Visiting a hospital in the Muggle world was always a grim affair. The sharp, sterile scent of antiseptics filled the air, mingling with the hushed sobs of patients' families. The murmur of voices in the waiting rooms—some hopeful, some resigned—echoed in the cold, sterile hallways. People were either waiting for the news of a loved one's recovery or, in the worst case, their death. It was a place where hope and despair fought for dominance in the same breath. So, it wasn't exactly the kind of place one would want to spend Christmas. But St. Mungo's, now that was different.
Seeing the various spell maladies and injuries unique to wizards was undeniably fascinating. From Hexed limbs that would twitch uncontrollably to cursed wounds that would never heal properly, it was a world all its own, strange and endlessly complex. It was as though every injury had its own magical fingerprint—one that could never be replicated in the Muggle world.
Of course, that was before everything fell apart.
First, they met Lockhart—who, despite his obnoxiously dazzling smile and egocentric charm, was still a complete trainwreck in his own right from trying to destroy their memories back in second year. Then, to make matters worse, they ended up in front of Neville's parents, two people who were still alive but whose minds had been utterly destroyed by an afternoon of torture at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. And then, the real bombshell dropped; Dumbledore had told the other members of the Order that he suspected Harry was being possessed by Voldemort, and now the others knew it as well.
"Yay…" Harry thought bitterly to himself, barely able to hold back a scowl.
So now, he was hiding out in his room, brooding. Miserable. And, to make it worse, he was hungry. He hadn't eaten much that day—not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't bring himself to ask anyone to bring him food. He didn't want to bother anyone. He refused to subject his friends to his foul mood, so he stayed locked away. Harry had even thought about running away, just vanishing from everyone. That would make things easier, wouldn't it? Keep them all safe?
But before he could put any plan into action, a message arrived from Dumbledore—delivered through the portrait of Phineas Nigellus.
Dumbledore had ordered him to stay put.
No explanations. No reason. Just a simple command to wait for the grown-ups to sort things out.
Harry scowled. As usual, they expected him to just wait and do nothing while the adults "fixed" everything. Yeah, right. It was like being in first year all pver again. It made him feel useless and frustrated.
Why did age always matter when it came to him? It wasn't as though he was some inexperienced child anymore. He had been fighting in this war since he was eleven, facing down Voldemort's forces that could obliterate him in a second, and yet every time it came to actually learning something important, he was always coddled. Draco Malfoy had practically treated him like a leader at the Hog's Head, and had offered him information on Voldemort and tips for becoming stronger without hesitation. He had gotten used to that respect, the feeling of being important, of being seen as essential. And now, Harry couldn't help but wonder why everyone seemed to think his age was such a problem.
Harry had been dealing with this mess since he was a baby, practically battling Voldemort from the moment he was born. Sure, Harry had suffered some serious losses along the way, but still, he had survived. He had won when it always mattered the most. And yet, here he was, being treated like some incompetent child, unworthy of being told the crucial things that could save his friends, his family, and the Wizarding World.
Harry sneered bitterly. Age had never mattered to the people who were out to hurt him. The Daily Prophet hadn't cared about his age when they slandered him; neither had the students at school who whispered behind his back, accusing him of killing Cedric for a bag of gold, or the Ministry officials who wanted to lock him up for defending himself and Dudley last summer.
Age didn't matter to his enemies, so why the hell should it matter to his allies? They were the ones who needed his help the most. Harry didn't like to think he was arrogant, but Draco had outlined it very well multiple times: he had done more to stop Voldemort than most people in Wizarding Britain. For some reason, Voldemort could not kill him, even in straight combat.
Harry snapped back to the present as the sound of Mrs. Black's screaming rang through the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorbell. He sighed, figuring it was another Order member coming to visit, no doubt Mundungus or someone else from the Order. Not caring much, he leaned against the wall of Buckbeak's room, trying to ignore the gnawing hunger in his stomach as he fed the hippogriff a dead rat. But then the door to Buckbeaks room was knocked on, and it caught him off guard.
"I know you're in there," Hermione's voice called through the door. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."
Harry froze. He wasn't expecting her. What was she doing here?
"Weren't you supposed to be skiing with your parents in France?" he asked as he opened the door, surprised.
Hermione stood there, snowflakes in her hair, looking every bit the concerned friend she was. She raised an eyebrow, giving him the unimpressed look that was so familiar, her arms crossed across her chest, her cheeks warm and rosy.
She looked oddly pretty like that.
"I was supposed to," she said with a sigh. "But apparently, I'm needed here. Had to tell Mum and Dad that anyone who's serious about their O.W.L.s is staying at Hogwarts right now. They want me to do well, they'll understand." She gave him a wry smile. "Anyway, let's go to your room. Ron's mum's lit a fire in there and sent up sandwiches."
Harry followed her up the stairs, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just a little. The familiar presence of his friends had always had that effect on him, even if the weight of what had happened hung over them like a dark cloud. When they entered his room, he was surprised to see both Ron and Ginny sitting on the bed, waiting for them.
But it was Ron's focus on something on the floor that caught his attention.
"Ron, what are you doing?" Harry asked.
Ron, face scrunched in concentration, was attempting to make a little toy mannequin walk across the floor, the little figure jerking awkwardly with each flick of his wand.
"It's a new spell I learned from McGonnagal," Ron said, using his wand as if he was a conductor for an orchestra. "Piertotum Locomotor. Animation spell. It's a lot harder than I thought it'd be, but I think I'm getting it down."
"That's not how a person's supposed to walk," Ginny remarked offhandedly.
"Obviously," Ron muttered, eyes narrowing as he forced the mannequin to take clumsy, uneven steps. "I only learned the incantation two days ago. Cut me some slack."
Harry was about to comment when Hermione entered, shrugging off her jacket with a casual grace. "I came on the Knight Bus," she said airily. "Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait until term officially ended before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's and had given you permission to visit." She gave a little huff of frustration. "So..."
She sat down next to Ginny, and the three of them looked at Harry expectantly. "How're you feeling?" Hermione asked, her eyes scanning him, searching for any sign of the anger he'd been hiding.
"Fine," Harry replied stiffly, though it was clear from his posture and the tightness in his voice that he wasn't fine at all.
"Oh, don't lie, Harry," Hermione said, her impatience clear. "Ron and Ginny said you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."
Harry flinched, his temper flaring. "Brilliant. We're back to talking about me behind my back, are we? Lovely," he said, glaring at Ron and Ginny.
Ron, sensing an argument brewing, quickly stuffed the mannequin into his pocket. Ginny, however, was unfazed. "Well, you have been," she said, her tone blunt. "And you won't look at any of us!"
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry shot back, his frustration building again.
"Maybe you're all taking turns and missing each other, like Tom and Jerry," Hermione suggested, a teasing smile tugging at her lips.
"Very funny," Harry snapped, turning away from them, trying to ignore the sudden rush of hurt and anger that was building in his chest.
"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," Hermione said sharply. "Look, the others told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears—"
"Yeah?" Harry growled, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He glanced out the window, watching the snow fall heavily outside. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it. Seems that's all anyone wants to do these days. At least Malfoy had the guts to say his shit to my face..."
"We wanted to talk to you, Harry," Ginny said quietly, her voice soft but firm. "But as you've been hiding ever since we got back—"
"Well, I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry interrupted, his voice growing sharper.
Ginny crossed her arms, frustration coloring her words. "Well, that was a bit stupid of you, don't you think? Considering I'm the only one here who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can actually tell you how it feels."
The words hit Harry like a slap, and he froze, his mouth suddenly dry as he processed her statement. With how she acted, you could forget that Ginny had personally been in the thrall of Voldemort for her entire first year at Hogwarts, but now, hearing it out loud made it impossible to ignore.
"Alright…" he muttered, his voice barely audible. He turned around to face her, shoulders slumping. "Bit of an arse move from me on that count. Sorry."
Ginny's eyes softened, but the frustration still lingered in her voice. "You should be," she said curtly. "Ignoring us isn't going to help, Harry. You're doing that stupid hero thing again, the one where you think you're the only one who has to fight this war—"
"I know I'm not," Harry interjected, his voice rising in agitation. "But you can't act like I'm not a massive target! Voldemort spent an entire school year just making sure I survived the Triwizard Tournament. He had Barty Crouch Jr. impersonate Mad-Eye Moody under Dumbledore's nose just to get to me!" He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the anger surged again. "Wormtail told him that he could collect any wizard off the street, but he said no! He killed Cedric because he was with me! This isn't some hero complex, this is reality! Ever since he failed to kill me fifteen years ago, he's been obsessed with me, and he won't stop until I'm dead. Because, aside from Dumbledore—who, let's be real, is an actual skilled wizard—I'm the only one he hasn't managed to kill. And he won't stop until he proves he's back and stronger than ever. If he wants to do that, killing me and everyone I care about is the way to go! So, if I'm being possessed by Voldemort, if he can see into my head—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Ron cut in, his voice steady, though there was a certain weight in his words. "Mate, I understand where you're coming from, but you're missing some key facts. It's not like we're innocent civilians who were never meant to be involved in this war. We've been marked from the day we were born. Look—don't argue, just listen. Let's pretend, yeah, that you never existed. That there was no Boy Who Lived. That You-Know-Who got away with it that night. You think Ginny and I would be accepted?
"We're Weasleys—the biggest blood traitors in Wizarding Britain! Mum used to say that if You-Know-Who had killed the Potters, we would've moved to France. And Hermione? She's a Muggle-born—literally everything the Death Eaters hate. She's the poster child for everything they stand against. Whether or not the Dark Arsehole knew about us doesn't matter—he'd come after us regardless!"
Ginny and Hermione both stifled a giggle at the nickname for Voldemort, but Ron pressed on, more serious now.
"We're not going to start ignoring you just because you might be possessed. Which, by the way, is weird, because I don't think humans can even possess other humans. Yeah, the Imperius Curse exists, but you can throw that off, and humans can't just, y'know, dive into someone's body willy-nilly."
Harry stared at Ron, confusion flickering across his face. "But... but if humans can't possess other humans, how did Riddle possess Ginny?"
"That was different," Ginny answered solemnly. She stood straighter, her voice taking on a distant quality, as if the memory still carried a painful weight. "That Riddle—he wasn't exactly a human. Not anymore. He was more like an echo, like a ghost, but stronger. He needed to feed on me, on my emotions and my magic, for a long time before he could gain any real control. I was writing to him all summer, and for most of the school year, but he could only take control of me for an hour or so at a time. And I could tell something was wrong. There were gaps in my memory. People would say they saw me somewhere I didn't remember being, or that I'd been rude to them even though I hadn't spoken to them. Harry, those visions you've been having—they're not possession. It's a connection. I'm sure of it. But it's not possession."
"Plus, none of us are possessed," Hermione chimed in confidently, moving to sit beside the Weasley siblings. "I check us every month, and everyone passed."
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence as everyone slowly turned to Hermione, whose cheeks were turning a shade of pink that Harry couldn't help but find kind of adorable. It wasn't like Hermione to be bashful about something, but there was an air of defensiveness in the way she shifted her gaze between them, as if she hadn't meant to let it slip.
"What?" Hermione squeaked, her voice higher than usual as she quickly met their eyes, clearly aware of the attention now on her.
"Since when do you check us for mind control?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling into a half-smile despite the situation.
Hermione let out a small, frustrated sigh, but the pink in her cheeks deepened. She folded her arms across her chest as if bracing herself. "Since one of our friends was controlled by a sentient diary for the better part of a year, and we didn't figure it out until the very end," she explained, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "So I found a few spells that check for magical residue around the brain. It lets me know if any of us have been under the Imperius Curse or been Obliviated. I do a discrete monthly check on the three of us, the Weasley's and everyone in our dorms."
The room fell silent again. Harry's expression softened as he absorbed the information. The tension in his shoulders slowly eased, the anger and fear that had been swirling inside him dissipating bit by bit. He looked between Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, seeing the concern in their eyes. They weren't looking at him with fear or pity—just with understanding. For the first time in days, he felt a slight sense of relief.
"So, you're telling me I'm not being possessed?" Harry asked quietly, his voice losing the sharp edge it had held since the conversation began.
Hermione smiled gently, the familiar confidence in her eyes returning. "Pretty sure. I'm sure there's some kind of connection, like Ginny said, Harry, but it's not the same thing. Professor Dumbledore knows about it, though. He told me that when we get back to school, he wants to see you face-to-face and talk about the dream you had. I think he has a plan to either get rid of it, or at least stop them from hurting you."
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The knot in his chest loosened further, and for a moment, he let himself feel the weight of what had been hanging over him begin to lift. Dumbledore was involved, and that brought a sense of reassurance. At least one person in this world who understood the situation wanted to help him—wanted to fix it. All Harry had to do was wait. Two weeks, that was all. And if Dumbledore knew about it, then surely it was safe for Harry to stay here, in Grimmauld Place, surrounded by his friends.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Harry felt a flicker of hope. He wasn't in this alone. They didn't see him as some dangerous thing. They saw him for who he was—and that mattered more than he'd realized.
The silence stretched on as Harry started pacing again, his mind working furiously. What they were all saying made sense. It was comforting, logical even, but it was more than that. There was something freeing about hearing the truth from his friends, a reality that had been clouded in fear and confusion for far too long.
Without thinking, Harry grabbed a sandwich from the plate on the bed and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing quickly. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now. It wasn't just the physical hunger, though—it was the mental and emotional relief that came with knowing things were at least somewhat under control.
He stopped pacing for a moment and closed his eyes, chewing slowly. I'm not the weapon after all, he thought, feeling a wave of happiness and relief sweep through him. I'm not dangerous. The burden that had weighed so heavily on him—this constant fear that he was somehow a threat to those he cared about—began to dissolve. He wasn't a harbinger of doom.
He was just Harry. And that simple truth, that clarity, made him feel lighter than he had in days.
A laugh broke through his thoughts as they all heard Sirius tramping past the door to Buckbeak's room, singing "God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs" at the top of his lungs. The sound was so unexpected, so absurd, that Harry couldn't help but grin, feeling the tension drain away completely.
"Good to see you're back to normal," Hermione teased, her smile softening as she observed Harry's shift in mood. "You lot should come downstairs with me. Draco sent the twins something to test out, and they seemed absolutely thrilled about it. It'll be fun to watch, at the very least."
Ron's smile faded in an instant, his face twisting into a frown. "Why's Malfoy sending stuff to my brothers?" he demanded, his tone more guarded than usual.
Hermione shrugged, unphased by Ron's reaction. "His bag was with Dumbledore when I was called in, and Dumbledore said Draco asked me to pass it to them so they could check over it. Makes sense, really—Draco said he's been working on stuff for the war. Despite how much I despise the twins' prank items, I can't deny that they're talented in Enchantment and Charms. If only they'd put those skills to better use…"
Harry felt a chuckle bubble up in his chest. After the nightmare of witnessing Mr. Weasley getting bitten by Nagini and the sleepless night spent worrying that he might be the weapon Voldemort had spoken about, Hermione's complaints about Fred and George's antics were a welcome distraction. It was absurdly normal, and for once, it felt like a small sliver of light amidst all the chaos.
"Well, c'mon then," Harry said, a smile tugging at his lips. "Let's go see what Malfoy sent the twins."
Fred let out a low whistle of appreciation as he circled the floating Bludger. It was sleek, its iron surface etched with golden Nordic runes that pulsed faintly with magic. When Malfoy had talked about enchanting items, Fred had expected something a little more basic, like a compass that led you to danger, or an umbrella that repelled the rain, leaving you and the umbrella dry(coming to Weasley Wizard Wheezes soon!). But this? This was something else entirely. It spoke of creativity, and Fred loved that kind of stuff.
"Up," he commanded, and the Bludger rose obediently at his words. "Down. Left. Right. Do a figure eight. Shake your toosh."
Fred watched as the Bludger executed every command with precision. When it reached the last one, however, a slight buzzing sound emanated from it, and it glowed ever so slightly, pausing as if confused.
He chuckled, leaning closer. "He put an animation charm on you, didn't he, beautiful?" Fred cooed with a grin, gently patting the sentient iron ball. "Nice stroke of genius there from the Ferret. Gives you a basic understanding of the orders he gives you, but anything that requires some deeper thinking? Well, that's out of your reach, isn't it? He probably takes over for that part. Come closer, let Uncle Freddy have a proper look at you."
With a small buzz of confirmation, the Bludger floated toward him, coming almost nose-to-nose with Fred. He shot a few quick diagnostic spells at it, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
"Oh, I see," Fred muttered to himself as he studied the Bludger's enchantments. "He's kept the manufacturer's enchantments intact, but he's added his own... very sloppily, though. These enchantments are clashing on occasion. Is that… oh, I see it now." Fred leaned back slightly, his eyes lighting up with realization. "He's designated us as referee stand-ins for when he's not here, but there's a stipulation—we can't designate him as a player. So, even if some prat steals it, they can't use it against him. Clever little loophole, but it's also... messy."
Fred's smile grew wider as he continued scanning the Bludger. "And look at this—he's tried to add a Finite Incantatum that activates with impact. No wonder it's short-circuiting; it's constantly interacting with the other enchantments and nullifying them instead."
He muttered a few words under his breath, inspecting the metal. Draco had clearly tried to do too much with a single surface. Iron was great for magic—it was malleable and took enchantments well—but there was only so much it could handle before the metal started deteriorating. What he needed was another point of contact, something still connected to the ball, but separate enough that it could hold its own enchantments.
Fred grinned, his fingers itching for a solution. "Ah! I've got an idea."
With a gentle tap of his wand, Fred began transfiguring spikes onto the Bludger's surface. The spikes were made from iron, so they were still connected to the ball, but the addition came long after the original enchantments were laid down. Now, they had room for their own magic to flourish without clashing with the existing spells.
The Bludger buzzed again, a high-pitched whine of discomfort filling the air. Fred chuckled, not pausing in his work. "Oh, don't worry, baby. Uncle Freddy isn't hurting you," he murmured, his voice soothing. "I'm just giving you a little hairdo, something to help you show off, really impress the ladies, you know?"
He made quick work of the transfiguration, adding the nearly invisible spikes to the entire surface of the Bludger. They were only a little less than half an inch tall and thin enough to be almost undetectable unless you were up close. Once the spikes were in place, Fred waved his wand and cast a mass Finite Incantatem over them. There. The enchantment would now break shields, just like Malfoy had wanted.
But as Fred stepped back to admire his handiwork, he realized something else. The Bludger no longer looked like the ferocious, chaotic ball it once was. No, now it looked more like an iron hedgehog, curled into a defensive ball, its golden tattoos still glowing faintly against the gleaming surface.
Fred smirked, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Huh. Wizard Wheezes idea: make glow-in-the-dark pets with enchanted tattoos. Side project, of course.
"How's it going down there, dearest brother of mine," Fred asked, glancing down at George.
He glanced down at his twin, George, who had transformed into a rust-red lion the size of a sofa. The lion's large, brown eyes blinked lazily, its long, sharp teeth flashing briefly when it yawned. The lion's paws were the size of frying pans, leaving with long, sharp claws. Around George's neck, half-hidden in his thick red mane, was a thin golden leash, the ring now contorted into an entirely different form.
Fred grinned. Animagus Rings, Draco's notes had called them. Each one enchanted to transform the wearer into a specific animal for five minutes before turning them back into their human form. Another clever idea, one that Fred wished he and George had thought of first. Draco had even done a good job with the enchantment, but of course, it was still sloppy. There were always improvements to be made.
Fred's gaze lingered on the golden leash. Gold, after all, was an excellent conductor of magic—perhaps even better than iron. All metals were great conductors, but the more precious and durable the metal, the more it could handle in terms of magical enchantments. Fred was already thinking of ways to stretch the enchantments beyond their original limits. Ten minutes instead of five? A simple fix.
What he needed next was a way to make the activation phrase nonverbal—something George could help with. It would take about two more minutes before his brother would have opposable thumbs again.
Fred looked down at George, who was still lounging in lion form, his large eyes drooping sleepily as he stretched out on the floor. Fred couldn't help but chuckle.
"You know, Malfoy's notes say these rings are for hiding," Fred mused aloud, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "But honestly? These things are much better for combat." He crouched beside George, watching the lion flick an ear, his tail swishing. "If you want to hide, you should turn into something like a piece of furniture—a chair, a rug. Hell, maybe even a rusty poker over the fireplace. Now that's a good way to hide, don't you think? Plus, it might even bypass the Human Revealing Spell."
Suddenly, inspiration hit him like a lightning bolt. Fred straightened, a wide grin spreading across his face as he bounced on his heels.
"Oh, you know what, George? We could really milk this! Picture this: We sell Inanimate Transfiguration Rings(we have to work on the name though) to the public—who the hell's going to find you if you're a vase on a shelf? Way easier to hide as a teddy bear than as a mouse, especially since there are spells to detect animals." Fred's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as his idea started to take shape. "We sell them for maybe five, ten Galleons, depending on the market price. Then—get this—we sell Animagus Rings to the Ministry for double that! They're the lot who need to be able to fight, right? Of course, we'll offer the Animagus rings to the big spender civilians too: Dumbledore and the Order will definitely want a couple of these bad boys. Want to turn into a specific type of animal? A wolf? A tiger? A bear? All of that's within reach, for a single Galleon extra."
George gave a rumble of approval from his chest, a sound that Fred recognized as a deep, contented grunt of understanding. He felt his grin widen even further as the full scope of the plan unfolded in his mind.
"Ah, I was born to be a salesman," Fred muttered to himself, almost in awe of how effortlessly the ideas flowed. "Too good at it, if I do say so myself."
He turned back to his twin, the gears in his mind spinning faster. Draco's little sack of goodies was doing wonders for his creativity. Why stop at pranks? Fred thought. Why not dive deeper into this? What if they set up a security department? Or better yet, a whole separate branch of the shop dedicated to enchanted weaponry and items? With the war brewing, everyone would be scrambling for protection—and Fred and George could profit off of it. Two businesses promoting each other? Brilliant. Fred had a flair for the dramatic, and this was right up his alley. A little protection and a little bang for your buck. Good for the Weasleys, and even better for a laugh.
Fred turned to George—well, to the large, rust-red lion that was currently lounging lazily on the rug—and gave him a playful pat on the head. "What do you think, big guy? Should we start a security line?" Fred's voice was light, but there was an unmistakable gleam of excitement in his eyes. "The Ministry would be absolutely itching for something like this. Imagine their faces when they realize we're the ones supplying the security gear. Lord Shithead and his Death Munchers won't know what hit 'em."
George, in lion form, gave a grin that would have been intimidating to anyone who wasn't used to his antics—his sharp teeth visible as he turned his head toward Fred with an almost smug look.
Fred chuckled at the lion's expression, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You know, if we could get our hands on some human-to-magical-beast transfiguration spells, those would really pop off the shelves." He paced slowly, mentally working through the possibilities. "I know there's a spell to turn you into a thunderbird, and Charlie once mentioned that a couple of his mates turned themselves into a flobberworm and a Puffskein when they were at Hogwarts. Can you imagine? If we could get something like a human-to-dragon spell, or better yet, human-to-Nundu? That'd be a game-changer. But, of course, we'd need to shift from gold to something stronger. You can't expect a metal like gold to handle turning into a magical creature. No, we'd need a much sturdier base for that."
At that moment, the door to the sitting room creaked open, and Fred and George looked up to see Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny step inside.
"Hey, you lot! Did you really get gifts from Malfoy—SWEET MERLIN, IS THAT A LION?!" Ron shrieked, jumping in the air and brandishing his wand like it was a sword ready to defend him from the wild beast.
The others froze, their eyes widening in surprise. Harry had already drawn his wand, but he wasn't as panicked as Ron. Ginny and Hermione were startled, but not nearly as alarmed as Ron was.
"Ronnikiens, this is why Mum still wipes your nose," Fred said flatly, raising an eyebrow. "You're from the House of Lions, but the second you see a real one, you soil yourself? Where's your Gryffindor pride? Honestly, mate, you're lucky we put a silencing charm on every door here. You're gonna wake Mum up from her lie down."
Ron, still wide-eyed, took a moment to gather himself before speaking again. "Is that George?" Harry asked, incredulity in his voice. "Why is he a lion?"
"Better question: why aren't you?" Fred shot back with a sly grin. When Harry stared at him, clearly unamused, Fred sighed theatrically. "Alright, alright, shitty joke. George is a lion because our new friend and business partner, Draco Malfoy, sent us a little gift. He wants to sell some things through the shop, and we're vetting them. Gotta admit, this stuff is pretty good so far."
"You're in business with Malfoy?" Ron's voice was filled with disbelief, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"
As the girls cautiously walked forward, they began to pet George with small, amused smiles on their faces. George, loving the attention, rolled onto his back with a lazy stretch, exposing his belly for a good old tummy rub. Hermione and Ginny couldn't help but giggle at the sight, happily obliging with gentle strokes as George purred contentedly.
Fred smiled at the scene before turning back to Ron. "Well, Malfoy gave us a fat sack of 4,000 Galleons," he said nonchalantly. "Now he owns—what's the percentage, is it 36? 37% of our shop?"
"Draco owns thirty-seven percent of your business?" Harry asked, sounding impressed. "That's not enough to be a majority stake, though, is it? I think I have about nine or ten percent in, and if 4,000 Galleons got him around 36%, that means you two must have about—what—fifty-four percent? Fifty-five? You've still got the majority, then. That's good; I'd be worried if he tried to buy you out of your own joke shop."
Hermione, who had been petting George (who was just about due to turn back into a human), looked up at Harry with astonishment. "You can do maths?" she asked, her voice a mixture of shock and mild accusation, as if she'd just discovered Harry was secretly a genius at something she'd never expected.
"Hermione, I'm not stupid," Harry replied with a look of mock offense, though his lips twitched upward in a half-smile. "Of course I can do maths. Plus, Uncle Vernon talks about business all the time. I was bound to pick something up from him, what with his constant whining about EBITDA margins and how dividends are a waste of money to the company."
Hermione huffed, clearly unimpressed. "But Harry, if you can do maths, why didn't you take something useful like Arithmancy? That would be a much better use of your time than, say, Divination!"
Fred raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face as he watched the exchange. "Ooh, I smell a bit of a rivalry brewing," he murmured out loud.
Harry threw a glance at Fred, then back at Hermione, who was glaring at him. "Can we go back to the part where you two took gold from Malfoy?" Ron's voice suddenly cut through the tension, his ears flushing an angry shade of red. "What happened to taking no charity?"
Before anyone could answer, a golden flash of light filled the room, and George the Lion turned back into George the Twin, much to the amusement of Hermione and Ginny, who were still kneeling next to him, hands on his stomach. George blinked at them in surprise as he stretched and stood up, rubbing his eyes.
"Huh. It really is five minutes on the dot for the transformation," George remarked with a grin, clearly impressed. "We need to extend that. But hey, Forge—yes, to the security department idea. And if Malfoy keeps coming up with stuff like this, we might just put him in charge of it. And Ron," George said, turning to his brother with a teasing smile, "this isn't charity. It's business. Money. Grudges don't matter when it comes to a cold, hard Galleon. Plus, he's supplying ideas, and those are going to make money in itself."
Fred nodded in agreement, already anticipating the next steps they could take to make the shop way bigger than they'd initially thought. George grabbed the leather bag that had been sitting on the table and pulled out three intriguing items. "What else has Malfoy sent us? Oh, these look promising!"
Fred's eyes lit up as he examined the items: a beautifully crafted bronze watch, a matching bronze pen, and a small silver ball bearing covered in intricate Nordic carvings. He grinned at the items as George turned the pen over in his hands. "Oh, I saw these in his notes," he said, tapping the floating Bludger with his wand, causing it to go inert. He caught it as it fell from the air, marveling at the heft of the thing, despite its slightly smaller size compared to a standard Bludger. He gave it a quick squeeze—the new spikes didn't break the skin, but Fred could definitely feel them pressing against his flesh. "Hmm, if we could add a few dozen more kilometers of speed to this, it could crack someone's head open like an egg."
He placed the Bludger down on the table and turned his attention back to the other items. "The watch activates when you tap its face. The pen transforms when you take off the cap, and this silver ball here is supposed to be something he calls a Transfiguration Grenade."
"A what?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with disbelief as she stared at the silver ball the size of a chocolate Bon-Bon.
"Really? Grenade?" George said, letting the word roll around his mouth like he was savoring it. "I like it, but it needs a bit more flair. You know, something that sounds more dramatic, like... Explosio Bomba!" He grinned, but Fred could tell he was genuinely intrigued by the device.
Without waiting for more questions, George tapped the silver orb with his wand, activating it. He casually threw it across the room, eyes glinting with mischief.
Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. "George, don't—!"
A loud pop echoed through the room, and before anyone could react, a burst of magic exploded from the orb, sending ripples through the air. Hermione yelped, but Harry, quick on his feet, cast a Protego charm large enough to shield everyone. The shield rippled as the magical energy hit it, but it held steady, the surface of the Protego shimmering slightly from the force.
The silver orb rolled into a corner, and the room was filled with a soft, humming energy. The wall where the orb had been thrown started to shimmer and glow before it suddenly turned into glass, the magic spreading like cracks through a pane.
Fred let out a low whistle, his eyes wide with astonishment. "That little bugger packs a punch," he muttered, clearly impressed. "Though, I hesitate to leave it as a little silver marble. Someone could just Banish it right back at you, and then you're the one who's a statue."
George nodded in agreement, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he examined the magical damage. "True. But if we really stick to the theme of turning Quidditch supplies into weapons, imagine adding the Transfiguration spell to a Snitch. Put a timer on it, let it find the target, and go boom. Now that would be something." His face lit up, an idea forming. "That's a real game-changer. Also, does anyone know if this is a load-bearing wall?"
"OW!" George suddenly jumped into the air as Hermione shot a particularly vicious-looking Stinging Hex at his backside.
"Why would you do that?!" George demanded, hopping around and rubbing his rear with a pained expression.
"Who lets off a grenade in a house?!" Hermione snapped, her arms crossed and a thunderous look on her face. "In the same room as other people they don't want to kill, no less!"
"I didn't know what a grenade was!" George defended himself, his hands still rubbing his bum, looking sheepish. "I just knew it exploded!"
Harry, trying his best not to laugh, lowered his Shield Charm. "How can you not know what a grenade is, but still know it explodes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The twins nodded to the tattered-looking notebook on the table next to the leather bag full of goodies. "It's in his notes. They're pretty detailed, mind you."
Hermione's eyes both shifted to the tattered notebook sitting on the table next to the bag, and she seemed to be eyeing it with a certain amount of intensity.
"Is that it?" Hermione began, her eyes widening in excitement. She moved to grab it from the table, but Fred, quicker than she anticipated, Summoned it from her hands, pulling it into his grasp.
"Hey! I wanted to read them!" Hermione protested, her voice rising slightly in indignation. "Draco has really good notes!"
"Whoa there, little Miss Granger. I don't know how things work in the Muggle world, but these are manufacturing secrets." Fred held the notebook away from her, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"We can't let every Tom, Dick, and Harry take a look, can we? Well, we can let Harry look, but only because he owns a portion of the business," Fred said with a sly grin, giving Harry a playful wink.
"I would never steal from you two or Draco!" Hermione exclaimed hotly, her eyes flashing with defiance. Her arms were crossed firmly, but there was a slight hint of a smile on her lips, as if she was secretly amused by Fred's antics.
"Yeah, but Legilimency exists," George chimed in, his eyes twinkling as he raised an eyebrow knowingly. "We have to be cautious, you know."
Hermione let out a disappointed huff, but she clearly accepted the point, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Fine, fine. I get it," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Fred grinned, relishing the small victory. "Smart girl," he said, winking at Hermione as he returned his focus to the notebook. "Now, let's see what else our dear Draco has sent us."
Harry and Ginny were both now getting intrigued, with Ginny picking up the pen and Harry eyeing the watch with curiosity.
"You said tap it with your wand to activate it, right?" Harry asked, his voice laced with excitement as he fiddled with the watch. "What does it do?"
"The opposite of the grenade," George said casually, nodding as he watched Harry's interest grow.
Hermione froze for a second, her eyes widening. "It implodes?" she screeched, her voice rising in alarm.
Fred groaned and rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed. "Merlin, you're such a worrywart, Hermione. Harry, tap the damn watch."
With an exaggerated sigh, Harry obeyed, tapping the face of the watch with his wand. He jumped back in surprise as the watch's face unfolded, revealing a sleek, spiraling shield that expanded outward in a stunning pattern, much like a camera shutter. The metallic bronze shield extended to a width of about four feet, and the strap of the wristwatch morphed into a leather brace, wrapping around Harry's forearm like a protective cuff.
The watch crackled with energy, and within moments, Harry found himself encased in a translucent, opaque shield of energy. On the surface of the actual shield was a carefully engraved lightning bolt.
Three guesses as to who it was made for, and the first two didn't count.
"A wristwatch that turns into a shield?" Harry asked in amazement, his voice awed as he examined the enchanted object. "And... is this the Shield Charm on it?"
"Layered Shield Charms," George explained, an approving grin on his face as he shot a few weak hexes at Harry from behind. "Stupefy. Furnunculus. Petrificus Totalus." The shield rippled slightly but held firm, blocking all of the spells with ease. "This is good. The point of the layered shields is to take multiple hits from different angles. It's designed to absorb the impact of several spells, and if something manages to get through, it redirects it into the shield itself. Specifically, this one was made to block the Killing Curse, since it bypasses regular Shield Charms but stops at solid objects."
"Cor," Harry breathed, clearly impressed. "This is wicked!"
"My turn!" Ginny squealed excitedly, her eyes lighting up as she grabbed the pen from the table, eager to try out the next item.
Fred and George watched in amusement as Ginny's eyes widened in awe. The pen, once uncapped, shimmered and elongated into a three-foot-long shimmering bronze sword. The blade was double-edged, with Draco's now signature Nordic runes etched near the edges. The leather-wrapped grip and flat hilt were adorned with gold rivets, giving the weapon an air of elegance and danger.
"This is bloody brilliant!" Ginny exclaimed, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I've never held a sword before!"
Fred's smirk widened as he looked at George. "Well, please be careful where you point that thing. It has a slightly dangerous enchantment on it," he said, moving toward Harry. "It has a Diffindo enchantment and an Incendio enchantment. Imagine the fun."
Ginny's eyes gleamed, and she gripped the sword, eager to test it out. "How do I activate it?" she asked, practically bouncing on her feet.
"Say Riptide, then swing it. Preferably at the wall," George instructed, stepping behind Harry, clearly waiting to see the outcome, but not wanting to be in the potential crossfire.
"Riptide!" Ginny said confidently, raising the sword high. She gave a small squeak of surprise when the blade suddenly burst into flame, the fire licking along the edges. She nearly dropped it in shock but quickly regained control, taking a deep breath before slashing at the wall that wasn't currently made of glass(It would probably be a good idea turn the wall back to normal before something bad happened). The runes on the sword glowed brightly, and with one swift motion, Ginny left a three-inch deep slash in the wall of the sitting room.
"That is impressive," Hermione said, her voice full of admiration as she moved closer to inspect the damage. "It's too bad that Hogwarts doesn't offer Enchantment anymore; it'd be far more useful to us than some of the classes we have now."
"Uh, should we really be destroying Sirius' sitting room like this?" Harry asked, glancing nervously at the slash mark that was now etched into the wall.
"Oh, come on," Ron chimed in, waving a hand dismissively. "He hates this place. We're practically giving him an excuse to redecorate!" He poked Harry's new shield, clearly more amused by the antics than anything else. Even Ron seemed to be getting over his previous frustration with Draco. He couldn't help but marvel at the new toys Malfoy had provided. "You know, I had my doubts about the prat, but if he's making stuff like this…"
"I don't know about the sword and the shield, though, Forge," George said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "They're a bit gaudy, aren't they? I mean, flashy, sure, but not exactly practical. Plus, these things will never replace a wand. It's not like we're doing something truly innovative here. Anyone can cast a Shield Charm or use Diffindo. The Animagus rings, the Bludger, even the Transfiguration Grenade—those are the real innovations. That's the kind of stuff most people can't do."
Fred shot George a look of mock offense. "Oh, please, you're neglecting the obvious truth, dearest brother of mine," Fred said, smirking as he leant against the table. "Wizards love to show off. And let's be honest, people are lazy." He paused for dramatic effect, his grin widening. "If they can just uncap a pen to get the same result as they would with a few complicated incantations and wand movements, you know they'll pick the pen every time. It's not about practicality—it's about ease, and that's where the money's at."
"He's not wrong," Hermione admitted. "Even in the Muggle world, people are always looking for what's easiest, what makes their day go faster, or what options make them safer."
"See, Gred? Even the biggest swot of them all knows I'm right," Fred teased, glancing at Hermione with a wink. "It's not about what they can do, it's about how they do it. Wizards will pay for convenience, George. They'll pay for fun, and they'll pay to be able to say, 'Oh, I've got a shield that comes from a watch.'" He gave his brother a knowing look. "Trust me, you do not want to be the person who has to fight a Death Eater or a giant snake with just a Shield Charm and a Diffindo."
George raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching. "You know, you're getting awfully good at this whole business thing. What happened to our pranking, mayhem-filled roots?"
"We're still pranking, and we're still causing mayhem," Fred said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "But we're not just doing that anymore. We're building an empire, mate. We're gonna make these wizards and witches beg for our latest gadgets. And, for that, we need the right products. Like those swords and shields," Fred continued with a gleam in his eye. "If they're gonna stand out, we're gonna make 'em work for it. We'll tweak the enchantments—make 'em as lethal and flashy as we need. Malfoy's notes mentioned it was supposed to release a blast of fire along with Diffindo, but instead, it's just acting like an overeager Flagrante curse."
"Oh, brilliant," George said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he raised an eyebrow. "That's just what we need, a sword that burns you instead of slashing. Nothing like a good old accidental severe burn to spice up the day."
Fred chuckled. "Exactly. But don't worry, I've got it covered. We'll add a control mechanism to keep it from setting your trousers on fire every time you swing it."
George was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping absentmindedly on the workbench. "Alright, I'll admit, you've got a point," he finally said. "People will want them. And we're all about selling the excitement. The flashy stuff is what gets them in the door. But… how do we make sure this doesn't backfire?"
Fred gave his brother a wink, his expression turning sly. "We do what we do best. We make sure every gadget is safe, reliable... and ridiculously fun. We'll adjust the enchantments, test 'em out, and give 'em a 'George and Fred' seal of approval." He grinned again. "That's what we'll sell."
"...you two are really good at this," Ginny said, capping the pen and turning the flaming death sword back into a bronze pen. "Maybe when I get a few Galleons, I'll invest in the shop."
"Aww, would you look at that Fred. We've sparked the fire of capitalism in little Gin-Gin's heart," George said, wiping away a fake tear. "I'm so proud."