
Harry's eyes lit up, thinking of the cool water orb spell he'd seen, swallowing Howlers in a vortex. Hermione had taught them the basics, using leaves for practice, and Harry could handle some Howlers now, but his casting lacked her precision and power.
If Professor Levent could coach him…
With the Potter vault overflowing, Harry didn't need money either. "I want tutoring too!" he blurted.
Ron's face flushed. He wanted to follow his friends, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
A thousand Galleons—more than the Weasley vault's entire stock of Sickles. With that, he could get a new wand, his mum could replace her old cauldron and spatula, and Ginny could buy new textbooks next year instead of using his embarrassing hand-me-downs…
Unlike Harry and Hermione, he couldn't let go of the money.
Ron ducked his head, hoping no one noticed.
"Why would I say no? Your 'pay' is way better than the headmaster's salary," Melvin said with a grin, agreeing to tutor them. He also wanted to monitor their magical growth.
As for Ron…
Melvin glanced at the clock, pretending not to notice. "It's getting late. Let's wrap up. Any questions, come find me."
"Goodbye, Professor."
"Good night, Professor."
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