The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty that morning, the golden firelight casting a lazy glow across the warm red carpets and curved armchairs. February had arrived in full frost, and even the enchanted windows seemed to shiver. The quiet was a rare luxury—one that Hermione and I were fully taking advantage of.
All the upper years had fled for the Hogsmeade weekend, and Ron and Harry were still fast asleep upstairs, most likely wrapped up in blankets and the kind of dreams that came after too many helpings of treacle tart. The silence felt like a truce struck by the castle itself.
I sat curled in the deep armchair nearest the fire, my cocoa steaming beside me, while Hermione lounged on the adjacent sofa with a book balanced across her knees.
"You ever think we're wasting potential?" I said after a long stretch of comfortable silence.
Hermione looked up. "What kind of potential?"
"Business potential. Entrepreneurial ambition. Unregulated genius."
She rolled her eyes. "You already have a business running in Hogwarts. The less said about it, the better."
"It's thriving," I said smugly. "But I'm thinking bigger. Not rule-breaking. Just... magic-enhanced innovation."
She tilted her head. "And what exactly are you proposing?"
I set down my mug and leaned forward. "A game. A magical board game."
She blinked. "Like Wizard Chess?"
"No. More Muggle in origin, but enhanced. Like Monopoly. But ours. For wizards."
Hermione's eyes narrowed with interest. "Monopoly is copyrighted."
I grinned. "Sure, but change the name, adjust the rules, redesign the board, and we're in the clear. It's called inspiration."
She looked skeptical. "You say that like you've done this before."
"I say that like I've already destroyed your family over a board game once."
Hermione groaned. "My dad still brings it up. Honestly, you had no mercy."
"Strategic domination is part of the charm."
"You made my mum mortgage every property she had."
"And she still says it's the most stressful holiday she's ever had."
"And yet here we are again."
I pulled a blank roll of parchment toward us and conjured a fresh quill. "Alright, let's map this out."
We jotted ideas down rapidly—property ideas, magic-based events, transport options. The board was going to feature locations like Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron, Knockturn Alley, and more. At first, the list was a frenzy of magical destinations and clever references.
But even as we grew excited, the ideas started to spiral—too many little custom rules, too many high-maintenance mechanics.
"We're overcomplicating it," Hermione said finally, holding the parchment at arm's length. "This would be a nightmare to balance."
I frowned. "What if we kept the core structure—like classic Monopoly—but streamlined it magically?"
"Go on."
"Automatic banking. The board is charmed to track everyone's money. The tokens are self-moving. The dice aren't ordinary either—they're charmed to glow, rattle, and roll theatrically across the board with a flick of your wand. Each roll emits a magical chime and a burst of colored sparks, just for flair. They're magically drawn to the board, so no matter how hard you flick them, they never bounce off or go flying into someone's cocoa. They stay perfectly on the playing field, full of drama but zero chaos."
"And the property cards?"
"Self-updating. And enchanted to glow when rent is due."
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. "That actually solves most of the issues."
"So we let the board handle the boring bits, and we focus on the fun—owning locations, drawing magical event cards, building enchanted shops."
"We could call it Magicopoly," Hermione said, writing the name at the top of the parchment in a sweeping golden script.
"Perfect."
We were so caught up in finalizing the streamlined rules and polished layout that we barely heard the stairs creaking.
"Why are you two awake?" Ron mumbled as he stumbled down from the dorms, rubbing his eyes.
"We're inventing the next wizarding pastime," I said, holding up the parchment.
Harry trailed after him, yawning. "What's this?"
"A magical version of Monopoly," Hermione explained. "With charmed systems to prevent cheating."
Harry squinted at the paper. "Does it still have a jail?"
"Azkaban," I replied.
Ron flopped into an armchair. "What about the worst property?"
"Knockturn Alley," Hermione said.
Harry hesitated. "What about Privet Drive?"
I blinked. "Where's that?"
Harry stiffened. "Just... where I used to live. It's rubbish. Trust me."
The pause that followed was heavy, but I let it pass.
"Privet Drive it is," I said with a grin, marking it down.
The four of us worked together for over an hour—proposing ideas, discarding the ones that were too wild, and ultimately refining the game into something that felt elegant in its simplicity. The enchanted components did the heavy lifting. Players just had to show up and enjoy.
By the time Ron and Harry left for breakfast, Hermione and I were already drafting letters to businesses—Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, and others—to ask permission to use their names and likenesses.
"Room of Requirement?" I asked.
Hermione nodded. "Definitely. Let's make it official."
And just like that, Magicopoly went from idea to reality. Not through chaos. Not through luck.
Through brilliance—and charm.
There was only one decision left to make: the case.
We debated that, too.
Hermione, ever practical, suggested a simple but elegant wooden case with smooth corners and a silver clasp. The kind of classic presentation that would blend nicely onto any shelf and wouldn't cost a fortune to produce. We designed it with a sliding panel lid that clicked into place with a charm and a soft velvet-lined interior to hold the board, enchanted tokens, spell-dice, and cards.
But I had other ideas too.
"We'll need a luxury edition," I said. "Something you can put in a shop window that screams class."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "For collectors?"
"For those with a taste for presentation," I replied. "Redwood. Golden lining around the edges. Magical embroidery inside. The whole thing enchanted to resist wear and age."
She laughed. "You want to make the Rolls-Royce of board games."
"Exactly. And the name? Written in flowing, embossed gold across the top in elegant script—'Magicopoly.' It should gleam even in moonlight."
We decided both versions would carry the same internal components, same enchantments, same game—just different packaging. The standard would be accessible. The luxury, aspirational.
Hermione added, "We should make the luxury edition hum slightly when opened. Nothing loud. Just... classy."
"And a scent. Polished cedar and peppermint."
She gave me a look. "You're insufferable."
"You love it."
She didn't argue.