Hogwarts: I'm Truly a Model Wizard

By Monday morning, news that Professor Charity Burbage had been attacked and taken to the Hospital Wing had spread throughout the castle.

The school had suspended all Muggle Studies classes until a replacement professor could be found. Marcus Flint, recently discharged from the Hospital Wing, claimed he'd seen the professor being brought there on Saturday night. Everyone who heard was shocked—it was a professor, after all!

Rumors spread like wildfire, and suspicions ran high. Nearly everyone began moving in groups, fearful of being attacked if left alone.

"He's lying!" Harry said indignantly at the Gryffindor table. "He didn't wake up at all on Saturday night; he was out cold!"

"But people want to believe him," Ron muttered, not looking up. "Forget about it."

He dropped a knapsack onto the table, rummaged through a pile of books and notebooks, and finally pulled out a piece of parchment, measuring it with a ruler.

"Ugh, still three inches short… Harry, did you finish the History of Magic homework?"

"What? We have homework in History of Magic?" Harry asked, stunned.

"Of course we do. It's on the 1289 International Warlocks' Convention." Ron looked at him in disbelief. "Did you let that Bludger hit you on the head again?"

"No… but maybe it's from that fall I took," Harry admitted. "I don't remember any of that."

"You're in trouble, then, because our first period is History of Magic," Ron said sympathetically. He then turned to Hermione. "And your…"

"No way!" Hermione shot him a sharp look. "Do your own homework."

"I know," Ron said. "But I was in that room on the eighth floor all day yesterday—I didn't have time to go to the library."

"Oh, right," Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. "You were too busy playing with your broomstick!"

...

With two people attacked in succession, one of them a professor, everyone at the castle was on edge; the air had grown grim, like a deathly air had descended over Hogwarts.

Fred and George could no longer bear the tension, so one morning, they made a spectacular entrance into the Great Hall, each carrying three golden trophies balanced on their heads like fashionable, gleaming helmets. In addition, the broomsticks they wielded were unusual—each had an extra plank fastened to the middle with Spello-tape.

Once a sizable crowd had gathered, Fred and George strutted out of the castle amidst the curious stares of onlookers. Outside, they mounted their modified brooms and began to fly leisurely around the castle, performing an energetic tap dance atop their broomsticks as they hovered in the air. Instantly, the crowd's spirits lifted, and the hall filled with laughter and applause.

Professor McGonagall was among the crowd, but instead of stopping Fred and George or dispersing the students, she waited silently until they had completed their circuit around the castle and touched back down. Then, she stepped forward, her face set in a stern expression.

"Professor McGonagall..."

"Why are you here?"

Fred and George's mischievous grins vanished, and they looked at her sheepishly.

"One point from Gryffindor," said Professor McGonagall firmly. "This is not how broomsticks are meant to be used. Don't attempt anything so dangerous again."

She glanced at the trophies atop their heads. "And make sure those trophies are spotless before you return them to the Trophy Room, or you'll both be in detention."

"We promise, Professor. We'll polish them until they shine," said Fred quickly.

"Good as new," added George.

Relieved to have only lost a single point and narrowly avoided detention, Fred and George stifled laughter. They had been prepared for much worse.

Professor McGonagall simply turned and walked away without further comment, and the crowd buzzed with renewed energy. Fred and George, basking in their success, walked back to the castle like two victorious warriors, surrounded by cheering students.

Once inside, they found Kyle and, with a grin, asked, "What did you think?"

"A brilliant performance," Kyle replied sincerely.

Cedric gave them a thumbs-up but added with curiosity, "But how did you manage to keep the trophies balanced?"

"Spello-tape," said Fred, pulling one of the trophies free to demonstrate. "We thought of using a Levitation Charm, but decided this was simpler."

"Definitely safer," said George, chuckling. "We once asked Ron to help us, but he couldn't quite control the Levitation Charm and ended up losing the test feather. We still haven't found it."

"After that, we gave up on asking for help."

With class approaching, Fred and George decided to return the trophies promptly.

"Is this enough?" Kanna eyed the trophies they were holding, noting the remnants of tape still clinging to them.

"More than enough for us," Fred replied with a grin. George added with a wink, "Don't worry, none of these belong to Kyle... we made sure. These trophies are all from Slytherin."

Laughing, they dashed up the stairs. Thanks to their antics, the castle felt alive again, breaking the gloom that had settled over Hogwarts.

Later, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lockhart even announced he might feature Fred and George's performance in his upcoming book. Kyle couldn't help but think that they wouldn't be thrilled by this particular honor.

After class, Kyle ran into Neville in the corridor. It seemed Neville had been waiting there, and as soon as he spotted Kyle, he hurried over.

"I'm sorry... I think I've ruined it," Neville murmured, his voice shaky and on the verge of tears. He held a flowerpot behind his back, revealing a fragile, slender plant with green stems and dry, yellowed leaves that looked as if they might wither at any moment.

"They've looked like this since yesterday, and I'm not sure why," Neville said, biting his lip. "I'm sorry…"

"Why apologize?" Kyle asked, gently touching the leaves with a reassuring smile. "Lady's Mantle naturally goes through cycles like this. When the old shoots wither, it'll soon grow new ones, and the leaves will become even fuller. This is completely normal—you're doing a fine job caring for it."

"Really?" Neville asked, unable to hide his relief. "So I didn't mess it up this time?"

"Of course not," Kyle replied. "If you want to be sure, check One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Chapter 12 covers Lady's Mantle in detail."

"Thank goodness... I kept thinking it was my fault that it looked like this," Neville sighed, his mood brightening. "Oh, by the way, Kyle, do they sell amulets where you're from?"

"Amulets?" Kyle asked, slightly confused. "Isn't it still half a year until exams? Why do you need one so early?"

"No, it's not for the exams…" Neville shook his head quickly. "I mean the kind that repels dark creatures and keeps you safe, like… well, this one."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shriveled, pungent onion. Kyle immediately stepped back, covering his nose.

The smell rivaled that of canned herring—and lingered. Neville actually kept this in his pocket? True Gryffindor bravery indeed. Kyle had to admit, it would certainly keep dark creatures at bay—or really, anything with a sense of smell. Except for Fluffy, maybe. That three-headed beast would probably enjoy it.

"Do you have any?" Neville asked, his expression perfectly calm as he even took a deep breath, as if the scent made him feel safer.

"No," Kyle said, shaking his head.

True, amulets and charms had grown popular around school lately, and Fred and George had even approached him about it. But Kyle had never taken the idea seriously. The market was already oversaturated, especially with demand dwindling among Slytherins. For all that effort, they'd barely make a few Galleons, which didn't seem worth it.

"Ah, I see…" Neville's face fell a little.

He clearly wanted to buy something; after all, everyone knew Kyle's products were more reliable than anything else on campus.

Seeing Neville's disappointment, Kyle thought for a moment before saying, "Actually, wait a second—I might have something."

He reached into his Mokeskin pouch and pulled out a pointed amethyst. It was a decorative piece he'd received as a gift from the owner of Dervish & Banges last time he'd been in Hogsmeade. It wasn't valuable; you could get a fist-sized chunk of it for a Galleon.

Neville accepted the amethyst with a spark of excitement. "Can it protect me from harm?"

"No," Kyle admitted. "But if you shine it at a corner before turning, it might just save you."

Neville examined the amethyst, his reflection mirrored in its smooth surface. "Ah, it must work like a Sneakoscope—something to detect hidden dangers," he muttered, sounding pleased with his deduction.

"How much is it?" he asked.

"Well, normally ten Sickles," Kyle said. "But this one's a—"

Before he could finish, Neville pulled out five Galleons.

"Great! I'll take ten!"