Professor McGonagall had been one of the many woken up by the explosion.
The blast had been so loud, the disturbance so great, that when she looked out the window toward the Black Lake, she had genuinely thought Death Eaters were attacking.
If she hadn't spotted Harry, George, and the others, she might have jumped straight from the third floor in alarm.
Filch was still ranting and waving his arms, gnashing his teeth. "Professor McGonagall, these two have gone too far this time!"
He completely ignored Harry, Hermione, and even Ron—who, despite his blood ties to the twins, was treated as if he wasn't there. Instead, he pointed directly at the mischievous pair, yelling accusations.
"Detention!"
"They need to be severely punished!"
"They should be grounded! Not allowed to leave the common room except for classes—no, not even the common room! Keep them locked in their dormitory!"
As the most troublesome elements in Hogwarts, Filch had long dreamed of shutting them down.
And now, he finally had his chance.
McGonagall sighed and raised her wand.
The frozen lake trembled, and with a sharp crack, the ice near the shore shattered. A long, slender arm of ice stretched from the shore into the most magic-saturated part of the lake, scooping up several fragments of a grenade—blasted apart and encased in thick ice.
The lingering cold was still radiating from them.
"Evanesco."
With a single spell, McGonagall made the fragments vanish.
The air gradually warmed again, leaving only the floating chunks of ice and the towering frozen pillar as evidence of what had happened.
"A rather impressive creation," McGonagall admitted. "If Harry had used it against me, I imagine it would have been quite the problem."
Filch gawked at her in shock.
What was happening?!
She was praising them?!
George and Fred proudly puffed out their chests.
"I understand," McGonagall continued. "The circumstances were unique, but… you should have informed a professor."
She glanced at Harry. "Mr. Potter is indeed very talented, and I trust his ability to handle unexpected situations. But this is Hogwarts. We have professors for a reason."
"And you did cause quite the disturbance," she added, turning toward the castle. At the entrance, a large crowd of students had gathered, all craning their necks for a better look. Some were even creeping cautiously toward the scene, their curiosity outweighing their caution.
"So—"
"Ten points from Gryffindor."
The twins remained unfazed. They were used to losing points.
"Each," McGonagall emphasized.
Hermione's expression stayed calm. When has Gryffindor not been losing points? That would be the real surprise.
"You two will also cease your little business operations," McGonagall added, stern-faced. After a moment of thought, she delivered the real punishment. "For the next month, Mr. Filch and I will personally monitor you."
George and Fred's eyes went wide.
Losing points? They didn't care.
But this—this was terrifying.
Everyone knew Hogwarts' unwritten rule: if you don't get caught, you haven't broken the rules.
With McGonagall involved, their chances of being caught skyrocketed.
In fact…
They'd definitely be caught.
Their costs would soar.
"Mr. Weasleys, this is not up for debate," McGonagall said firmly. "This is your punishment for causing such a commotion on a Saturday morning."
Then she turned toward the gathering crowd, ushering the onlookers away.
As They Walked Back to the Castle
"This is terrible," George groaned, covering his face.
Fred sighed dramatically.
"Serves you right for trying to give Hogwarts a morning shockwave on a weekend," Ron said, smug.
"Little Ronnie, don't look so happy," George deadpanned. "Our business is your allowance. If we can't sell, you won't have spending money."
"I'm fine, I've still got ten Galleons," Ron said confidently, hands on his hips.
Fred clarified, "That means you'll have nothing—this year, next year, the year after that. Until you graduate. Until you get a job."
Ron froze.
He counted on his fingers.
Three years… Ten Galleons might not last until graduation.
Then he thought about the gifts Hermione had bought for Harry.
And the ones Harry had bought for Hermione.
Those gifts reeked of pure money.
His expression instantly changed, and he fell into step with the twins, looking just as miserable as them.
As the last few students dispersed, they headed back toward the castle.
Suddenly, Ron's eyes lit up. "McGonagall only said one month."
The twins exchanged glances.
"One month?"
"McGonagall is precise. If she planned to monitor us permanently, she wouldn't have given a timeframe."
"Which means…"
"We just have to behave for a month," the twins finished together.
A New Arrival
Harry turned his head.
Someone was approaching with heavy, limping steps.
Platinum blond hair—meticulously styled, yet still slightly disheveled. His robes carried traces of Reparo magic, recently mended. His leg bore fresh injuries, hastily treated with Dittany.
Draco Malfoy.
Ron was the next to spot him, immediately grabbing his wand like a startled cat. "Malfoy! What do you want?"
"Calm down, Weasley," Malfoy sneered. "No need to expose your empty little head."
"What did you say?!" Ron brandished his wand.
But Malfoy ignored him, striding up to George and Fred. "That blast just now—was it one of your shop's new toys? How much?"
"Malfoy," George scoffed, stepping back in mock disgust. "Why would we ever sell to you?"
"You're a Slytherin," Fred said with equal disdain. "And worse—you're a Malfoy."
Malfoy shook his head. "I'm here to do business, not fight. Stop reeking of Gryffindor stupidity for one second."
"If you won't sell to me, I'll buy through Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw. I'll pay extra. You'll still make the same amount."
"Or—you could cut out the middleman and take my money directly."
George raised an eyebrow. "Malfoy willingly handing us his money? That's a first."
"A Slytherin asking Gryffindors for help?" Fred gasped dramatically.
Malfoy cut him off. "It's not asking for help—it's business. I pay, you provide."
"Double the price," George said, holding up two fingers. "You? You pay double."
"If I go through Ravenclaw, I'll only pay one Sickle extra per item. I'm not as dumb as you Weasleys." Malfoy's voice was slick, as if he was savoring the insult.
"Fine. One Sickle extra per item," George adjusted immediately.
Malfoy smirked. "And this time, I'm paying directly. No third party."
Fred pointed at Malfoy. "First person."
Then at George. "Second."
Then at himself. "Third."
Malfoy clapped sarcastically. "Do you want a medal for counting? Don't play dumb word games with me, Weasley."
"Ten Knuts extra per item," he offered.
"A Sickle is twenty-nine Knuts. So, twenty-eight," George countered.
"Fifteen," Malfoy bargained.
Ron gawked.
They were negotiating?
Without throwing punches?!
After a heated back-and-forth, they settled: Malfoy would pay nineteen Knuts extra per item.
Then, Malfoy took a deep breath. "That grenade—"
"Not for sale," George cut in.
Malfoy's fists clenched. "You won't consider selling it?"
"It's a weapon. Our pranks aren't meant to injure people," George said smoothly.
Malfoy snorted. Yeah, right.
"Of course, for certain things that aren't quite people, we might make an exception," Fred added with a smirk.
Malfoy frowned. "If you're not selling that, then… let me think. The Fanged Frisbees…"
One by one, he listed off various prank items.
Each and every one had, at some point, been used on him—and had hurt him.
"Total comes to two Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and eight Knuts," George calculated quickly, of course including the extra price markup they had agreed upon. He held out his hand.
"Money first, then goods," Malfoy said, unmoving.
George sighed regretfully. "We'll have to wait a month then. We caused quite a stir today, and McGonagall is going to be monitoring us for the next month."
Fred suddenly delivered a sharp jab to George's side.
Without looking back, George immediately changed his tone. "This monitoring is, of course, a learning opportunity. A chance for us to grow during our last year at Hogwarts, to better ourselves, and to—"
Harry cut him off. "McGonagall isn't here."
"FRED!" George doubled over, clutching his side in pain, his face twisting. "You bloody—!"
Fred shrugged innocently. "My hand slipped."
"A month, then?" Malfoy repeated, considering the time frame. "Fine. I'll come back next month."
And with that, he turned and limped back toward the Slytherin table.
Ron blinked, rubbing his own face lightly, half-expecting to wake up from a dream. "What the hell just happened?"
"Young Master Malfoy isn't doing too well in Slytherin," George mused, shaking his head. "Haven't you heard? There was a brawl in the Slytherin dorms right after term started. Our best customer, Little Malfoy, had to fight ten people at once and spent the whole night getting trained."
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Powerstones?
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