Chapter 44: The Truth Is, I Don't Know How to Brew Potions
Hedwig had no letters or packages today. She simply wandered around the Great Hall with the other owls, visiting her owner and thanks to her beautiful white feathers begging food from the young wizards. After eating and drinking her fill, she left leisurely.
Harry was leafing through Quidditch Through the Ages, which Hermione had lent him.
After last night's incident, they had become real friends friends who could tolerate being scolded by each other in class. Hermione seemed to have learned to control that habit, as it hadn't happened again in any of the morning lessons.
"The news got out Harry's the Seeker!"
"Yeah, now everyone knows he's not a substitute. He's Gryffindor's official Seeker!"
"…"
Seamus and Ron were discussing the upcoming match.
Next Saturday, Harry would play his first Quidditch game: Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
"Should we put a mattress under the pitch in case Harry falls off?"
"No need! Harry's definitely going to win."
"…"
The whole conversation revolved around him.
Harry grew nervous just thinking about it. Seeing Hermione quietly studying the chocolate frog beside him, he exhaled in relief. He was glad to have such a calm friend.
At the Three Broomsticks
Wright sat at the bar, listening absentmindedly to an argument nearby.
Melvin approached and took a seat beside him.
Wright passed him a glass of mead, gestured for silence, and pointed at two wizards beside them who were in a heated debate.
"Last time, you asked Lamont who he blamed for his short fingers! Answer me!"
"What's wrong with what I said? You blame your team and your parents for your poor skills! Why not look at your own issues?!"
"How can you blame yourself for short fingers? That's his parents' fault!"
"Do you have dragon dung fermenting in your brain? Listen to what you're saying!"
"Lamont's father is famously short! It is his fault!"
"…"
Still unable to settle the matter, the two wizards stormed out of the pub, cursing, and headed to the bookstore next door to look up famous Quidditch players with chubby fingers.
Wright turned back, still dissatisfied, and pointed at the mead before Melvin.
"Madam Rosmerta left this for you to taste."
Melvin took a sip. The wine and honey blended perfectly.
"As you requested," Wright said, "I changed it from an oval to a square 16:9 ratio, 380 centimeters on the diagonal."
He handed Melvin a suitcase. "This custom shadow mirror is too large to carry around, so I stored it inside."
The Monkstanley family had been in magical engineering for four generations from the Office for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts to the Department of Mysteries and private workshops. The Undetectable Extension Charm was child's play to them.
Melvin accepted the suitcase and set it at his feet without checking it.
Not out of caution, but because he trusted Wright.
Still, he hesitated and decided to ask,
"Is it… legal to have a box enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm?"
Wright froze, unsure how to answer.
That particular spell, being both advanced and highly concealable, had long risked violating the Statute of Secrecy. Before it was regulated, wizards would pull all sorts of bizarre things out of their pockets, hats, and purses in front of Muggles.
A British wizard named Noct Isaac, returning from Uganda, once pulled eighty-six elephants from his handbag in front of dozens of Muggle customs officers. He was sentenced to life in prison.
A similar case happened in New York in 1982, when a wizard loaded a seven-ton airplane into a suitcase before hundreds of No-Majs. The next year, he attempted to steal the Statue of Liberty and was arrested by MACUSA Aurors.
To conceal the incident, every member of the Magical Congress worked overtime for three weeks, disguising the whole fiasco as a massive magic show.
Since then, the Undetectable Extension Charm had been classified as a regulated spell by the International Confederation of Wizards. It could not be used for personal purposes only for approved items such as wizard tents.
"…"
Wright stared at Melvin for a moment, then said quietly,
"I can give you a five percent discount on the final payment."
"Ten percent."
"…Deal."
"…"
Melvin winced. Ouch. That thing really was expensive.
Wright sipped his sherry with a pleasant smile. In truth, his two deals with Professor Lewinter hadn't been especially profitable nothing compared to his contracts with a singer and a newspaper. But he found Lewinter refreshing; his occasional Muggle-inspired ideas always sparked new thoughts.
"Professor Lewyn no, Melvin. I'll call you that as a friend."
Wright paused.
"The cost of large-scale shadow mirrors is still too high. Muggle equipment isn't convenient, and wizarding villages lack proper facilities. But the Muggle system is more mature and cheaper. I really think you should reconsider my previous proposal."
"…"
Melvin sighed and was about to respond when a familiar voice called out:
"Professor Lewyn!"
Madam Rosmerta approached, carrying a copper pitcher, refilling the mead until it formed a light froth.
"This mead was made according to the book you gave me. Honestly, I didn't understand half of it thank you for your notes!
"It wasn't fully fermented on Halloween night, so I didn't bring it for you then. I opened it this morning and already sold three barrels in under a day!"
"Try it! Tell me if there's anything I can improve!"
She looked at him expectantly.
"...Madam Rosmerta," Melvin said carefully, "the truth is I don't actually brew beer."
"You're so modest," she said, laughing.
"…"
Melvin gave up arguing. Under her eager gaze, he took a sip and began to ramble:
"Hmm… the top notes have the typical floral honey and ripe apricot fragrance of fermented orange blossom nectar, the middle notes are rounded out by vanilla pod and toasted hazelnut from the oak, and the finish is long and well-balanced. The sweetness on the palate is well controlled… there's really nothing to complain about."
"All thanks to your help," Rosmerta said brightly. The professor was so humble.
Melvin gave a weary smile. Then, as he looked at the cheerful innkeeper, a thought struck him:
"Madam Rosmerta would you like all the wines in your pub to sell as well as this mead?"
(End of Chapter)