[47] Parchment and Promises

The twins' excitement grew. The ideas got more outrageous.

Hall cut in. "Nobody will buy prank toys if everyone's a recluse."

"We're running a joke shop. Not a toy shop."

Toy figures were too easy to reverse-engineer. Buy one, take it apart, copy the circle. And the research cost to perfect them wasn't worth it until Voldemort and his followers were dealt with.

"The materials don't need to be premium. Inscribe the circle in the centre, add a line here to stack the spell. Weaken the power. Limit the uses."

The wicked merchant was corrupting his brothers.

The twins watched Hall carve the wooden board. Each stroke fluid. When the last stroke finished, golden light flowed along the lines.

Hall infused it with his magic. The plaque floated. Rose, fell, spun, jumped at his gesture.

The twins stared. The problem they'd spent weeks on — solved in minutes.

"The load-bearing capacity is too weak." Hall withdrew his magic. The plaque cracked, crumbled to powder.

"You'll need to research materials and values. Relinquish some abilities. You don't need perfection."

Something he'd learned from potions.

The twins weren't discouraged. They exchanged smiles. Fighting spirit.

"I'm off. Ron's waiting at the library."

"Ron? At the library?"

"Final exams. He needs at least a B overall, or Mum won't let him off."

The twins thought of their own grades. Especially in History of Magic. Their average was a B. They got lectures every year. Bill, Charlie, Percy — almost never below an A. And now Hall was behind them.

A sudden urgency. They exchanged glances.

Then dismissed it. Making gadgets was more fun. Grades didn't matter.

Meanwhile, Harry was waiting for news of Sirius.

Harry waited for Sirius. They finally met Dumbledore.

"Take Sirius to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office." Dumbledore wanted to make amends. Sirius could be a professor.

Sirius's goal was the same — stay at Hogwarts, protect Harry.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

The Board wouldn't approve another professor this late. But Sirius became a teaching assistant. Unpaid. The sole Black heir didn't care about money. It was onboarding for next year.

Harry's eyes lit up. "Professor Black?"

Dumbledore coughed. "Assistant Professor."

Sirius preened. "From now on, call me Professor Black."

Harry led Sirius to Quirrell's old office. Quirrell was still in the infirmary. Screaming if anyone mentioned St. Mungo's.

Harry was excited. He'd see Sirius every day. Sirius had exceeded every expectation. Secretly transformed into a dog, snuck into Hogwarts, took Harry on adventures. Gave terrible advice. Was the father figure Harry had always wanted.

"Sirius, your job — is it like Hall's?"

Sirius's mood soured. "What does that have to do with him?"

"Hall is a teaching assistant too. Potions. Since he took over, our completion rate improved."

"No way! A first-year brat? What right does he have to teach you?"

Harry didn't push. But he smiled mischievously. He couldn't wait to see Sirius's face when he learned Hall also taught second and third years.

At the office door, Harry paused.

"Sirius. If you encounter something you can't handle, ask Hall for help."

"How could a first-year handle what an adult can't?"

"You'll see." Harry scratched his head. "Trust me. If you have a problem, go to Hall."

In the library, Hall found Ron wrestling with his Charms homework.

"Ron!"

"Weasley!"

The library demanded quiet. Hall's voice was a whisper forced through gritted teeth.

"Tell me. Where in your Charms class did you learn Levitation? It was the first lesson. How could you forget?"

Hall's red hair stood on end.

"And these two potions — most of the ingredients are the same. How do you know one and not the other?"

"Hall, don't be angry." Ron fanned Hall with parchment.

Hermione chuckled. Ron glared.

Bang.

Ron clutched his forehead. "Ow!"

"Quiet! One more sound — all of you out!" Madam Pince roared.

Ron mouthed silently. "You ate all the nutrients from my brain."

Hall tossed the book aside. He highlighted the key points. "Copy it. A bad pen is worse than a bad memory."

Ron copied obediently.

Harry burst in, panting.

"Quiet!"

Harry sat. "Where's Sirius?"

"Organising his office. He'll meet us in the Great Hall."

Hermione coughed loudly.

"Are you sick, Hermione? Madam Pomfrey has a potion. Works well but tastes strange." Harry's face twisted. Steam from the ears.

Ron nodded. "Hall, can you improve it?"

Hall smiled. "Your final grade is a B."

The library went silent. Students in every house colour stopped and stared.

A third-year Hufflepuff whispered, "Really, Professor Weasley?"

The Energy Potion treated colds. It worked but made steam rise from the ears for hours. Madam Pomfrey used it as a lesson — effective, foul-tasting, embarrassing side effects.

Hall was never sick. But he knew the potion well. In winter, the infirmary's demand was so high that Professor Snape and Hall had to work overtime to brew it.

Improving it was possible. Why bother?

"It tastes awful and smokes. And students still catch colds every day. If it tasted good, they'd work themselves to death." Professor Snape's words. More or less.

Ron felt the stares. Twenty students. Eyes glowing.

Professor Weasley would improve the potion if the Gryffindor Weasley's average stayed above B.

Ron trembled.

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