Melvin pushed open the oiled oak door and stepped out of the tavern.
Barnabas Cuffe, the seasoned editor, had a wealth of experience and a sharp understanding of reporting and public opinion. In some ways, he was even keener than Melvin. Within moments, he'd grasped the key points and promised to be an excellent mouthpiece for the school.
Melvin sensed Cuffe had some misconceptions about Hogwarts and himself. They weren't some Ministry-like organization manipulating public opinion, were they?
Was Headmaster Dumbledore some shadowy conspirator hiding the truth?
Just worldly prejudice.
Melvin shook his head, exhaling a puff of white mist.
The streets were nearly empty, the cold driving everyone into shops for warmth. Indoors and outdoors felt like different worlds.
Without a scarf or gloves, Melvin felt the winter chill seep through his Bubble-Head Charm, raising goosebumps on his wrists.
He held a cardboard box containing an apple pie from Madam Rosmerta, who'd insisted it was homemade and urged him to take it. With Barnabas egging her on, refusing wasn't an option. Now, outside, he realized it wouldn't fit in his pocket and had to carry it.
What a hassle.
The young snake in his pocket curled up, its head tucked in, only its eyes peeking out. Oblivious to the inconvenience, it merely felt the cold, its body sluggish and unwilling to move.
But as a magical creature, its magic resisted such instincts.
Not far from the tavern, the sweet scent of Honeydukes drifted through the air. Promotional posters adorned the shop's windows, and owls flitted in and out of the skylight. Around the holidays, the candy shop's mail-order business was booming.
Madam Flume, packing candies behind the counter, looked up and saw Melvin passing by. She smiled warmly.
Since Professor Levent joined Hogwarts, he and the deputy headmistress had visited Hogsmeade quarterly to shop. Over two years, the village had grown fond of the young professor.
Thanks to him, Hogwarts now sent candies to students on their birthdays, making Honeydukes a major client. Madam Flume was deeply grateful.
She nodded in greeting, her eyes curious about the box in his hands.
"Apple pie from Madam Rosmerta…" Melvin explained with a wry smile.
Madam Flume nodded thoughtfully. They exchanged brief pleasantries, wished each other a Merry Christmas, and went their separate ways—she to her candies, he toward the school.
A few steps later, Melvin heard shouts and footsteps. Turning, he saw Madam Flume jogging after him, smiling as she handed him a freshly packed gift box of candies.
Behind her, the shop's sign fluttered with red ribbons in the breeze.
Suddenly, the street felt much brighter.
In the depths of December, the snow had stopped, and the sky cleared.
…
By two in the afternoon, Melvin passed through the school gates. The Hogwarts Express had departed, taking the students home. Snow had covered the morning's footprints and carriage tracks, leaving a serene, white expanse.
The Whomping Willow by the greenhouses shook its branches every few hours, shedding snow and ice, looking oddly cheerful. After Harry and Ron crashed into it at the start of term, leaving it bare and grumpy for months, it seemed pleased to see other plants equally leafless.
In a few months, new leaves would sprout.
Passing the Forbidden Forest's edge, Melvin heard Fang's distant barking, likely playing with Hagrid.
Instead of heading to his office, he took a path to the Black Lake.
The sky was a pure blue, dotted with the occasional owl. Snow reflected sunlight, almost blinding. The lake's surface was frozen solid, a cleared patch revealing messy skate marks from students.
Standing in the winter sunlight, gazing at the frozen lake, Melvin thought of Greylock's winters.
Back at Ilvermorny, as a student, he'd never warmed to wizarding pastimes like Quidditch, Gobstones, or Wizard's Chess. While others huddled by common room fires during winter breaks, he'd sneak out to the mountain streams to find Horned Serpents.
In deep winter, Greylock's streams froze, and the serpents hid in tree hollows, mostly sleeping.
When restless, they'd use their horns to crack the ice. When curious fish swam up for oxygen, the serpents would dive in for a feast.
Whenever they heard his footsteps, the Horned Serpents would grumble but always slither out to greet him, speaking in their lazy drawl. He vividly recalled one breaking through the ice, its crystalline scales dusted with frost, like tree hoarfrost.
The Horned Serpent wasn't the best mentor. It fumbled teaching standard magic, dark magic, astronomy, or alchemy. Its prophetic and divinatory gifts were innate, impossible to pass on. Translating its advice into wizarding terms was tricky, so Melvin's extracurricular studies were always halting.
Nearing graduation, he followed the serpent's cryptic urging to leave school, thinking it was fate's call. Only later did he realize it was sending him away before its death.
That summer, returning to Greylock full of anticipation, he learned of the serpent's passing. It still felt unreal. Under moonlight, it had entrusted him with its egg. Now, with the egg hatched, he knew the Horned Serpent was truly gone.
He never knew its name or if it had one—a lingering regret. So, the moment this hatchling emerged, he named it.
The young snake, unnoticed, had slithered partway out of his pocket, peering at the world with a soft hiss.
Seeing the sunlight, Melvin gently pulled it out and set it on the candy box to bask.
But winter sun offered little warmth. A cold gust made the snake's tender scales contract, and it pitifully crawled onto his hand, wrapping its tail around his wrist for warmth, refusing to let go.
A Horned Serpent, hatched in winter, yet to swim or touch water.
Melvin crouched, pressing his hand to the ice. Magic surged, and a Fiendfyre flame touched the surface.
The flame flickered, its steel-melting heat radiating. In a blink, ice melted, steam rising. When the flame died, a shallow pool of warm water remained.
The snake peered at the scene, then at Melvin, its pupils flashing human-like astonishment.
Its forked tongue flicked, sensing the moisture in the air. The snake wriggled, inching toward the pool. It dipped its horn in, eyes brightening, then slid its whole body in.
It swam effortlessly, at ease in the water.
Melvin smiled, watching it glide, feeling a glimpse of the Horned Serpent's mood when it spoke to him long ago. He summoned bluebell flames to hover above, keeping the pool from refreezing.
The snake swam carefree, while the young professor gazed across the lake.
The wind howled, the sky a clear blue, the Forbidden Forest and distant hills in view.
After some time, perhaps due to the Fiendfyre, Melvin heard ice cracking. Looking down, he saw the snake had fallen asleep, eyes open but body still, coiled in circles with its tail unconsciously wrapped around its horn—a perfect ouroboros.
The Horned Serpent slept the same way.
Seeing the pattern, Melvin's mind raced, unraveling a long-standing puzzle.
Summer days on Greylock's streams, winter by the Black Lake—everything had changed, yet nothing had. A man and a snake, out of place in the wizarding world, yet deeply tied to it.
Melvin exhaled, his breath a misty cloud.
He pointed his wand skyward.
Silver light erupted, sweeping across half the lake. The clear blue sky shimmered with gathering silver, like daytime fireworks. From the forest's edge to the castle, all could see a slender serpent in the sky, coiled into a ring, its tail entwined with its horn.
For a fleeting moment, it outshone the winter sun.
At the Headmaster's office window, Dumbledore gazed at the mark, murmuring, "The Mark of the Ouroboros."
…
Muggle Studies Office
Click.
Melvin closed the door. With a thought, orange flames roared to life in the fireplace, their glow warming the room.
Unlike silent spellcasting, which required mental incantations, this was faster—a sign of effortless magical control. Melvin had done it before, but now it was almost instinctive.
Not a Christmas gift from some magical creature, but a shift in his mindset. A wizard's thoughts shaped their soul, the source of their magic.
Thinking of the ouroboros, Melvin's gaze settled on an upturned glass jar on the third shelf.
As the door opened, Rita had burrowed into the wood shavings, only her head and antennae peeking out. She was stunned to see the jar lift, fresh air rushing in, wood chips and leaves scattering to reveal her beetle form.
Rita froze.
Melvin smiled. "Miss Skeeter, shall we talk?"
The beetle stiffened, wings twitching, then darted toward the half-open window in a black blur.
Melvin, unhurried, tapped his fingers. Magic and intent flowed outward.
The beetle flapped frantically but didn't get closer to the window. Instead, it was drawn back, caught in a gentle but unyielding pull. All its struggling was futile.
It landed on the desk, facing the young professor.
Melvin lifted a teapot, pouring steaming pumpkin juice and sliding it toward her. "Would you like to transform yourself, or shall I do it for you?"
A white glow enveloped the beetle. When it faded, Rita Skeeter sat in the chair.
Months of captivity had stripped the star reporter's polish. Her once-curled hair hung straight and disheveled. She'd lost weight, her cheekbones sharp, nails three inches long—two inches painted dark red, the last inch bare.
Her jeweled glasses sat crooked, her eyes a mix of fear, suspicion, and barely concealed hatred.
What did he want? Why free her now?
How did he know she was an Animagus?
Suppressing her questions, Rita clung to faint hope, striving for composure. "Professor Levent, illegally detaining and mistreating a wizard? I don't know how the American Magical Congress handles it, but in Britain, that's a few years in Azkaban."
Melvin, unfazed, kept his guest-friendly smile. "Care to try? Hogwarts' kitchen makes excellent pumpkin juice."
The warm aroma teased Rita's nose. After months of leaves and grass, her mouth watered.
Swallowing hard, she grabbed the cup, gulping it down, her tone still defiant. "No amount of apologies or compensation will make me forgive you!"
"I've got Honeydukes sweets, too."
Not the gift box from today—those were too new. Melvin opened a drawer, pulling out some toffees and offering them.
They'd been in there a while, possibly expired.
Rita swallowed again, eyeing the sweets greedily. She hesitated, weighing her dignity as a star reporter, then tore open the wrapper and popped one in her mouth.
Her teeth stuck together, softening her tone. "If you let me go now, I might overlook your actions and not report you to the Ministry."
Melvin refilled her pumpkin juice, smiling. "Report me for what, Miss Skeeter? Being an unregistered Animagus? Or profiting by posing as one to snoop on private matters and publishing them?"
The fire roared in the hearth, warming her exhausted, hungry body. But a chill gripped Rita, sparked by the professor's smile.
His words crushed her last shred of hope, fear spiking. "What… what do you want?"
She realized something, murmuring, "You want to control me?"
Melvin's tone was calm. "I prefer to call it cooperation. I keep your Animagus secret and provide exclusive scoops. You just write your articles as usual. A fair deal, don't you think?"
…
Half an hour later.
Rita sat, staring at the ouroboros mark on her inner arm, lost in thought.