After leaving the Muggle Studies professor's office, Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled back toward the Gryffindor common room, pockets stuffed with snacks from Professor Levent. The portraits on the walls were still awake, with Sir Cadogan getting walloped by a gang of nuns while his stubby pony blocked his escape route.
As they watched the lively scene in the portraits, they chatted about their earlier conversation.
"I'm gonna learn that Howler-destroying spell," Harry said, grinning at the thought. "Then I'll secretly zap Malfoy's homework into oblivion."
Hermione, lost in her notebook, muttered to herself, "Professor McGonagall mentioned something about risky live Transfiguration… Professor Flitwick told that story about summoning a buffalo for fun… and Quirrell glossed over that goblin curse…"
Ron stayed quiet, eyes on the floor.
As they passed a staircase, Harry noticed Ron's low mood and slung an arm around his shoulders, giving him a playful shake. "Don't worry, Ron! Once I master some cool, flashy magic, I'll teach you. Then we'll prank Malfoy together."
Ron, rattled until his brain felt like jelly, couldn't get a word out.
Hermione chimed in, "If he doesn't get it, I'll tutor you both."
"…"
Know-it-all.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, their eyes sharing a silent understanding.
At twelve or thirteen, worries came and went quickly. Between Sir Cadogan's pained yelps and their laughing, chasing, and roughhousing up a few staircases, the awkward tension melted away.
After giving the password to the Fat Lady, they slipped through the portrait hole and settled by a window in the common room, munching snacks and chatting.
Outside, the castle grounds shimmered under starlight, the grass dusted with moonlight and speckled with wildflowers.
Crinkling a candy wrapper, Ron's mind wandered to Professor Levent's behavior that evening. Thoughtfully, he said, "Don't you think Professor Levent's different from the other professors?"
"You mean his office? It's decked out Muggle-style," Hermione replied, not looking up from her notes.
"No, I mean him. He's just… different."
"How so?" Harry asked, curious.
"Haven't you noticed?" Ron smoothed out the wrapper on the table, frowning slightly, his expression serious. "He's a bit like Dumbledore. He doesn't treat us like kids. When we're stuck or confused, he doesn't just fix the surface problem—he guides us to think deeper."
He paused. "It was like that with Hagrid's situation, and tonight, too… You two gave up your film pay without a second thought. Normally, someone might've asked what I planned to do, but it's like it didn't even cross his mind."
Hermione turned a page in her notebook, giving a small hum.
Harry shot Ron a sidelong glance. "You're just now noticing?"
"What's that look for? Don't think I can't tell you're judging me!" Ron dropped his serious act, crumpled the wrapper, and chucked it at Harry. "Have you two noticed anything before?"
"My birthday candy, Neville's Summoning Charm, the troll on Halloween, warning Malfoy during the Forbidden Forest patrol, the Quirrell stuff…" Hermione looked up from her notes. "If you're only realizing this now, you're the weirdly oblivious one."
Harry nodded in agreement.
A quill made from a Thunderbird feather felt cool to the touch.
Melvin dipped it into dark gray ink, carefully copying exam questions onto parchment, writing slowly to keep his handwriting neat.
The window was open, letting in a breeze from the Forbidden Forest and Black Lake. The papers on his desk rustled, pinned down by an ink bottle, but the summer heat was creeping into the castle, making the cool air a welcome relief.
The ink dried quickly. Melvin finished copying, double-checked his work, and sealed the questions in an envelope with special wax and two anti-leak charms. He addressed it to Madam Marchbanks, then reconsidered and changed it to the Wizarding Examinations Authority.
These were the Muggle Studies exam questions for fifth and seventh years, tied to the OWLs and NEWTs. Madam Marchbanks had sent several reminders, and he'd only just finished the draft.
He tucked the envelope away to mail later during the staff meeting.
As a special consultant, he didn't set the exams himself—his questions were suggestions. The Authority would review them, verify the answers, select a few for the final papers, print them in bulk, and seal them until exam day.
For the other years, the end-of-term exams were simpler. Melvin had planned to tweak past papers but found them lacking, so he decided to write new ones from scratch.
The good news? No external review meant he could work quickly and freely.
After finishing the sixth-year questions, Melvin glanced up, relaxing. The breeze had stopped, and the clock showed 2:15.
"Fifteen minutes until McGonagall's meeting at 2:30…"
He tidied his slightly messy desk, grabbed the envelope, and headed to the end-of-term staff meeting.
In a side hall off the Great Hall, professors gathered around a round table in the meeting room.
A grandfather clock's pendulum swung lazily, its hands creeping forward. The door opened and closed as professors trickled in, filling the seats.
Spotting the Muggle Studies professor, Flitwick called out cheerfully, "Melvin, over here! Take a seat!"
Two spots were open beside him, one already taken.
Sprout looked up with a warm smile.
Melvin settled in happily. The part-goblin Charms professor loved slacking off and chatting, especially during meetings or meals. He could be a bit talkative but never annoying. Well-traveled and skilled in dueling and magic, Flitwick's conversations always held unexpected gems.
Snape sat on the other side, stone-faced, flipping through papers.
Dumbledore was, as usual, absent. McGonagall, or rather, the deputy headmistress, sat at the head, her square black glasses perched on her nose, dark hair pinned in a tight bun, dressed in her signature deep green robes despite the summer heat.
As the professors took their seats, only the Divination spot remained empty. McGonagall's brow furrowed slightly.
"Sybill can't make it," Professor Aurora Sinistra, the Astronomy teacher, explained. "She said her Inner Eye picked up a special sign this morning, and she needs to study its meaning."
"…"
The professors exchanged knowing looks. Yep, she's drunk again.
McGonagall looked displeased but didn't dwell on it. She got straight to business. "The second-year course selections are in. The lists are in the files in front of you. Elective professors, take a look. Professor Levent, Muggle Studies has an unusual result—you'll need to prepare for next year's classes."
"?"
Melvin opened the parchment. Flitwick and Professor Kettleburn leaned over to peek.
Other elective lists were packed—some sprawling across a full page, others sparsely covering a corner. Muggle Studies was different. Its list was a single line:
All students.
Melvin heard Kettleburn snort, and soon the room filled with stifled chuckles, the air thick with schadenfreude.
No one was surprised.
Since the start of term, Melvin's Muggle-inspired style had been a hot topic among students. His beautifully designed textbooks sparked buzz, and his interactive lessons set trends—not to mention the enchanted mirror and film project. For second-years, Muggle Studies was the coolest, most unique elective. If Hogwarts held a popularity contest for professors, Melvin would win hands-down.
As a result, every second-year picked Muggle Studies, turning an elective into a de facto core class.
"I hope you won't disappoint the students, Professor Levent," McGonagall said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Think carefully—will you split it into two classes like a core subject or teach the whole year together? Let me know before September so I can arrange a classroom."
"…"
Melvin nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
McGonagall turned to the others. "Now, for the end-of-term exams, submit your questions soon for unified printing. For subjects with practical exams, declare any required materials early so the school can order them…"
"Got it," Melvin said absently, nodding along with the others. His attention drifted to Flitwick, who was sketching an ancient spell-casting gesture on a scrap of paper—something intriguing.
"For the OWLs and NEWTs, keep an eye on fifth- and seventh-years' stress levels. Be mindful with criticism and don't add too much pressure."
"Noted," Melvin replied, half-thinking about how the gesture might tie to Paracelsus.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts is a special case. Use last year's theory questions. Practical exams will be proctored in rotation. Years two, three, four, and six will be handled by the heads of houses. First-years go to Professor Levent. Any issues?"
"No problem—wait, what?" Melvin snapped back to reality, realizing he'd been roped into extra work. Why not give this to Dumbledore, the idlest one here?
The end-of-term tasks were assigned methodically, mostly by McGonagall, with the others chiming in briefly. There wasn't much to debate.
The process had been honed over years, and except for Melvin, the professors were seasoned pros—old chips, as it were.
"That's all. Any concerns, come to me privately. Meeting adjourned."
"…"
Flitwick snapped his file shut and left calmly.
He'd attended dozens of these meetings. Back when Dumbledore ran them, he'd chat with Minerva, sketching spell diagrams. She'd join in back then. Now, his old slacking buddy was the deputy headmistress, and a sad wall of responsibility stood between them.
Thanks a lot, Dumbledore.
Melvin stayed behind to speak with McGonagall, who was organizing her files at the head of the table, her face neutral—though who knew if she was mentally grumbling about a certain irresponsible headmaster. When the others left, she tapped her papers into place and looked up. "Melvin, something on your mind?"
He nodded. "The Easter holiday's over, and the film's earnings are settled—about 100,000 Galleons. Hogwarts deserves a share."
McGonagall frowned. "Melvin, Hogwarts isn't some greedy, unethical institution. The Quidditch share was justified, but we'll pass on this."
"Wasn't the film set at Hogwarts?" Melvin countered, smiling. "Wizards aren't just buying tickets to see a few kids' play-adventure. Many viewers are adults. They see through the obstacles—they weren't just for stopping dark wizards. They keep watching to relive Hogwarts through the scenery, spending Galleons to revisit their school days."
"…"
"It's the school's fair share," Melvin said, pausing. "Plus, hasn't the goal of upgrading the four Quidditch teams' brooms been stalled? Use this money to buy new ones during the exam supply orders. Gryffindor's clinched the House Cup after five years—new brooms for the final match would make it even sweeter, right?"
McGonagall's mind flashed to Snape's snarky comments, and she wavered. "I'll need to discuss it with Dumbledore."
"Let me know soon."
"…"
McGonagall's expression grew complicated. She was usually the one pressing others for quick replies—being on the receiving end was rare, not since decades ago.
Once again, she thought, This is the headmaster's job. Thanks, Dumbledore.
Melvin wasn't overthinking it. He had plenty of Galleons, with more to come. Sharing some with Hogwarts felt right—the castle and its people had helped him immensely.
As he turned to leave, he remembered something. "One more thing. Ron Weasley's film payment—could you pass it to Mr. Weasley for me?" He paused, then added, "If it's not too much trouble, remind them to get Ron a proper wand."
McGonagall watched him go, puzzled by the request. Why would a family, suddenly flush with cash, prioritize a vacation over a new wand or textbooks for their kids? Odd.
On a sunny weekend, red-haired Molly Weasley received a letter from McGonagall, asking her to meet at Gringotts in Diagon Alley. Seeing Ron behind the deputy headmistress, her face paled, fearing her son had caused trouble and was facing expulsion. She rushed over, ready to apologize.
Her pale face soon flushed with color, then turned to giddy delight, muttering about Galleons.
"We can visit Bill in Egypt! Stay in the best hotel, try the local food…"
Ron's eyes sparkled, jumping in. "And go on a pyramid adventure, visit the alchemy research center, try the fastest brooms!"
"…"
McGonagall, listening to her old Order of the Phoenix friend and her Gryffindor student, stayed silent for a long while.
Melvin sure knew how to read parents.