Chapter 101: Snape’s Carefully Designed Detention

After half an hour of haggling, the three finally reached an agreement. Fred and George offered Harold a deal too good to refuse—barely above doing it for free—but they had one condition: Any product Harold sold at Hogwarts in the future, excluding wands, had to be exclusively distributed by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes until the twins graduated. Harold understood exactly what they were after. Right now, the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was just getting off the ground. They'd made a few small gimmicks, and only a handful of Gryffindors had bought them. Harold was effectively their first big client, and the twins wisely chose to prioritize reputation over profit—using the wand stickers as a way to launch their name into the other three Houses' common rooms. Add in the prospect of future collaboration, and the benefits clearly outweighed a one-time payout. Harold didn't even hesitate—this had been his intention all along. The agreement was a perfect match on both sides. But when Harold revealed the sticker prices, Fred and George were stunned. "How much?" "Two Galleons?" Fred pointed at the topmost sticker—a golden Lockhart—and thought he must've misheard. He expected it to be pricey, but not that pricey. "People will actually buy that?" "Oh, that one's just for show," Harold waved it off casually. "What about the silver Dumbledore one?" George asked. "Five Sickles," Harold said. "The Heads of House are two Sickles each." Fred and George both breathed a sigh of relief. That was more like it—comparable to the magical creature stickers sold in shops. They'd been worried the whole batch would be unsellable at that price. "Leave it to us," Fred said confidently. George raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Just get a big enough sack ready—we'll be bringing you a lot of silver." They were sure of it, and Harold had no doubt either. Even as they finalized the deal, some sharp-eyed students had already noticed the new stickers. Within minutes, six McGonagall stickers were sold, and the twins called over even more people. Two Sickles wasn't exactly cheap, but it wasn't prohibitive either—not this early in the term, when everyone's pocket money was still relatively full. They could afford it. "I kind of regret it now," Fred muttered, surrounded by eager customers. "Same here," George added. By the end of the night, they had sold: 65 McGonagall stickers 6 Dumbledores 1 Sprout For a total of 162 Sickles—just from Gryffindor alone. If this spread to the other Houses... Their eyes were practically glinting silver. And they both knew something else—Harold's special revealing potion only lasted a limited time. Once the stickers stopped moving, students would need to buy new ones. Which meant—repeat customers. More profit. Honestly, they were a little jealous. The next morning, Harold had barely stepped into the common room when he found Fred staring at him, eyes red from lack of sleep. "What are you doing?" Harold instinctively took a step back. "Nothing, nothing." Fred quickly switched expressions, putting on a casual air. "Just wondering if those stickers of yours have any special properties." "Of course they do," Harold said. "I use a special pine-resin adhesive. Doesn't interfere with wand performance at all." Wands... Fred snapped back to reality. Right—he'd forgotten. Anything stuck to a wand, whether magical tape or painted images, always disrupted performance a little. But Harold's stickers had no such flaw. No interference whatsoever. Alright, that was it. This was out of their league. Without another word, Fred spun around and left, leaving Harold blinking in confusion. Weird. Harold shrugged it off and headed for breakfast, planning to return some books to the library afterward. But just as he pushed open the portrait door, he stopped in his tracks. "Harry? Ron?" Lying in the corridor just outside were the two boys, looking utterly wrecked. "You slept here all night?" Harold asked, stunned. "Not all night—they got here ten minutes ago!" came the Fat Lady's voice. "And they didn't even give me the password—just lay down on the floor." "I would've said the password," Harry croaked, "if you hadn't changed it." Harold noticed they looked ghastly pale—just climbing back to the eighth floor must've drained every ounce of their strength. And the Fat Lady had indeed changed the password that morning. Since the two had spent the night in Snape's office, they wouldn't have known. "Come in, come in," Harold said. "Need help?" "Better not," Harry groaned. The two of them staggered inside like they were walking on broomsticks in a windstorm. "You want something to eat?" Harold pointed to a plate of leftover biscuits the twins had pilfered from the kitchens. Normally, Harry and Ron would've pounced—but at the mere sight of food, they both clutched their stomachs and turned green. "Urrgh..." Their faces went even paler. In the end, Harold found half a bottle of pumpkin fizz, and they managed a few sips. "What happened to you in Snape's office?" Harold finally asked, settling into an armchair. "You wouldn't believe it..." Ron said, clinging to the bottle like a life raft. He looked utterly broken. "He made me squeeze leeches—by hand. A whole bucket... urgh!" Before he could finish, he vomited what little pumpkin fizz he'd just drunk. "Uh..." Harold's mouth twitched. "Credit to Snape—he actually managed to get that many leeches in such a short time." "No, just one bucket," Harry said weakly. "My job was... to deal with Flobberworm mucus... also by hand." "..." Harold silently moved to a chair further away. As much as he wanted to be sympathetic, he was very glad he hadn't bumped into them earlier. "Flobberworms, leeches, slugs—Snape definitely planned this," Ron mumbled. "He... he did it on purpose..." "Lucky Hermione," he added. "All she had to do was polish trophies..." Harold handed them each some clean water. "Look, you've got to see the bright side," he said. "At least Snape didn't make you collect rat spleens. Or spider eyes. That's something, right?" "I'd rather quit school," Ron declared. He wasn't joking. Harry hesitated—his internal compass seemed torn between life with the Dursleys and collecting spider eyes. But oddly enough, Harold's grim joke made them feel a bit better. They sipped their water in silence, each deep in grim reflection. "I'll go fetch you something from the Hall," Harold offered. "No thanks," Harry waved it off frantically. "I can't eat anything." His stomach felt like it had been wrung out by an invisible troll fist. Food was unthinkable. Ron looked just as nauseated—he'd rather starve than throw up again. Soon, more students arrived in the common room. Like Harold, they began by showing concern—then quietly moved to a much safer distance. Not out of cruelty—it was just an instinctive reaction. Even Ginny, despite several attempts, failed to approach. At one point, she looked at Harry with a flicker of internal conflict in her eyes—as if, for a split second, he'd turned into a giant Flobberworm in school robes. She was now actively fighting to restore his original image in her mind. (End of Chapter)