Chapter 100: A New Collaboration

When Snape walked off, he happened to pass right by Harold—allowing Harold to hear his parting words loud and clear. Was it possible Snape didn't know how to undo a second-year student's slug-vomiting charm? And McGonagall... she didn't intervene either. After speaking quietly with Hermione, she turned and left as well. It was honestly quite amusing. One professor who openly favored Slytherin, and another who was famously strict and impartial—yet in this case, the two had somehow reached an unspoken agreement. Neither raised their wand. Both simply pretended not to notice. So, when Crabbe and Goyle finally dragged Malfoy away, he was still spitting up fat, shiny slugs—muttering "I'll tell my father," and "You just wait"—which only seemed to make him puke even more. Even Crabbe and Goyle began to look disgusted. As they supported him under the arms, they leaned back as far as possible, like they were holding a leaking cauldron. Meanwhile, on the Gryffindor side, even though Harry, Ron, and Hermione had lost more house points and were sentenced to detention, none of them looked remotely upset. "Did you see that slug-vomiting charm?" Ron was practically glowing. "I've wanted to do that for ages." "Well, you kind of—" Hermione began, but caught herself and said instead, "Yes, that was quite an advanced spell." Just then, Harry noticed Harold nearby and called out brightly, "Hey, Harold! What brings you here?" "I ran into Nearly Headless Nick. He said there was a fight between Gryffindor and Slytherin down by the lake, so I came to check it out," Harold said, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "Didn't expect you to be so fast." After all, it was just yesterday that Harold had jokingly suggested Harry punch Malfoy—and now here they were. "No, no—you've got it wrong!" Harry said quickly. "I wasn't looking for trouble. Malfoy was whining about the Quidditch pitch and saying all sorts of awful things. Hermione said both houses were to blame, and then he called her... well, something terrible. He started it." "I figured as much," Harold said, glancing at Hermione. She didn't seem particularly upset—probably because she hadn't fully grasped the meaning of the word "Mudblood." She even had the composure to evaluate their combat performance. "My Knockback Jinx wasn't strong enough. Crabbe almost broke through." "You were great," Harry said. "You hit him right in the head. He stumbled back and knocked into Goyle. That's how we won!" "Harry, your punch was pretty great too," Ron added cheerfully. "Malfoy looked stunned—trying to scream while spewing slugs!" "I wasn't thinking clearly," Harry admitted, sneaking a glance at Harold. "I figured we'd already used magic and were doomed anyway, so I might as well throw a few punches." While punching Malfoy had been immensely satisfying, Harry had feared the punishment. He'd prepared himself for losing two hundred points, being kicked off the Quidditch team, even expulsion. So when McGonagall only docked them thirty points—ten each—it almost felt like a reward. If ten points could buy a good wallop on a Slytherin, Harold was sure most of Gryffindor would be eager to take a swing. They'd probably fight each other just to earn enough points back answering questions in class. But it didn't quite match what Harold had said, did it? They'd used magic—yet the punishment was practically a slap on the wrist. Harold caught Harry's puzzled look and guessed what he was thinking. They'd just gotten lucky. If Malfoy hadn't said that word, McGonagall wouldn't have gone easy on them. And Snape certainly wouldn't have been so restrained. "But we still have detention with Snape," Ron groaned. "He's not going to let us off easy." "Probably not," Harry agreed. "Considering Malfoy's his favorite, we're lucky he didn't curse us on the spot." "Exactly," Ron said, polishing his wand. "Shame Colin wasn't there—he could've taken a photo of Malfoy spewing slugs." Harry blinked. "You know... for once, you're right." The incident spread across the school like wildfire. Gryffindors were overjoyed—it was like Christmas had come early. Apart from Percy, no one cared about the lost points. Most students just clapped Harry and Ron on the back and said, "Nice work." "Malfoy's father's a school governor. They might get expelled!" Percy warned. But his words were quickly drowned in laughter and celebration. Because this was Hogwarts. And with Dumbledore as headmaster, not even a governor could expel a student so easily. Harry was thrilled. For once, he was basking in praise—and even better, he hadn't seen Malfoy in days. Without his snide whispers and sneering glances, life felt peaceful. Even when playing the role of a snowman in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry had been in high spirits and gave an enthusiastic performance. "Your snowman actually looked convincing," Harold said. "Better than your werewolf." "Yeah," Ron agreed, giving a thumbs-up. "You and Hermione were really in sync. I thought that last Stunning Spell was real!" They left the classroom laughing, headed toward the Great Hall for lunch. As soon as they stepped into the cool corridor, a voice rang out: "You three seem awfully cheerful, don't you? Potter. Weasley. Granger." Snape approached, scowling. "I hate to ruin your fun, but the three of you have detention tonight." Their grins vanished. They'd been so caught up in the excitement, they'd completely forgotten. "What do we have to do, Professor?" Hermione asked nervously. "You'll help Filch polish the trophy room," Snape said. "No magic allowed—everything by hand. If you work hard enough, you might finish in time for your first lesson tomorrow." Ron breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned toward Hermione and whispered, "I've done that before. With three people, it's quick." "Three people?" Snape said, arching a brow. "I believe you're mistaken, Mr. Weasley." He smiled thinly—a chilling, serpent-like grin. "You two will report to my office at nine tonight. I've prepared a special gift just for you. Don't be late." Ron and Harry trudged into the Great Hall, gloom written all over their faces. Harold didn't even know what to say. A "gift" from Snape was definitely not going to be something you'd hang on a Christmas tree. At least Hermione got the better deal. Sure, polishing trophies was tedious, but it didn't involve the unknown horrors Snape might concoct. At dinner, the boys were so preoccupied speculating about their punishment that they barely touched their shepherd's pie. As nine o'clock crept closer, their expressions grew darker and darker—like prisoners marching to Azkaban. At 8:30, Hermione left the common room first. Even when serving detention, she remained punctual. Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Ron finally dragged themselves out. "I'd rather play a snowman a hundred times over," Harry muttered, voice fading into the hallway. "What do you think they're in for?" Fred asked once they were gone. "No idea," Harold said. "But if Snape's been planning this for two days, it'll be memorable." "I already feel bad for Ron," George said—but his grin said otherwise. "Don't say that..." Ginny looked worried—but whether it was for Harry or Ron was hard to say. Dangerous territory for any Weasley sibling. After the boys had completely disappeared, Fred sat up. "Wait a sec—something's off. Why isn't our future master of Transfiguration in the library tonight?" Very few Gryffindors spent time in the library. Apart from Percy and Hermione, Harold was probably the third. And since the start of term, he'd basically moved in there. At first, Fred and George had suspected he was scheming something. Last year, he'd been a willing accomplice in various rule-breaking exploits. But after a few days of quiet observation, they realized he was genuinely studying—and all the books were about Transfiguration. Just this week, an owl had delivered him a third-year textbook: Intermediate Transfiguration. "Don't tell me you got kicked out by Madam Pince," George teased. "Of course not," Harold replied. "I just have something I want to discuss with you two." "Us?" Fred straightened up. George abandoned Lee Jordan and came over. "Go ahead," Fred said. "As long as it doesn't involve dragging us into the library," George added. "Madam Pince will chuck all three of us out." "It's something else," Harold said. "You remember those wand stickers from the holidays?" "Of course! We even bought some." Fred pointed to the little Niffler stuck to his wand. "But I've been wondering—why did it stop moving when term started?" "Not important," Harold said evasively. "I made a few upgrades. Take a look." He pulled out the new Headmaster Series—stickers of the house heads, including a shimmering Dumbledore and a dazzling gold Lockhart. Fred and George's eyes lit up. One glance, and they instantly knew—these would be a hit at Hogwarts. Magical creatures were great, but house head stickers? Now that was what students wanted. "So... you're thinking partnership?" Fred asked. "Exactly," Harold nodded. "You know I'm busy with library work, so..." "Leave it to us!" George jumped in before he could finish. "You can entrust this line to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes—exclusive sellers of Hogwarts' latest craze." "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harold echoed. "The name of our future shop. What do you think?" George grinned. "Has a nice ring to it," Harold said. "Thank you kindly," Fred said with a theatrical bow. "Alright, deal's a deal. If you let Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes handle distribution, we promise—in just a few days, these babies'll be stuck to every wand in Hogwarts." "I don't doubt it for a second," Harold said. "Now—what's your cut?" "Ah, that..." Fred and George exchanged glances, grinning broadly. "No rush," George said. "We've got plenty of time to negotiate that." (End of Chapter)