Chapter 6: The End of Summer, 1991
The summer of 1991 was coming to an end.
On the balcony of a two-story house in Hampstead, London, a brown-haired girl sat cross-legged on the floor, holding a children's encyclopedia in her hands, a thick dictionary beside her.
A few soft clouds floated across the blue sky, and the breeze gently moved them up and down. Sunlight traced golden edges along the clouds, making the pages of her book gleam almost blindingly. The only sound in the world seemed to be the crisp rustle of turning pages.
The paper was new; the sound was sharp and clean.
Hermione Granger had loved reading from a very young age. At first, she only flipped through picture books, but once she learned to read at school, she discovered the deeper joy of stories and became hopelessly addicted.
Compared to other children's pastimes, reading didn't disturb her parents at work, nor did it require friends to play along.
It also meant she would never be left out.
Hermione's parents ran a dental clinic. Dentistry was a good profession well-paid, with generous holidays but summer always brought a rush of patients. The phone rang constantly. They needed to order medicine for the coming month, sort patient records, and deal with insurance companies. It was their own business, after all; everything required personal attention. And sometimes, they had to treat squirming children with toothaches...
As Hermione turned the next page of the encyclopedia, the phone rang downstairs again.
"Just wait until summer vacation's over..." she murmured, frowning slightly, as though remembering something.
After summer, she would finally start school.
"North London College... Westminster School..."
She whispered the names to herself, closing the encyclopedia and the dictionary. Following her mother's advice to rest her eyes every half hour, she looked up at the sky.
It was dazzlingly bright. The soft clouds drifted slowly. Then, a growing black speck caught her eye.
"What's that...?"
Hermione squinted, then gasped. "An owl?"
"Owl."
The hoot of a common owl echoed through the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon. The sound was steady, and the faint flap of wings betrayed a seasoned messenger.
A rustle came from the bushes on Stoat Hill ferrets and goblins scurrying away.
The Diggory estate lay peaceful in the afternoon sun. The slightest sound could be heard clearly. The owl folded its wings and perched on a beech branch in the back garden, waiting patiently.
Firm, rhythmic footsteps soon sounded on the cobblestone path.
The man who appeared was tall and handsome, wearing a bright yellow robe despite the midsummer heat. He carried a long broom in his right hand, leather boots dusted with dirt, sweat glistening on his forehead.
"Long time no see, Nibs."
"Coo!" The owl, named Nibs, bobbed its head and dropped a sealed envelope.
"Here's the new school list, let's have a look..."
Cedric opened the parchment envelope stamped with Hogwarts' crest, skipping the usual notices. He went straight to the textbook list, reading aloud:
"Magical Potions and Charms, Standard Spells: Grade 3, Intermediate Transfiguration..."
Last year, it had been Standard Spells: Grade 2 and Elementary Transfiguration.
He was more curious about the electives than the required courses.
"Seeing the Future Through the Mist, Rune Dictionary, A Simple Introduction to Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies..."
Cedric's eyes drifted to the last line. His brow arched. "The Muggle Studies textbook isn't finished yet. Will Professor Melvin Lewyn distribute it after term begins?"
"New professor..." he muttered.
Before he could finish, the flap of more owl wings filled the air. Several dark shapes appeared against the sky.
Cedric pocketed the envelope and looked up.
Three or four owls swept over Stoat Hill, flying toward the other side of the village to the Burrow.
Including the youngest, there would be four red-haired Weasleys at Hogwarts this year. It was bound to be lively.
The Leaky Cauldron, tucked along Charing Cross Road, had a faded sign and a narrow front.
As the gateway between Britain's magical world and the muggle one, the tavern founded in the sixteenth century had stood for nearly five hundred years, older even than the Statute of Secrecy. That meant that, in its first two centuries, countless muggles had walked through its doors and witnessed wonders.
Of course, the current owner, Old Tom, was no relation to the witch who had founded it.
"Daisy Dodderidge..."
Melvin sat in a corner of the pub, studying the wall paintings with interest. The once-vibrant oils had dulled, blanketed by a grayish film.
A faint magical shimmer rippled across one painting, proof it had once been enchanted. With proper upkeep, the witch inside could still chat and laugh with patrons.
Melvin took a sip of his mojito it was far better than expected.
The taste was fresh, the alcohol mild.
Oddly refined for such a shabby place.
The food wasn't bad either. No fish heads on pancakes, no broth made from fish guts the house fish-and-chips were crisp and perfectly seasoned, defying every stereotype.
The Leaky Cauldron also offered lodging; the upstairs rooms were roomy, clean, and had hot water all day. Old Tom was kind, well-informed, and always willing to help.
Still, Melvin preferred his chain hotel three blocks away.
The pub's air was heavy. The old oak furniture, scarred by time, was crusted with grime and oil, forming an odd waxy sheen. A faint, indescribable smell clung to everything.
Old Tom clearly didn't plan on cleaning. He leaned on the counter, reading The Daily Prophet and chatting with a few elderly witches.
On the front page, two witches glared at each other beneath the headline:
"Superior vs. Subordinate Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Office for Improper Use of Magic, Publicly Challenges Amelia Bones, Head of Magical Law Enforcement; Wizengamot Votes on Muggle Studies."
That article was from a few days ago.
After convincing the Exam Authority elders, things hadn't gone as smoothly as expected. A faction of pure-blood advocates, led by Dolores Umbridge, had abruptly opposed the curriculum reform, claiming Ministry approval was required.
Her shrill arguments were so unpleasant that Madam Marchbanks hadn't even bothered to refute them she had simply called for a Wizengamot vote.
Then came the Ministry's internal politics, in which Melvin played no part.
"Chief Warlock Dumbledore was the first to express support for reforming Muggle Studies,"
"Madam Marchbanks seconded the motion, and many Wizengamot members agreed..."
"Umbridge protested, but it was overruled. Heh."
"Amelia Bones declared the issue settled, and Minister Cornelius Fudge declined to comment."
Old Tom snorted. "Dumbledore supports it, and that pink toad still objects? What's she thinking?"
"Exactly!" one of the old witches croaked.
"When did the Ministry start meddling in Hogwarts' affairs?"
"Exactly!"
Tom grinned, his wrinkled face creasing like a walnut. He flipped the page, and a new headline caught his eye:
"Why Do Witches Attack Other Witches? The Roots of Wizengamot Infighting."
Award-winning reporter Rita Skeeter reveals the full transcript of Professor Melvin Lewyn's controversial speech: "I Have a Dream!"
"A thousand years ago, four great wizards founded Hogwarts.
Today, we gather for the same purpose.
This ancient castle, a beacon of light, has guided countless young witches and wizards lost in the wilderness of magic...
Yet a millennium later, we still face the tragedy of magical ignorance..."
It sounded profound.
Old Tom read with rapt attention.
In the corner, Melvin sat silently, unseen, overhearing snippets of their conversation. Of course, those venerable wizards weren't swayed by a speech they had merely approved his initiation. Madam Marchbanks remained skeptical and wanted to see how a young man could reshape the subject.
Course structure, textbooks, results, impact those were the true tests.
He swirled the half-finished cocktail. The clear liquid shimmered in the glass, refracting light that danced across his dark eyes, revealing something deep and unreadable.
A quiet abyss lay beneath the surface.
Dumbledore probably hadn't expected Rita Skeeter to infiltrate the Ministry's meeting and publish his entire speech in The Prophet's Sunday supplement.
Still, it served its purpose perfectly a confirmation of his suspicions.
"The soul of the wizard..." Melvin murmured, draining his glass.
By the time Old Tom finished reading, the young wizard in the corner was gone.
Melvin crossed the hall and found the small alleyway behind the bar. He located an unused rubbish bin and, sensing faint magical fluctuations, spotted a red brick above it.
The enchantments were simple a Muggle-Repelling Charm, a light Confundus spell, and an Extension Charm woven with basic Transfiguration. Not difficult magic, but clever design.
Similar wards could be found in magical settlements worldwide.
Melvin drew his wand and tapped the red brick.
A moment later, it loosened and shrank inward. The entire wall began to shift, bricks folding away to reveal an opening that widened into a path.
Leading to Diagon Alley.
On the north side of Diagon Alley, in Flourish and Blotts, Melvin wandered between the shelves.
The shopkeeper followed eagerly. "Professor Lewyn! Delighted to meet you at last. I read your speech so heartfelt, so logical, so moving!"
"Our bookstore has a long partnership with Hogwarts. No matter how rare your textbook choices, we can guarantee a stable supply and annual restocking."
Melvin remained expressionless. From the faint magical trace in the air, he could tell the man's emotions weren't as enthusiastic as his words.
He reached for a finely bound volume and opened it.
"Mundane Philosophy: Why Muggles Don't Seek Truth," the shopkeeper supplied quickly. "Excellent eye, Professor! Modix Egger, former Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, wrote this. It explores why muggles ignore magic even when the evidence is undeniable like the three monkeys on the cover: see no magic, hear no magic, speak no magic."
Melvin flipped straight to the publication data.
Publisher: Dust and Mold
Release Date: 01/09/1969
The shopkeeper went silent, looking away.
Melvin arched an eyebrow. "Been sitting in storage twenty years, has it? Just like its name dusty and moldy?"
"That's the DF Publishing style, sir. They don't chase bestsellers they seek the deeper truths."
Melvin's tone softened, half amused. "Is that so? What's their latest title?"
"They went bankrupt."
"..."
He paused, then began examining every Muggle-related book in the store.
After the war a decade ago, British wizarding society had grown cautious. Most Muggle books were research notes or autobiographies. Popular science texts were shallow or outdated. A few journal essays had value, but they weren't systematic enough for coursework.
Seeing him unmoved, the manager asked nervously, "Haven't found suitable material? There are more in the basement library, if you'd like "
"No need."
Melvin closed a recent magazine. The headline read: "Witches Preparing to Enter Muggle Society," by Kerrydee Burbage.
He thought for a moment, then turned. "Can you source Muggle-published books?"
"Of course..." The man hesitated.
"Have you ever heard of the Children's Encyclopedia?"
Excerpt "The Leaky Cauldron in History"
The Leaky Cauldron was founded by Daisy Dodderidge in the early sixteenth century at No. 1 Diagon Alley.
In 1692, when the International Statute of Secrecy was enacted, Minister Ulric Gamp allowed the pub to remain open. In gratitude, the tavern introduced a new brew Gamp's Old Social Ale so foul that even a 100-galleon prize couldn't convince anyone to finish a pint.
In the late nineteenth century, the Muggle government planned to renovate Charing Cross Road. Then-Minister Faris Spavin, bound by secrecy, took no action. Wizards of Diagon Alley organized themselves, casting mass Memory Charms on everyone involved even sneaking into the Prime Minister's office to alter the blueprints. Thanks to their efforts, the Leaky Cauldron was saved.
(End of Chapter)