5th October 1991
The autumn chill was beginning to take a firm hold of the Hogwarts grounds, but six o'clock in the evening still carried a crisp, golden light across the Quidditch pitch. Down on the grass, the Gryffindor team was finally winding down a gruelling three-hour session. Sweat clung to collars, boots were caked in dry mud, and the heavy leather gloves used for gripping broomhandles dangled loosely from fingers.
Oliver Wood was hovering near the goalposts, his hair plastered in his forehead, still shouting final notes about Chaser formation spacing. "Good work today, all of you! Alicia, keep your elbows tucked on those turn-and-burn passes! Harry... just phenomenal. Let's end it here."
Harry touched down near the center circle, his knees aching slightly from bracing against the broom for hours, but it was still the most fun thing of his day. Specially when all the classes were the utmost definition of boring for him. He slung his Nimbus 2000 over his shoulder and unbuttoned the high collar of his dark grey wool jumper to let the cool evening air hit his neck.
As the team began the long walk toward the castle, two figures fell in step on either side of Harry, completely blocking his path toward the main group.
"A word, partner," Fred muttered quietly, glancing over his shoulder to ensure Wood and the Chasers were far enough ahead.
"A brief executive summit," George added, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his thick burgundy cardigan. "While the others are busy obsessing over Wood's playbooks."
Harry blinked, slowing his pace as they veered off toward the shade of the tall wooden stands, out of earshot of the rest of the team. "What's up?"
"We finished batch production," Fred said, a sharp grin breaking across his face. "We've been pulling late nights up in the dorm while the rest of the room is asleep. We know we don't have time to spend months tinkering with fifty different things, so we focused entirely on two items before the winter weather hits."
Fred reached into his subspace bag and pulled out a small, velvet-lined wooden box, opening the latch with a flick of his thumb. Inside sat neatly arranged rows of hard, glossy candies.
"Product number one," Fred said. "The Chromatic Chews. One unit goes for five Sickles. That's the gamble option, completely random hair, eye, or skin tone changes for twenty minutes. But if someone wants total control for a party or a match day, it's three premium chews for a Galleon. We also set up an assorted box, two Galleons gets you three basic and three custom."
Harry looked down at the neatly polished candies. "Five Sickles is low enough that any second-year will throw it away on a dare."
"Exactly," George said. "Now, product number two is where the real business is. Pepper Pops."
Fred closed the box and pulled out a small metal tin, popping the lid open to reveal pale, translucent lozenges. "Pepperup Potion is standard, reliable, and miserable to take. Madam Pomfrey pours it down people's throats the second they sneeze, it tastes foul, and steam comes pouring out of your ears for three hours."
"So we took the core medicinal property, the cold-cure and stamina bump, and condensed it into a solid lozenge," George explained. "No steam gimmick. We already have Pepper Imps at Honeydukes for that. This is pure utility. Ten Sickles for a single lozenge. Ten Galleons for a family tin of fifteen."
Harry picked up one of the lozenges, holding it up to the late-afternoon sun. "Ten Galleons for a tin?"
"Yes and it will sell like hot butterbeer," Fred added smoothly. "Hogwarts in October and November is a freezing, damp stone fortress. Half the castle gets the sniffles by mid-term. We are intending to sell these here at Hogwarts and we let students know about the family tin. And we let them do the marketing for us naturally."
"Yes, when students write back home, or they might even send a few home," George chimed in. "Once word spreads through Hogsmeade and back to the parents, it'll catch like wildfire. But we do have one snag with the current batch."
"The taste," Fred admitted, grimacing slightly. "Right now, it still tastes straight-up like Pepperup Potion. It's like sucking on a concentrated ball of raw black pepper and fire. It cures the cold, but it's still nasty to burn through. We need to mask it completely, but setting up individual custom enchantment charms for every single person's personal preference is too magic-heavy for mass production. It would slow down our output."
Harry thought about it for a moment, rolling the lozenge between his fingers. The wind rustled through the grass around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke from Hagrid's hut.
"Why customize it per person at all?" Harry asked, looking between the twins. "Why not just release three fixed, extremely popular flavors? Keep it simple. Don't make the magic over-complicated on the production side."
Fred and George blinked, looking at each other, then back at Harry.
"Go on," George said.
"Make three standard options," Harry said, setting the lozenge back in the tin. "Mint is an obvious one because people associate it with medicine anyway. Then do Butterbeer for something sweet, and Dark Chocolate. Everyone likes at least one of those three. You don't need a complex charm that reads someone's mind, you just let them pick from three flavors on the box."
A slow grin spread across both twins' faces.
"Simple," Fred whispered. "Brilliant."
"Eliminates our headache completely," George muttered, pulling a small parchment notebook from his back pocket and scratching down notes with a stubby quill. "We can batch-brew the flavor bases separately and just fold them into the cooling sugar matrix. That cuts production time in half."
"Get the Pepper Pops ready before the first heavy frost hits," Harry said, walking alongside them again as they finally headed toward the castle entrance. "Once the cold sets in, people will pay double if they don't have to go to the hospital wing."
"We're launching the Chromatic Chews this week," Fred said, sliding the box back into his pocket.
"And we'll have the three flavor variants for the Pepper Pops ready by Sunday," George added.
Harry paused just before they reached the heavy oak front doors, looking at the velvet-lined box in Fred's hands. "Give me a couple of the premium Chromatic Chews."
Fred raised an eyebrow, stopping in his tracks. "You want to try one now? You might end up looking like a Chudley Cannons banner until midnight."
"I don't care," Harry said. "Which one gives me auburn hair?"
George chuckled and handed him three red-tinted chews. "These. Why?"
"Everyone in this castle knows what I look like," Harry said, tossing one of the candy into air and catching it."I left the Gryffindor common room three hours ago with jet-black hair. If I walk back with auburn hair, people are going to ask questions. You won't even have to open your mouths to advertise."
Fred stared at him for a second, then a massive, wicked grin spread across his face. "Partner, you are a menace."
"An absolute marketing genius," George agreed, shaking his head with a grin as he patted Harry on the shoulder. "Alright. Pop it in. Let's see if the potion base holds up under pressure."
Harry unwrapped the chew and popped it into his mouth. It tasted faintly of sweet cinnamon and crushed ice, dissolving almost instantly on his tongue with a strange, fizzing sensation that tingled straight up the back of his neck and into his scalp. It felt as if a dozen tiny needles were lightly prickling his roots.
"Woah," Fred muttered, leaning in to inspect his head.
The jet-black mess of hair began to shift rapidly, the stark dark pigment softening from the roots to the tips in a matter of seconds. It settled into a rich, dark chestnut auburn. The deep reddish-brown undertones caught the fading golden sunlight, softening his features and pulling out the green in his eyes without looking remotely like Weasley red.
"How does it look?" Harry asked, running a hand through it. It felt slightly smoother, taming the wild untidiness just enough to make the rich shade look surprisingly good on him.
"You look alarmingly handsome," George said happily. "Which means it worked even better than expected."
Fred smirked, "All right, fashion icon. Lead the way."
They made their way through the castle and just as Harry had said, his auburn hair drew a lot of attention.
A pair of Ravenclaw third-years paused near the marble staircase, mid-conversation, staring blankly as Harry walked past. His jet-black hair, an iconic fixture that everyone in the castle recognised on sight, was gone. In its place was a rich, dark chestnut auburn that caught the torchlight and softened his features, making his green eyes stand out with startling intensity. It was subtle enough not to look like a joke, yet striking enough to turn every head in the hallway.
Fred and George walked alongside him, hands shoved nonchalantly into their pockets, trying and failing to hide their smirks as the whispers started up behind them.
"See?" Harry muttered, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. "Told you. You won't even need to pitch it. Just let the rumour mill do the heavy lifting."
"Unbelievable," Fred chuckled softly. "You're a walking billboard, Harry. A very handsome, terrifyingly effective billboard."
Harry rolled his shoulders, feeling the pleasant ache from three hours of broom work fading into a dull, comfortable tiredness. "Speaking of supply runs for your next batch of ingredients, I have a quick question for you two. Can you get your hands on alcoholic drinks from Hogsmeade?"
George blinked, turning his head slightly. "Alcoholic drinks? What kind?"
"Firewhisky," Harry said casually. "I want to try it."
The twins both stopped in their tracks for a fraction of a second before catching up to his pace. Fred let out a low whistle, scratching the back of his neck. "Firewhisky? Blimey, Harry. That is a steep request. We might be able to pull it off, but it will be bloody hard. We are third-years, mate. We do not exactly look old enough to buy hard liquor without raising a few dozen red flags."
"Madam Rosmerta certainly wouldn't give it to you," Harry reasoned, shaking his head. "The Three Broomsticks is completely out of the question. She knows every student's face by their third week, and she would probably report you to McGonagall before you even managed to pull out your coin pouch."
"Right," George agreed, frowning. "So that leaves us with virtually no options."
"It leaves you with the Hog's Head," Harry corrected smoothly. "And Aberforth."
Fred blinked, looking entirely lost. "Aberforth? Who the hell is Aberforth?"
Harry slowed his steps, looking between the two of them in genuine disbelief. "Aberforth Dumbledore. The bartender. He is Albus Dumbledore's younger brother."
The information hit the twins like a runaway rogue Bludger. Both of them froze dead in the middle of the corridor, staring at Harry with wide, bewildered eyes. A group of Hufflepuff girls walked past them, whispering furiously about Harry's hair, but the twins did not even notice.
"Dumbledore's... brother?" George squeaked out, his voice cracking slightly. "The grimy old bloke in the dingy pub at the end of the side street is the Headmaster's brother?"
"Are you taking the mick?" Fred demanded, his jaw practically touching the floor. "He runs a pub that smells like old goats and stale ale!"
Harry stared at them, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Have you two seriously been at Hogwarts for over three years already? Haven't you been sneaking off to Hogsmeade using your secret passages since your second year? And you still didn't know that?"
"How on earth would we know that?" George shouted in a harsh whisper, looking around frantically to make sure no teachers were nearby. "Do you think he puts up a sign saying 'Welcome to the Hog's Head, run by the Headmaster's secret brother'? We go to Hogsmeade to buy prank supplies and sweets, Harry, not to trace the lineage of local bartenders!"
"Besides," Fred added, rubbing his forehead as if trying to process the concept, "if he is Dumbledore's brother, that makes him ten times more dangerous than Rosmerta! If he catches us trying to buy Firewhisky, he will just tell his brother, and then we are expelled!"
Harry let out a short, dry laugh and shook his head. "Telling his brother is probably the last thing on earth Aberforth would ever do. They barely speak. Trust me, as long as you hand over the gold and don't make a scene, I doubt he gives a single damn if you buy out his entire stock of alcohol."
Fred and George exchanged a baffled look, processing that revelation.
"Well," George said, a familiar, dangerous spark returning to his eyes, "if the old bloke doesn't care who buys what, then we don't even need to be clever. If you come with us on the next run, with a bit of basic magic, we could pull it off easily."
Harry stopped walking entirely, staring at George as a sudden realization hit him. He tapped his hand against his forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Think of what?" Fred asked.
"I don't even need you two to risk getting caught," Harry said smoothly. "I'll just go by myself. A quick glamour spell, walk right in, buy the bottle, and walk out. Aberforth won't blink an eye."
Fred stared at him, his brow furrowing as the realization hit. "Wait... if you can do a Glamour that well, you can do a proper Disillusionment Charm, right? Doesn't that mean we don't even need to sneak out through the secret passages?"
"Yeah, well... I actually came to that realization that day," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "And sorry about that. I completely forgot I could just use the charm because I was so excited to check out the secret passage last time."
George let out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest. "You used us for our secret routes, Harry! We're wounded. Deeply wounded."
"Oh shut it... It's not like you guys hate using those passages. I bet a hundred galleons that even if I teach you the Disillusionment charm, you guys will still use the secret passages," Harry chuckled.
"Fair point," Fred conceded with a grin, not even attempting to deny it. "The thrill of sliding behind a hump-backed witch beats sneaking down the main stairs any day."
They climbed the final flight of stairs to the seventh floor and approached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was slumbering lightly in her frame, but as they drew close, she opened one drowsy eye, prepared to demand the password. Then her gaze landed directly on Harry's head. Her eyes snapped wide open.
"Goodness gracious!" she gasped, clutching the pearl necklace around her throat. "Potter! What in the world happened to your hair?"
"Long story, ma'am," Harry said politely. "Pig snout."
The portrait swung open, revealing the warm, bustling interior of the Gryffindor common room. The room was packed with students drying off after the cold afternoon, doing homework, or playing exploding snap near the roaring fireplace.
The moment Harry stepped through the portal, the noise in the common room dropped by half.
Ron was sitting at a corner table with Neville, trying to explain the rules of chess, but his words trailed off entirely as he looked up. His mouth fell wide open. "Harry? What... what did you do?"
"Is that... auburn?" Seamus Finnegan called out from the couch, leaning forward so fast he nearly knocked over his drink. "Mate, you look completely different!"
Dean Thomas squinted through the ambient firelight, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly? It actually looks brilliant. How did you get it that shade? Mine just goes frizzy whenever I try anything."
Over near the far window, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were sitting together enjoying some drinks. Lavender stopped mid-sentence, her eyes locking onto Harry as he walked past. "Oh, wow," she murmured loudly enough for half the room to hear, nudging Parvati sharply in the ribs. "Look at his hair, Parvati! It looks so soft! He actually looks really handsome!"
Parvati giggled, nodding in agreement, while Neville simply stared at Harry with a mixture of awe and utter confusion. "Did you get hit with a stray jinx during Quidditch practice, Harry?"
Hermione, who had been buried under a massive stack of library books at a central table, finally looked up from her parchment. She blinked once, twice, taking in his appearance with a sharp, analytical glare. She opened her mouth, clearly preparing to lecture him on the dangers of dark magic or improper transfiguration.
Before she could utter a single word, Harry raised a hands in surrender and gestured toward the two redheads standing triumphantly behind him.
"Don't ask me," Harry announced clearly to the room, his voice cutting through the rising chatter. "Blame the twins for this."
Fred stepped forward with a grand bow, pulling the velvet-lined box from his pocket and holding it high above his head like a trophy. "That's right, ladies and gentlemen! Presenting the all-new Chromatic Chews!"
Using the immediate rush of curious students toward the twins as a shield, Harry slipped past the crowd and darted up the spiral staircase toward the first-year boys' dormitory.
Half an hour later, Harry returned to the common room freshly showered and changed into a clean, comfortable charcoal jumper. His auburn hair was still slightly damp, curling loosely at the ends, but as he stepped off the bottom stair, he froze.
The common room had descended into absolute, brilliant chaos.
Over by the fireplace, Lee Jordan was admiring a head of shimmering, metallic silver hair in a handheld mirror. Lavender Brown had taken a gamble on a basic five-Sickle chew and was currently sporting bright violet eyebrows, giggling hysterically with Parvati. Near the window, several younger students were loudly arguing over who got to try the remaining blue and green custom chews.
Sitting at her usual central table, Hermione was still surrounded by her massive pile of library books, but she was no longer reading. She had taken one of the custom chews.
Her hair was still famously bushy and untamable, but the flat brown shade was completely gone. In its place was a deep, luxurious dark chocolate, woven through with warm caramel highlights that caught the amber firelight. It softened her expression completely, pulling out the warm tones in her skin and making her look startlingly pretty.
Harry glanced toward the corner table and caught Ron mid-motion. Ron was holding a wizard chess piece suspended an inch above the board, staring at Hermione with a bright red flush creeping from his collar all the way to the tips of his ears. The moment Ron realized Harry was watching, he jerked his head back to the chessboard, making a completely nonsensical move and knocking over his own knight in the process. Harry just shook his head with a faint smirk.
Before Harry could even make it to the couches, two hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and steered him forcefully into the shadowed alcove near the bookcase.
Fred and George were beaming like madmen, their eyes wide with sheer exhilaration.
"Mate," Fred whispered, pulling a heavy canvas pouch from his jacket and shaking it. The sharp, metallic clink of heavy coinage filled the small nook. "You absolute menace."
"One hundred and twenty-nine Galleons," George hissed in a ecstatic whisper, slapping a hand against the wall. "In thirty minutes! From just our house! We sold out the over at least ninety of those premium Chromatic Chews... And it's just first to third year right now."
"Told you," Harry said smoothly, looking at the heavy pouch of gold. "People like looking good, and they like showing off. You gave them a cheap way to do both."
"We are going to have to do a midnight batch run up in the dorm tonight just to restock for the Great Hall tomorrow," Fred said, shaking his head in disbelief. "If just three years bought this much, the higher years and not to mention the other houses... We might just hit thousand galleons within a few days."
"Save some energy for the Pepper Pops," Harry reminded them with a small grin. "Once the first cold spell hits this castle, a hundred Galleons is going to look like pocket change."
George looked at Fred, then back at Harry, letting out a breathless laugh. "Partner, investing in us might be the smartest thing you ever doid"
"I know" Harry replied casually, stepping out of the alcove as the noise of the bustling, multi-colored common room washed over them. "Now, if you two are done counting your fortune, I'm going down to dinner."
Harry stepped out of the alcove, leaving the twins to frantically count their earnings, and navigated through the sea of multi-coloured Gryffindors. He made a direct line for the central study table, where Hermione was sitting stiffly in her chair.
She wasn't reading or writing. Instead, she was staring intently at her parchment with a slight flush on her cheeks, clearly hyper-aware of her dark chocolate and caramel-highlighted hair. Whenever someone walked past her table, her shoulders tensed just a fraction, tucking a bushy, warm-toned curl behind her ear.
"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, tapping the edge of her table. "Dinner's starting. You can leave the Arithmancy charts behind for an hour."
Hermione looked up quickly, her brown eyes wide as she instinctively smoothed down the side of her hair. "Oh. Harry. I was just... finishing up a few notes." She glanced around the room nervously, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper. "Does it... is it really noticeable? I didn't mean to buy one, but Fred insisted it was temporary, and the dark chocolate base sounded... well, nice."
"It looks brilliant," Harry said genuinely, giving her a reassuring smile. "Seriously, Hermione. The caramel highlights suit you. It makes your eyes pop."
Hermione's face flushed a deeper shade of pink, but the nervous tension in her shoulders instantly melted away into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Harry. That's... really kind of you."
Harry turned toward the corner table where Ron was still lingering over his ruined chessboard, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a fallen pawn.
"Ron," Harry called out, gesturing for him to catch up. "Let's go. I'm starving."
Ron scrambled up from his seat so fast he nearly rattled the board onto the floor. He hurried over, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the carpet until he was standing next to them.
Harry nudged Ron sharply with his elbow, shooting him a pointed glare while Hermione turned to gather her textbook.
"Ouch! What?" Ron muttered, rubbing his ribs.
Harry tilted his head toward Hermione, raising an eyebrow in a silent, uncompromising demand.
Ron looked from Harry to Hermione, his eyes locking onto the rich caramel tones running through her bushy hair. The red stain returned to his ears with a vengeance, traveling straight up to his freckled cheeks. He cleared his throat, sounding like he was choking on a pumpkin pasty.
"Er," Ron squeaked out, before forcibly dropping his voice an octave to sound casual. "Yeah. What Harry said. It... it looks really good, Hermione. Not that your old hair was bad or anything! But... yeah. Nice."
Hermione bit her bottom lip, her entire face lighting up as an even deeper blush spread across her cheeks. She ducked her head, hiding her smile behind her thick stack of parchment. "Thanks, Ron."
The walk down to the Great Hall felt less like a procession and more like a moving carnival. By the time Harry, Hermione, and Ron reached the entrance hall, a good chunk of Gryffindor house was streaming down the stairs behind them, sporting every imaginable shade of the spectrum. Lee Jordan was practically preening with his shimmering silver hair, while several second-years were proudly showing off vivid blues and emerald greens.
The moment they stepped into the Great Hall, the noise level plummeted, replaced by a sudden wave of frantic whispering that rolled across the long tables. Ravenclaw students turned around in their seats, staring in absolute fascination, while the Slytherins looked on with a mixture of annoyance and suspicion.
"The twins are going to get completely buried," Hermione muttered, taking in the sheer volume of eyes locked onto their group. "Look at the Hufflepuffs. They are already pulling out their coin pouches."
"They'll manage," Harry said dryly, sweeping a hand through his dark chestnut auburn hair as they took their spots at the Gryffindor table. "They love gold too much to let a little thing like supply and demand stop them."
As they sat down, the wooden platters filled with the evening spread. Tonight's dinner was surprisingly heavy, packed with golden-brown fried chicken, thick-cut wedges smote with melted cheese and crisp bacon bits, onion rings, hefty burgers, garlic bread, and piping hot bowls of french onion soup. Pitchers of ice-cold lemonade, butterbeer, and thick milkshakes sat alongside towering slices of cheesecake and sweet fruit pies.
Harry immediately reached for a burger and a mountain of cheesy wedges, his appetite sharp and demanding after three grueling hours on the Quidditch pitch. Hermione watched in mild amusement as he made quick work of his first plate, reaching straight for a piece of fried chicken without missing a beat.
"Your appetite has definitely shot up since the start of term," Hermione noted, taking a delicate sip of her soup. "I don't think I saw you eat half this much on the first night."
"Quidditch," Harry replied casually between bites, taking a pull from his butterbeer mug. "Flying at high speed burns through energy faster than sitting in a classroom listening to Binns drone on."
He set his mug down and looked between the two of them, a thought suddenly striking him. "Hey... what do you guys think about hitting Hogsmeade after dinner?"
Ron stared at him blankly, a half-eaten burger hovering halfway to his mouth. "What for?"
"I don't know," Harry said, shrugging. "Just randomly popped into my head."
"Nah," Ron said, shaking his head and taking a bite. "I'd rather take the time tonight to revise some of that Transfiguration theory. Besides, it's pretty useless going all the way out there right now. We still have all those Honeydukes treats in the dorm, and the drinks from Hermione's birthday are nowhere near finished. We can just grab whatever we want in the common room."
Harry just stared at him in utter disbelief. He blinked once, twice, looking at Ron as if the boy had suddenly grown a second head. "Did... did you just say no to a trip to Hogsmeade to do homework?"
Hermione, however, looked absolutely delighted. "I actually agree with Ron, Harry. We have practicals coming up, and going off to Hogsmeade on a Sunday evening is just asking to fall behind."
"Dear Merlin," Harry muttered, rubbing his temples. "You two are really taking your studies seriously, aren't you?"
Ron swallowed his food, looking offended. "What made you think I was joking in the first place?"
"Well... nothing really," Harry chuckled, shaking his head with a faint smile. "Alright, if you guys are actually serious about it, then I guess I have to be serious as well. No Hogsmeade today. Instead, I'll teach you guys some stuff tonight."
Both Ron and Hermione froze, their eyes instantly lighting up with genuine excitement.
"Really?" Hermione asked eagerly, leaning across the table. "What are you going to teach us?"
"The basics of magic," Harry said, leaning in slightly so his voice wouldn't carry. "The way I actually learned it. Once you form a proper core understanding, you can start manipulating your own magical energy however you want. Eventually, when you master that, you won't even need a wand to cast basic magic."
Ron gasped softly, dropping his fork onto his plate. "Wandless magic? Seriously?"
"Don't get too excited yet," Harry warned with a small grin. "At first, it is ridiculously slow. You have to learn how to actually feel your magical energy moving inside you before you can push it out. From what I've read, that part alone can take days, weeks, or sometimes even months depending on how attuned you are. So tonight will mostly be theoretical stuff, but I'll show you a few practical, everyday utility spells you can use around the dorm."
"I don't care if it takes months," Hermione said fiercely, her caramel-highlighted hair bouncing as she nodded vigorously. "That sounds infinitely better than anything in the standard curriculum."
While the three of them continued talking, high up at the staff table, McGonagall's sharp gaze was fixed firmly on the Gryffindor table.
Her initial reaction to the sudden wave of ridiculous hair colors sweeping her house had been pure, tightening exasperation. She had already noted Lee Jordan's silver hair with a heavy sigh, fully intending to track down the Weasley twins before the night was over. But then her eyes had landed on Harry.
Her breath hitched slightly in her throat.
With his dark chestnut auburn hair catching the warm candlelight, framed by his sharp jawline and refined facial structure, the resemblance was almost uncanny. For a jarring, breathless second, she felt as though she wasn't looking at James Potter's son at all. She felt like she was looking at a photograph of a young Albus Dumbledore from decades past.
Transfixed, McGonagall slowly turned her head to look down the high table toward the Headmaster.
Dumbledore was sitting in his grand golden chair, a half-eaten lemon drop resting in his fingers. He wasn't looking at the neon-colored Gryffindors or the murmuring hall. His bright blue eyes were locked entirely on Harry, twinkling with a quiet, knowing smile of fond recognition.
McGonagall glanced back at Harry, then at Dumbledore, who offered her a subtle, amused nod before turning back to his goblet. She let out a long, quiet breath, adjusting her square spectacles, and decided that perhaps she could delay confronting the twins until tomorrow morning.
After all there was no rule breaking going on.
The quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the fifth-year boys' dormitory was the only sound breaking the late-night silence. Outside, the autumn wind howled against the stone turrets of Hogwarts, rattling the tall leaded glass windows and sending a chill through the room. It was nearly eleven o'clock. The rest of Gryffindor tower had long since gone to bed, exhausted from the chaotic energy that had swept through the common room earlier that evening.
Up on the top floor, two four-poster beds were pulled together, forming a tight wooden enclosure around the heavy oak desk in the center of the room. A solitary brass lantern burned low on the edge, casting a warm, flickering glow across thousands of small, circular parchment receipts, ink-stained ledgers, and heavy velvet pouches.
Fred and George Weasley sat opposite each other on the carpeted floor, their legs crossed, their cardigan sleeves rolled up to their elbows. Between them sat a flat wooden tray lined with green felt, completely covered in neat, towering stacks of gold, silver, and bronze coins.
Fred held a slender brass balance scale in his right hand, dropping small piles of heavy gold coins into the left pan while George scratched furiously into a thick ledger with a stubby, chewed-up quill.
"That's another hundred," Fred muttered, his voice raspy from spending four straight hours yelling over the din of the common room. "Add it to the tally."
George didn't reply immediately. He dipped his quill into the dark inkwell, carefully adding up the long columns of figures for the fourth time. His hands were trembling slightly. A faint reddish hue still stained his fingers from the cinnamon base of the Chromatic Chews, but he barely noticed it. His eyes were wide, bloodshot from exhaustion, and entirely fixed on the final number circled at the bottom of the parchment.
"Fred," George breathed out. The word barely carried across the two feet of floor separating them.
"What?" Fred asked, not looking up as he slid another stack of gold toward the velvet tray. "Did you miscount the Sickles again? I told you, those five-Sickle impulse buys from the second-years take forever to sort out."
"Fred. Look at the ledger."
Fred paused, his hand hovering over a small pile of bronze Knuts. He looked up, taking in his twin's face. George was pale, his jaw slightly slack, staring at the parchment as if it had suddenly transformed into a live Jarvey.
Fred frowned, setting his scale down on the floor, and leaned across the oak desk to snatch the parchment from George's hands. He squinted at the neat handwriting in the dim lantern light.
His eyes scanned down the itemized list.
Chromatic Chews (Basic, 5 Sickles each): 112 units sold.
Chromatic Chews (Premium, 3 for 1 Galleon): 1,848 units sold.
Chromatic Chews (Assorted Box, 2 Galleons each): 20 boxes sold.
At the very bottom of the page, written in thick, bold ink, was the total sum of their night's labor.
Total Revenue: 694 Galleons and 16 Sickles.
Fred stared at the number. The silence in the room stretched out, so heavy that the flickering flame of the lantern seemed to sizzle in the quiet. He looked down at the paper, then up at George, then back down at the paper again.
"Six hundred..." Fred choked out, his voice cracking violently. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Six hundred and ninety-four Galleons?"
"Six hundred and ninety-four," George confirmed in an ecstatic whisper, leaning his back against the side of his bed frame and staring up at the dark wooden canopy above. "In one evening. In four bloody hours, Fred."
"That's... that's nearly fifty percent of the entire batch," Fred stammered, dropping the ledger onto the desk as if it were burning his fingers. He buried his face in his hands, letting out a breathless, half-crazed laugh that sounded suspiciously close to a wheeze. "We sold out almost half our total stock before dinner even ended!"
"People didn't just buy one," George said, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. "They were buying them in bulk! The other houses came over in groups of four and five. Once they saw Harry walking around looking like a young noble, they went completely mental. Some of the third-year girls bought six or nine of the premium ones at once just so they could match their hair to their robes for the rest of the week!"
Fred slumped backward onto the floor, spreading his arms wide and staring at the stone ceiling. "Six hundred and ninety-four Galleons."
It was an unfathomable amount of money for two fifteen-year-old boys who had spent their entire lives sharing spellbooks, wearing hand-me-down robes with frayed cuffs, and scrounging through the Burrow's overgrown garden for lost Knuts. Their father, Arthur Weasley, worked long, exhausting hours at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic. He managed to deal with complex legal rewrites, and faced daily scrutiny from superior officers, earning roughly five hundred and four Galleons a month to support a family of nine.
In a single Sunday evening, sitting in an alcove in the Gryffindor common room with a handful of sugar candies and a clever marketing strategy, Fred and George had out-earned their father's monthly salary.
"If Mum found out about this," Fred whispered, turning his head sideways to look at George, "she would either faint on the spot or lock us in the cellar until we turned thirty."
"She would think we robbed Gringotts," George agreed with a weak chuckle. "She would probably write a letter to Dumbledore asking him to check the vaults."
The sheer reality of it began to settle over them, washing away the manic high of the sales floor and replacing it with a bone-deep, throbbing exhaustion. Their hands were stiff, their backs ached from stooping over the sales table, and their throats were raw. But beneath the physical fatigue was an overwhelming sense of validation.
For years, the twins had been the family joke when it came to ambition. Percy was on track to become Head Boy and a Ministry official. Bill was breaking curses in Egypt. Charlie was handling dragons in Romania. Fred and George were just the troublemakers, the ones who blew up toilets, failed to get top marks, and wasted their time inventing ridiculous tricks that drew sharp scoldings from their mother.
They both remembered the winter before last, sitting in the cold room at the top of the Burrow, trying to figure out how to order ingredients for their preliminary joke prototypes. They had spent three weeks saving up every spare Knut from their meager allowances, only to realize they didn't even have enough gold to pay the owl delivery fee for a single tin of scarab beetles. They had resorted to foraging for wild plants around Ottery St Catchpole, drying beetle wings near the kitchen stove when their mother wasn't looking, and dealing with dozens of failed batches that turned their fingers green for weeks.
"Remember the first time we tried to make the Fainting Fancies?" George asked softly, a faint, tired smile touching his lips.
Fred let out a quiet snort. "Yeah. You passed out on the rug for two hours and I had to spend the whole afternoon fanning you with an old copy of The Daily Prophet so Mum wouldn't notice you were completely unreactive."
"We couldn't even pay for a proper brewing cauldron," George mused, looking over at the gleaming brass scales on the desk. "We had to use that rusted iron pot from the garden shed."
"And now we've got this," Fred said, lifting his right hand and letting a palmful of Galleons trickle through his fingers. The coin hit the others in the pile with a rich, metallic ring that made both their chests swell. "All because Harry Potter decided to trust in us and invest his gold on us."