The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang gathered for the welcoming banquet. Amidst the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation, George Weasley spotted Eleanor Seymour seated beside a striking Durmstrang student. The young man had just shrugged off his heavy fur cloak and leaned in to whisper something to Eleanor, eliciting a laugh that sent a pang through George's chest.
Gripping his knife tightly, George's knuckles whitened. Fred, noticing his twin's sudden tension, followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow.
"No way," Fred murmured, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Is Slytherin's own duchess the reason for your sour mood?"
George released his grip on the knife, exhaling slowly. "Maybe," he admitted.
Fred leaned closer, his voice low. "How did that happen? Since when has this been going on?"
"Detention last year," George replied reluctantly.
"Merlin's beard. My brother, the traitor."
"Shut up! Eleanor's not like the other Slytherins. She's different." A flush crept up George's neck.
"How can you know that? Have you ever had a real conversation with her without her trying to hex you?"
"Yes, several," George insisted. "You mustn't believe the gossip."
Fred shook his head, turning his attention back to his steak. As he looked up, he noticed Ludo Bagman entering the hall.
"Just concentrate on our money, Georgie. Forget about handsome Slytherins for a while."
After the desserts vanished, Dumbledore rose to explain the Triwizard Tournament's proceedings. George and Fred listened intently, and as Dumbledore unveiled the Goblet of Fire, their faces lit up with identical grins.
"Perfect," Fred whispered as the hall emptied. "An Age Line. You can certainly surpass that with an Ageing Potion, can't you? Once you've put your name in, you're done! How could that Goblet possibly know how old you are?"
George nodded enthusiastically. For a moment, Eleanor was forgotten. "An Ageing Potion can't be that hard to brew. I'll start it tonight; it'll be ready by morning."
"Okay, where do we do it?" asked Lee Jordan, joining them.
"In the abandoned classroom on the seventh floor, but I'm doing it alone," George said. "I need to concentrate."
Fred clapped his brother on the shoulder. "That's the spirit."
Back in the Gryffindor Tower, George gathered his potion supplies.
"Good luck. Try not to poison us," Fred teased, lounging on his bed.
Keeping a wary eye out for Filch, George made his way to the seventh floor. He opened the door to the deserted classroom and paused.
Instead of the dusty, unused room he remembered, it had been transformed into a luxuriously furnished lounge.
Surprised, George set down his bag of potion ingredients.
"Hello?" he called, wand at the ready.
"Weasel Gryffindork. Out after curfew again?" came an amused voice from a low sofa. "My, my, the nerve."
"Your Grace—this is bordering on obsession, don't you think?" George replied, tucking his wand away.
Eleanor sat up gracefully, her dark ebony hair cascading over her bare shoulders. She wore a gold silk-blend satin chemise that clung to her form.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, summoning a silk dressing gown with a flick of her wand and slipping it on.
"Brewing an Ageing Potion."
Eleanor's eyes sparkled. "Someone wants to put their life on the line. Are you sure those Galleons are worth it?"
George grinned. "Not everyone has Galleons to spare. A thousand Galleons, my dear. We could be rich."
Eleanor shook her head. "I won't stop you," she said, reclining on the sofa and picking up her book.
George approached the table and began unpacking his supplies. "What are you doing here anyway? Doesn't Slytherin have a cosy common room with comfortable seats?"
Eleanor turned a page. "We do, but I didn't feel like listening to Warrington brag about his plan to become Hogwarts Champion."
"Warrington?" George grimaced as he finely chopped newt spleens and added them to his cauldron. "The horror."
"Tell me about it," Eleanor agreed, eyes still on her book. "Hence my presence here."
A comfortable silence settled between them as George focused on his potion, which turned out to be simpler than anticipated.
"Voila, just a few more minutes of simmering and Hogwarts will have a decent Champion."
"I thought Diggory had already turned seventeen in September?" Eleanor commented.
"Please. Diggory is too dim to string two words together," George retorted irritably. He poured the potion into a bottle and tucked it safely into his cloak.
"Duchess, it was a real pleasure to enjoy your presence. I wish you a pleasant evening. Sleep well and don't dream too much about my beautiful self."
Eleanor grinned, turning her head towards him. "Oh my, Weasley, so concerned that I might have nightmares. Gentlemen, they obviously still exist. I never thought Gryffindor was capable of delivering such specimens."
"See you tomorrow, Your Grace." George saluted and left the classroom, his entire body buzzing with energy.
The next morning, George, Fred, and Lee rose earlier than usual. With trembling hands, George retrieved the Ageing Potion from his cloak and transfigured a paperclip into a teaspoon.
"Everyone a drop. We only need to be a few months older," George said cheerfully.
The bright orange potion tasted like banana, and George felt a warm sensation travel to his fingertips as soon as he swallowed.
"Everyone ready?" Fred asked triumphantly, handing out pieces of parchment. "As soon as one of us is chosen, we'll split a thousand Galleons between us."
Lee Jordan nodded.
Outside the Great Hall, a crowd had gathered around the Goblet of Fire. More students than George had anticipated.
Of course, his youngest brother was also present. Ron's friend Hermione immediately questioned the use of an Ageing Potion, but Fred, George, and Lee ignored her.
"Ready?" Fred asked, his voice trembling with excitement. "Okay, I'll go first."
Fred approached the golden line Dumbledore had drawn and hesitated for a moment, as if unsure. He took a deep breath and stepped over the line.
He had done it. The potion had worked.
George let out a cry of triumph and jumped in after his twin.
The next moment, a loud crackling sound erupted, and the twins were thrown out of the circle by an invisible force. They landed a few meters away, now sporting long white beards.
Laughter erupted. George stared at his twin for a moment before bursting into laughter. He crawled over to Fred and tugged at his beard to ensure he wasn't dreaming.
Fred did the same, yanking George's beard experimentally. For a moment, the two of them collapsed in helpless laughter on the stone floor, tears streaming down their faces.
"I warned you," came a familiar, cheerful voice. Professor Dumbledore emerged from the Great Hall, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "I suggest a trip to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is already tending to several students who also attempted to look a few months older. Though I must say, none of their beards are quite as magnificent."
Lee Jordan, doubled over with laughter, helped the twins to their feet. George was still grinning broadly as they shuffled off towards the hospital wing, beards bouncing with each step.
They passed a knot of Slytherins on the way, most of whom looked thoroughly amused. One particular Slytherin caught George's eye, and he shot her a cheeky wink.
Eleanor rolled her eyes with theatrical disdain, but George caught the glimmer of amusement behind it.
Madam Pomfrey removed the beards in record time, brushing off Fred's pitiful pleas.
"Please, Madam Pomfrey," he whined, clutching at his freshly-shaven chin. "I'll never grow a beard like that again in my life."
"Hush, Mr Weasley," she tutted briskly, brandishing her wand with finality.
Fred sighed, stroking his smooth jaw. "I was just getting used to it."
As they walked back towards Gryffindor Tower, Fred gave his brother a sideways glance. "But Eleanor Seymour..." He let out a long whistle. "I want to know everything. How didthathappen?"
George exhaled. "I just... ran into her in the library. During O.W.L. study sessions. She was polite—not what I expected at all."
Fred raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet, so George went on.
"She's different. Still sharp-tongued, obviously—she's a snake—but funny, clever. Not cruel, not like most of her house. She teases, but it's... knowing, like she actually sees you."
Fred still said nothing, so George continued, voice quieter now.
"And she's observant. She can tell us apart, for starters, without even trying. And she knew we were studying not for marks but for the shop. Didn't mock me, either. Said it made sense."
George ran a hand through his hair. "She was furious after the Welcoming Feast, though."
"Why?" Fred asked, frowning.
"We hissed at that first-year, Malcolm. Remember? She didn't think it was funny. Called me a stupid, biased Gryffindor. And honestly?"
George looked at Fred seriously. "She was right."
Fred stared straight ahead, jaw tight. After a pause, he said, "I don't trust her."
George opened his mouth to protest, but Fred held up a hand.
"I believe you that she's not like the others. And I know they look down on her too—because of her blood, right? But still. She's in Slytherin. And the fact that she knows about our plans? That makes me nervous."
George rolled his eyes. "What's she going to do? Write to Mum? We've done our O.W.L.s, we're working on N.E.W.T.s, and Dad's on our side even if he won't say it out loud."
Fred made a low, disgruntled noise in his throat.
"We need to get to Bagman," George said. "If we want to launch the shop right after we graduate, we need that money. And now we haven't even got a chance, not if we can't get into the Tournament."
"We'll catch him next time we see him," Fred said. "Press that letter right into his hand. Heowesus."
George nodded. "Right. Time to be a bit more cunning."
Fred smirked. "Careful, George. Next thing I know, you'll be transferring to Slytherin and braiding Warrington's hair."
George shoved him playfully. "I'd rather bathe in bubotuber pus."
They both laughed, but the seed of determination had taken root. Ageing Potion or not, beard mishaps or not, the Weasley twins had no intention of backing down.
The dream of their shop still burned bright—and if Eleanor Seymour was somewhere in the middle of that chaos?
Well, that was a different kind of trouble altogether.