Ten minutes later, the five of them met up in the shadow of the third-floor corridor. Ron was practically bouncing on his heels, while Hermione kept shooting frantic glances down every adjoining hallway, her hands tightly clutching the edge of her jacket.
"Alright," Fred whispered, stepping up to a large, weathered stone statue of a hump-backed, one-eyed witch. "First rule of covert operations. Check if someone is coming."
Harry didn't even pause. He simply stood still for a fraction of a second, his magic effortlessly rippling outward through the stone floor and surrounding corridors like an invisible radar.
"Clear," Harry said calmly. "Though there is a prefect two corridors down coming this way. We have about twenty seconds, so let's move."
Fred and George stared at him in surprise, their eyebrows shooting up in unison. But being master pranksters, they didn't waste time questioning the intel. George quickly pulled out his wand, tapped the hump of the witch, and muttered, "Dissendium."
With a low grinding sound, the stone hump slid open, revealing a dark, narrow passage sliding downward into the wall. One by one, they slipped inside, Harry bringing up the rear before pulling the stone mechanism shut, sealing them into the quiet darkness.
"Lumos," Hermione whispered, her wand tip igniting with a soft white glow, illuminating the steep earthen slope.
"Honeydukes, here we come," Harry said with a small grin.
Fred turned around, walking backward down the passage while shining his own wand light on Harry. "Alright, hold on. How on earth did you know a prefect was two corridors down?"
"Simple," Harry replied smoothly, stepping carefully over a loose stone. "If you spread out your magical energy thinly into your surroundings, it acts like a sensory web. Anything living that steps into that field gives off a signature, so you know exactly where everyone is in the area. But never mind that, where does this passage actually lead to?"
Ron stared at Harry in absolute awe. "Wait, you can literally map the whole building in your head just by breathing magic out?"
"Pretty much," Harry said. "But again, it's not something that only I can do. Anyone can do it as long as you learn to."
"Blimey," George muttered, shaking his head. "And here I thought we were the clever ones in this castle."
"To answer your question, oh powerful one," Fred chimed in, bowing dramatically as he walked, "this tunnel leads straight into the cellar of Honeydukes. Sweets, chocolate, and zero teachers."
"Unless a teacher goes down there to buy sweets," Hermione pointed out quickly, her voice echoing off the damp earth walls. "Harry, you promised we wouldn't be recognized. How are we getting out of the cellar without someone seeing three first-years who clearly aren't supposed to be in Hogsmeade?"
Harry just smirked in the soft wandlight. "Trust me, Hermione. The moment we reach the top of those stairs, no one is going to notice a thing."
"If we get caught, I'm blaming the twins," Ron added, though his eyes were wide with pure excitement.
"Hey!" George protested with a grin. "We are merely providing elevated cultural exposure for our favorite younger brother and his exceptionally stressed friends."
"Extremely stressed," Hermione corrected tightly, though the faint trace of a smile tugged at her lips as they continued their brisk walk down the long, winding passage.
The narrow stone staircase at the end of the dark tunnel spiraled upward, terminating at a heavy trapdoor set into the ceiling. Harry stepped up first, pushing the wood open just enough to glance into the cool, dark space above.
"Cellar is clear," Harry whispered, sliding up onto the dusty floorboards and offering a hand to Hermione.
She took it, stepping out into the dim room packed high with wooden crates, oversized burlap sacks of sugar, and stacked barrels of cocoa butter. Ron, Fred, and George scrambled up right after her, the twins immediately brushing off their dusty robes with practiced ease.
"Welcome to the lower levels of Honeydukes," Fred announced softly.
"Now comes the tricky part," Hermione muttered, her eyes darting nervously toward the wooden door that led up into the main shop. "The moment we walk out there, anyone could see us. We are first-years. It is completely against the rules."
Harry chuckled quietly, taking a small step toward the center of the cellar. "I told you I'd handle it, Hermione."
Without drawing a wand or uttering a single spoken incantation, Harry released a soft ripple of magic from his core. The ambient light in the cellar flickered for a brief second as an invisible, highly intricate illusion settled over the three younger students.
Ron gasped, looking down at his hands. "Blimey! I look... wait, what do I look like?"
"You look like a third-year Ravenclaw student with dark brown hair and freckles on your nose," Harry said smoothly. He turned to Hermione, who was frantically touching her face. "And you, Hermione, look like a sixth-year Hufflepuff girl with straight silver-blonde hair."
Hermione blinked, her jaw virtually dropping as she pulled a small mirror out of her bag to check her reflection. "This is a high-level Glamour Charm! Harry, the light refraction is seamless! Not even a dark detector would pick up a shift this clean!"
"Told you," Harry smirked. "Even if Dumbledore himself walks past you in the aisle, he will just see two random upper-class students grabbing sweets."
Fred and George exchanged a wide-eyed, completely stunned look.
"Right then," George said, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. "Note to self, never play hide-and-seek with Harry Potter."
"Lead the way, oh master of disguise," Fred added, pushing the cellar door open.
They ascended the wooden stairs and stepped through the curtain into the blinding, vibrant world of Honeydukes. The shop was bursting with color, light, and the overwhelming, glorious scent of melted chocolate, warm caramel, and sharp peppermint. Shelves stretched up to the high ceiling, crammed with every sweet imaginable.
Despite the shop being packed with students, no one gave the group a second glance. A pair of seventh-year Gryffindors brushed right past Ron without recognizing him, making Ron gasped in sheer delight.
"Mate, this is brilliant!" Ron whispered loudly.
"Keep your voice down," Hermione hissed, though her eyes were shining with excitement as she looked around at the towering shelves of sweets. "We still need to look like we belong here."
They wandered deeper into the crowded shop, taking in the dizzying array of treats. Trays of sugar quills hovered gently in mid-air, jars of Toothflossing Stringmints glowed with a soft blue light, and massive bowls of glowing cauldron cakes filled the center aisle.
Hermione stopped near a display of glass jars, her brow furrowed in concentration. She picked up a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, set it back down, and then picked up a tin of Sugar Toads, looking completely lost.
"What are you doing?" Ron asked, leaning over her shoulder to inspect a tray of fudge. "It's sweets, Hermione. You pick what looks good and you buy it."
"I want to send something home to my parents," she said, pulling her bag tighter over her shoulder. "I wrote them a letter, but I want to include a little piece of the magical world so they don't feel left out. But there's just so much here. Should I get the Pepperup Chocolates? Or maybe the Coconut Ice?"
Harry stepped up beside her, glancing over the vast display with a casual shrug. "Just send one of everything. Take Ron's Athena or a large owl from the post office down the street, stack a crate, and ship the whole assortment."
Hermione stared at him. "Harry, that's absurd! I'm not sending my parents a mountain of magic candy out of nowhere!"
"Why not?" Harry smirked. "Saves you the trouble of choosing."
"Because it's a terrible idea, mate," Ron chimed in, stepping between them and shaking his head with unusual authority. "Think about it. Her parents are Muggles, right?"
Hermione blinked, surprised. "Yes... they're dentists."
"Right," Ron said, pointing a finger at a display across from them. "So imagine you owl them a box of Chocolate Frogs without warning. They open a neat little parcel at the breakfast table, and suddenly a four-inch chocolate frog springs out of the box, lands in their tea, and starts hopping across the kitchen counter. They're not going to think it's a nice gift, Hermione. They're going to think it's a real toad, freak out, and try to whack it with a broom!"
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but stopped dead. She envisioned her mother screaming and swatting at a jumping sweet with a rolled-up newspaper, and her face went slightly red. "Oh. I... I hadn't thought of that."
"Exactly," Ron said, looking quite pleased with himself. "And what if you send them Ice-Mice? They take one bite and their teeth start squeaking like rodents for an hour. They'd probably run straight to a hospital thinking they caught some weird magical plague."
Harry chuckled, leaning back against a wooden post. "Fair point, Ron. I stand corrected."
"So what should I do then?" Hermione asked, looking genuinely grateful for Ron's sudden burst of practical logic.
"Keep it simple for now," Ron advised, pointing toward the traditional glass counters at the back of the shop. "Get them something that stays still. A nice tin of butterbeer fudge or some licorice wands. It tastes brilliant, but it won't jump out of the box or make their hair change color. Then, when you go home for Christmas, you take a full hamper of the weird stuff back with you. That way you can actually show them how to eat it and explain that the frogs aren't real before they smash them."
Fred and George, who had been listening from two paces away while examining a jar of Droobles Blowing Gum, turned around and clapped softly.
"Look at little Ronnie," Fred said, dramatically wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "Displaying actual emotional intelligence."
"It's terrifying, really," George agreed. "Next thing you know, he'll be passing his History of Magic essays."
"Shut up, both of you," Ron grumbled, though his face flushed bright pink under his glamour illusion.
Hermione smiled warmly at Ron. "Actually, that's really thoughtful advice, Ron. Thank you. A tin of butterbeer fudge sounds perfect."
She walked over to the counter, carefully selecting a modest, neatly wrapped tin of local honey fudge and paying the clerk with a couple of silver Sickles from her pouch.
"Alright," Harry said, watching as she tucked the small tin safely into her satchel. "Gift secured. Where are we going next?"
"We definitely have to check out Zonko's," Fred and George said in perfect unison, their eyes gleaming with pure mischief as they gestured toward the front doors of the shop.
They pushed through the glass door of Honeydukes, stepping out into the brisk Hogsmeade wind. Cobblestones glistened under the warm glow of streetlamps, and snow was just beginning to dust the thatched roofs.
With Fred and George leading the way, the group drifted down the street, taking in the sights until they stopped outside a brightly painted storefront with glowing yellow windows: Zonko's Joke Shop.
Inside, the store was an absolute sensory overload. The air smelled faintly of sulfur, peppermint, and cheap gunpowder. Shelves rose to the high ceiling, stacked with vibrating boxes of Stinkpellets, Belch Powder, Hiccup Sweets, and nose-biting teacups that snapped their porcelain jaws at passing customers. Floating displays of screaming yo-yos buzzed near the rafters, letting out high-pitched squeals whenever anyone walked beneath them.
Fred and George moved through the aisles like connoisseurs visiting an art gallery. They didn't grab anything to buy; they simply inspected the shelves, nodding approvingly at some gadgets and quietly critiquing others.
"Look at this layout," George murmured, pointing to a display of Frog-Spawn Soap. "Decent execution, but the trigger mechanism is far too obvious."
"Amateurs," Fred agreed, shaking his head gently. "A proper prank product should look completely harmless until the moment it ruins your victim's entire afternoon."
Hermione walked behind them, her arms crossed tightly over her coat as she looked around at the buzzing, popping chaos. Her brows drawn together in deep skepticism. "Honestly," she said, watching a small brass spider bite a glass jar. "I really don't see the point of half this stuff. It's just frivolous noise and public disruption. Why would anyone waste good money on itching powder or stinkpellets?"
Fred stopped dead in his tracks, turning around slowly with an expression of profound, exaggerated tragedy. "Hermione," he said, holding a hand over his heart. "Sweet, sensible child. You are looking at this all wrong."
"Prankware isn't just noise," George added, leaning casually against a display case of Dungbombs. "It is high art. It is social commentary. It is the finest form of non-lethal defense against authority figures who take themselves far too seriously."
"It's childish nonsense," Hermione countered, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge as she eyed a box of self-writing quills that only wrote insult poetry. "It causes chaos in the corridors and distracts everyone from their studies."
"Ah, but that's where you're mistaken," Fred said smoothly, picking up a tin of Hiccough Sweets and tossing it lightly in his palm. "Life in this castle gets heavy. People stress over exams, terrifying professors, and expectations from back home. A well-timed Stinkpellet under Filch's chair breaks that tension. It gives people a reason to laugh. Laughter is practical magic, Hermione."
"Plus," George chimed in with a devious wink, "you can't tell me you haven't wanted to drop a box of belch powder into Malfoy's soup at least once this week."
Hermione opened her mouth to shoot back a rule-abiding lecture, but she paused. A tiny, helpless smile broke through her serious expression before she quickly cleared her throat and smoothed it over. "Well... maybe once. But that is beside the point."
Harry chuckled quietly, watching the exchange while leaning against a shelf of trick mirrors. He had no intention of buying anything here either, content to simply watch the twins work the room.
"Not picking up any inventory today, boys?" Harry asked, looking over at Fred and George.
"Nah," Fred said, giving his coat pocket a light slap. "Thanks to your absurdly generous supply stash from earlier this month, our personal reserves are currently fully stocked. We're just inspecting the local competition."
"And as far as we can tell," George smirked, "Zonko has nothing on the Weasley supply line."
"Fair enough," Harry said, turning toward the door as the cool draft from the street cut through the warm shop. "Where to next?"
Ron looked out the frosted window toward the darkening street, pulling his collar up. "Somewhere out of the wind. My ears are freezing."
"Tomes and Scrolls is just down the block," Hermione suggested, her eyes lighting up at the thought. "It's quiet, and it's warm."
"Tomes and Scrolls it is," Harry said, pointing down the narrow side street where a crooked wooden sign hung beneath a warm lantern. "You three go on ahead to the pub. We'll catch up in a few minutes."
Ron looked instantly torn between the warmth of a tavern and the prospect of looking at books, but Fred and George didn't give him a choice.
"Say no more, Potter," Fred said, clapping a heavy hand onto Ron's shoulder.
"We shall shepherd our baby brother toward food and hot Butterbeer before he collapses from intellectual exhaustion," George added, grabbing Ron's other arm and pivoting him toward the main square.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Ron protested, his feet sliding slightly on the icy cobblestones as his brothers dragged him away down the street. "Harry doesn't know where the Three Broomstick is! You need to show him!"
"Of course Harry can't see the giant wooden sign dear brother. But I'm sure some passerby would be glad to show him the way," Fred called back over his shoulder, waving a hand as they turned the corner, leaving Harry and Hermione standing outside the cozy, quiet storefront of the bookstore.
Harry pushed the heavy oak door open, a small brass bell chiming softly above them. Inside, the shop smelled of old paper, binding glue, and dried ink. It was quiet, warm, and entirely empty save for an elderly wizard snoozing behind a high wooden counter near the back. Towering wooden shelves stretched clear to the ceiling, packed tight with thousands of leatherbound volumes.
Hermione let out a small, breathless sigh, her eyes wide as she took in the massive collection. She immediately began walking down the central aisle, running her fingers lightly along the spines without pulling any down.
"They have entire sections on history that aren't even mentioned in our syllabus," she whispered, looking up at the top shelves. "Harry, look at these titles. A Study of Seventh-Century Chants, The Structure of Ancient Magic... how do you even choose where to start?"
Harry walked alongside her, his gaze scanning the higher shelves with a practiced eye. Unlike his earlier massive haul of Hogwarts-level textbooks, he wasn't looking to stock a personal library today. He already had most of the standard curriculum covered in his subspace pouch. He was looking for specific, specialized texts that filled in the few gaps in his collection.
"You start with foundational theory," Harry said quietly, reaching up to pull a thick, dark green leather book off a shelf near the back. "If you don't understand how magic holds itself together, the advanced spells are just temporary tricks."
Hermione stepped closer, leaning in to look at the title in his hands. "Practical Ward Mechanics and Boundary Theory," she read aloud, her eyebrows knitting together. "Wards? Is that like shield charms?"
"Sort of, but much more permanent," Harry explained, turning the book over to check the publication details. "A shield charm is like holding up an umbrella in a storm. A ward is like building a stone roof over your head. It anchors magic to a physical space or object so it stays active long after you walk away."
She nodded slowly, clearly fascinated. "And you haven't read this one yet?"
"I haven't read stuff about wards yet, which is why I'm picking it up." Harry replied, sliding it under his arm. "I will also have a look in Hogwarts library tomorrow, I guess."
He moved two aisles down, stopping in front of a section marked with faded gold lettering: Runes and Arithmancy. Harry scanned the spines before pulling down two more volumes. One was a compact blue book titled Grammatica of Ancient Runes, and the other was a heavy, square text bound in red cloth, Arithmantic Sequences in Spell Construction.
Hermione peered over his arm at the red book. "Arithmancy? Isn't that just predicting the future using numbers? Like Divination?"
"Not at all," Harry said, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he opened the red book to a page covered in complex numerical grids and geometric diagrams. "Divination is guessing based on vague signs. Arithmancy is the actual math behind how spells are built. Every spell has a weight, a trajectory, and a specific numerical value. If the math in a spell is wrong, the spell fails or explodes. This book explains how to calculate those values before you even cast."
"But yes, Arithmancy is also used to predict the future, but I'm not focusing on that part, I'm focusing on the part that deals with spell creation." He added after a pause.
Hermione stared at the page, her eyes scanning the complex grids with intense curiosity. "So magic is just applied mathematics?"
"At the higher levels, yes," Harry said, closing the book with a soft thud. "If you know the math and the runes, you don't need to guess how a spell works. You can design one from scratch."
Hermione looked at the three books in his hands with a mix of awe and deep contemplation. "That sounds... incredible, honestly. It makes magic sound so much more logical than just waving a stick around."
"It is logical," Harry said smoothly, turning toward the front counter. "Which is why most people find it boring and stick to standard wandwork."
Harry carried the three books to the counter, waking the elderly clerk with a light tap on the wood. He signed a quick Gringotts draft to settle the payment, tucked the wrapped parcel under his arm, and walked out into the chilly evening air with Hermione right beside him.
"Now," Harry said, looking down the snow-dusted street toward the bright, noisy windows of the Three Broomsticks, "let's go get some real warm and frothy butterbeer."
They pushed through the heavy oak doors of the Three Broomsticks, greeted instantly by a wave of glorious, lingering heat and the rich aromas of roasted meats, melted cheese, and warm spices. Lanterns shaped like amber bubbles hung low from the dark timber beams, casting a golden glow across the crowded tavern.
In a deep, curved booth near the back, Fred and George were leaning over the table, idly flicking a wooden spoon back and forth while Ron sat between them, staring longingly toward the bar. They hadn't ordered a single thing yet.
"Finally," Ron groaned as Harry and Hermione slid into the booth beside him. "What took you so long? I've been sitting here smelling roast gravy for ten minutes!"
"Someone had to read three book indexes before leaving the shop," Harry teased, placing his paper-wrapped parcel safely against the wall.
"Don't exaggerate, Harry," Hermione said, brushing a flake of snow from her sleeve, though she shot Ron an apologetic smile. "Why didn't you three just order your drinks while waiting?"
"Because," Fred said, leaning back with a grin, "we are polite, refined gentlemen who wait for the entire party to assemble."
"And because," George added, knocking his elbow against Ron's shoulder, "Ron couldn't decide what he wanted off the menu without seeing how much coin we were pooling together."
"Shut up," Ron grumbled, though he immediately grabbed the laminated parchment menu sitting on the edge of the table.
Harry leaned over to glance at the menu as well, taking in the tavern's surprisingly extensive beverage list. Beyond the classic Butterbeer, the pub offered an array of regional treats: Cherrilush, a bright red, fizzy cherry drink; Moonpetal Fizz, a pale blue concoction brewed from moonpetal blossoms that tasted like pear and vanilla; Thistle & Honey, a thick, warm syrup with a faintly bitter undertone, essentially a magical non-alcoholic hot toddy built for freezing winters; Fenwick Spritz, a sharp, cooling mint drink designed to wake up weary travellers; Toffee Nectar, which looked like liquid toffee pudding in a glass; and Silverdew, a faint, gin-like herbal soda with hints of sakura and green apple that supposedly left a shimmering silver glow on your lips for an hour.
"I'll grab the first round," Harry said casually, sliding out of the booth before anyone could pull out their coin pouches. "What is everyone having?"
"Butterbeer!" Ron and the twins blurted out instantly in near-perfect unison.
"I think I'll try the Cherrilush," Hermione said, scanning the parchment with genuine curiosity. "It sounds refreshing."
"Right. Three Butterbeers and two pints of Cherrilush," Harry said. "What about food?"
Before anyone could answer, the tall wooden booth was shadowed by the cozy presence of Madam Rosmerta herself. She balanced a brass tray against her hip, a warm, welcoming smile breaking across her face as she looked down at the five of them.
"Evening, quiet corner," Rosmerta said merrily. "What can I get started for you lot on a chilly day like this?"
"Three hot, foaming Butterbeers and two chilled pints of Cherrilush, please," Harry said smoothly. "And we were just looking for something to snack on. Nothing too heavy, we still want to make room for dinner up at the castle later."
Rosmerta tapped her chin with her order quill, her eyes lighting up with an immediate recommendation. "Oh, then you want The Maw. Hands down."
Ron tilted his head, leaning forward over the table. "The Maw? What's that?"
"A mountain of crispy, thick-cut potato wedges topped with seasoned ground meat," Rosmerta explained, gesturing with her hands. "You can choose beef, pork, or a mix of both. Then we drench the whole lot in melted sharp cheddar and our house savory sauce. It comes in a proper massive baking dish, so just two of them will easily feed all five of you without filling you up so much that you skip supper."
"That sounds brilliant," Ron said, his mouth practically watering on the spot. "Mixed meat, definitely."
"Make it two mixed Maws, please," Harry said with a nod.
"Right away, love," Rosmerta smiled, jotting it down on a little pad before heading back toward the bar.
While they waited for the food, the atmosphere in the warm pub buzzed around them. Fred and George were leaning across the table, whispering animatedly about a new prank concept involving changing the ink color on Filch's filing forms, while Hermione carefully inspected her parchment menu to see what other peculiar non-magical ingredients the tavern used in their kitchen.
A few minutes later, Rosmerta returned, expertly setting down five heavy, frosted glass tankards. The three Butterbeers were steaming softly, releasing a rich scent of warm butterscotch and cinnamon, while the two tankards of Cherrilush were icy cold, the vibrant red liquid bubbling continuously like a tiny fountain.
Close behind her came a young barmaid carrying two heavy, piping-hot ceramic dishes. The aroma hit the table instantly, a mouthwatering wave of seasoned meat, tangy sauce, and bubbling melted cheese poured over golden potato wedges.
"Careful, the dishes are fresh out of the oven," the barmaid warned softly before stepping away.
"Blimey," Ron breathed, immediately grabbing a fork and diving into the nearest dish. "This looks incredible."
Harry took a sip of his chilled Cherrilush, feeling the crisp, fizzy cherry flavor burst across his tongue with a sharp, refreshing bite. Hermione took a sip of hers as well, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise.
"Oh, this is delicious!" she said, smiling as the chilly drink cut right through the warm air of the tavern. "It's so bubbly!"
Fred and George wrapped their hands around their steaming tankards, taking long gulps of the hot Butterbeer before reaching into the center of the table with their forks.
The Maw was a massive success. The potato wedges were perfectly crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, and the combination of savory ground meat and rich, melted cheese made it almost impossible to stop reaching for another bite.
"Madam Rosmerta wasn't joking," Fred said, blowing on a cheesy piece of potato before popping it into his mouth. "This stuff is top tier."
"If Hogwarts served this in the Great Hall, I'd never leave my seat," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of beef and potato, making Hermione roll her eyes in mild fondness.
For the next twenty minutes, the booth was filled with quiet chewing, quiet laughter, and easy chatter about school, teachers, and upcoming weekend plans. Harry enjoyed the quiet comfort of the moment, taking alternating sips of his cold drink while watching the snow begin to fall heavier outside the tavern window.
As the conversation ebbed slightly and Ron scraped the last bit of melted cheese from the corner of the ceramic dish, Harry's eyes lazily drifted back to the wooden menu resting near the edge of the wooden table.
He skimmed past the standard drinks, the draft ales, and the hearty pies, his eyes landing on a small, hand-lettered section at the very bottom of the parchment under the tavern's imported specials.
Harry paused mid-sip. His green eyes narrowed slightly as he read the line again, doing a complete double take.
"Huh..." Harry murmured softly under his breath, leaning forward just an inch. "Never seen that before."
"What are you looking at, Harry?" Hermione asked, noticing him leaning forward.
Harry didn't answer right away. He simply picked up the wooden-backed menu, tapped a line near the bottom, and slid out of the booth without a word.
From their table in the back corner, the four of them watched in silent confusion as Harry strolled up to the polished mahogany bar. Madam Rosmerta was standing behind the counter, methodically wiping down a glass tankard with a dry cloth.
Harry rested his elbows on the counter, pointed directly to the spot on the menu, and asked her a question.
Rosmerta froze. Her hand stopped mid-wipe, and her eyebrows shot so high up her forehead they nearly disappeared into her curly hair. She stared at Harry for a second, looking genuinely shocked, before slowly nodding.
Harry began talking animatedly, using both hands to trace a wide shape in the air, seemingly asking about dimensions or thickness. Rosmerta set her glass down, held her own hands about two inches apart to show thickness, and then held her forearms out wide to demonstrate a massive length.
Harry's face lit up with immediate interest. He gave her a firm nod. Rosmerta looked at him with an incredulous expression, leaning in to ask a quiet follow-up question. Harry nodded a second time without a single second of hesitation, reached into his jacket pocket, and tapped something on the counter before turning around and walking back toward the booth.
"What was that about?" Ron asked, leaning over the edge of the seat as Harry slid back in. "She looked like you just asked her to sell you the pub."
"We are trying something new," Harry said smoothly, a small, mysterious smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
Hermione's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Harry, what did you just order? What was on that bottom line?"
"You'll see in a minute," Harry replied, leaning back against the leather cushion with total nonchalance. "Just consider it a late afternoon experiment."
Fred and George exchanged a quick, intrigued look, but before anyone could interrogate him further, the swinging kitchen doors near the side of the bar clicked open.
Madam Rosmerta emerged carrying a massive, heavy ironwood board with both hands, her forearms clearly straining under the weight of the serving platter. The ambient noise in the immediate area of the pub quieted down slightly as she carried it across the floor, the intense, mouthwatering aroma of seared meat and rich, smoky spices trailing in her wake.
She reached their booth and set the heavy board down right in the center of the table with a solid, echoing thud.
"One Dragon Steak," Rosmerta announced, taking a deep breath and wiping her hands on her apron while giving Harry an amused, disbelieving look. "Fifty-two ounces dragon tenderloin, flash-seared over enchanted dragon-pepper wood. Enjoy it, love."
Ron's jaw dropped so low it nearly hit his empty tankard. Hermione stared at the platter with wide, horrified eyes, while Fred and George both leaned in so fast they almost bumped heads.
Resting on the wooden board was an absolute monstrosity of a steak, thick as a brick and weighing nearly a kilo and a half. The thick, dark crust on the outside glistered with a deep reddish-black glaze, sizzling faintly and releasing tiny, warm wisps of aromatic steam that smelled unlike any normal beef or pork dish.
"Forty Galleons..." Hermione whispered faintly, her eyes darting from the meat to the bottom corner of the menu on the table. "Harry! That single dish costs forty Galleons!"
"Mate," Ron stammered, his eyes fixated on the massive slab of meat. "That's... that's a dragon."
"It's a rare delicacy, Ron, don't worry," Harry chuckled quietly, pulling a heavy carving knife and fork from the side of the board. "I have never seen this dish anywhere and I have eaten in a lot of luxury restaurants. Apparently not all of them get the license to serve this."
Harry sliced through the thick crust. The knife glided through the meat effortlessly, revealing a rich, deep crimson center that practically melted under the blade. He cut off a generous, thick strip, placed it onto his small plate, and picked up his fork.
The rest of the table watched in breathless silence as Harry brought the first bite to his mouth.
He chewed slowly, his eyes closing for a brief second as his mind processed the profile. The texture was absurdly tender, denser than beef, with a rich, gamey undertone that felt reminiscent of fine venison, but... more. There was a sudden, lingering warmth that spread across his chest the moment he swallowed, a subtle, natural heat woven right into the fibers of the meat itself.
Harry opened his eyes, a genuine grin breaking across his face as he looked at the stunned group staring at him.
"Well?" Fred demanded, holding his fork in mid-air. "How is it?"
Ron held his fork suspended over the board, his hand visibly trembling as he looked between the glistening red meat and Harry's calm face. He swallowed hard, pulling his hand back half an inch.
"Harry, mate," Ron said, his voice dropping into an anxious whisper. "I can't just... cut into a forty-Galleon steak. My dad doesn't even make that much in a week."
Hermione was nodding frantically beside him, her hands folded tightly in her lap as if touching the cutlery would make her complicit. "He's right, Harry! That is an absurd amount of money for a single plate of food. We can't possibly take your food when it costs that much!"
Even Fred and George, who rarely turned down free food or a golden opportunity for chaos, looked unusually hesitant. Fred cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Potter, we appreciate the sentiment, we really do. But forty Galleons is serious money. You should eat it."
"The entire reason I got it in the first place is so we all could share," Harry said smoothly, setting his carving knife down against the wooden board with a quiet click. "I wouldn't have bothered ordering a fifty-two-ounce steak just for myself."
He leaned forward, looking around the booth at the four hesitant faces.
"Besides," Harry continued, a slight smirk playing on his lips, "Madam Rosmerta told me it is extremely limited. We are quite lucky to actually find it listed today. If we don't eat it together right now, it just sits here and goes cold."
Ron stared at the sizzling, crimson-centered meat, his resolve visibly crumbling under the weight of Harry's logic and the utterly hypnotic smell of the enchanted dragon-pepper glaze.
"Extremely limited?" George repeated slowly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the board.
"Rarely on the menu," Fred added, his hand creeping back toward his fork.
"Sharing is the whole point," Harry emphasized, picking up the heavy serving tongs and casually dropping a massive, juicy slab of meat onto Ron's plate before Ron could protest further. He immediately carved off another thick piece and set it on Hermione's plate, followed by two generous cuts for the twins.
Ron looked down at the steaming steak on his plate, swallowed his pride, and picked up his knife. "Right. Well... if it's going to go cold, that would just be a crime against magic."
He cut off a piece and popped it into his mouth.
The reaction was instantaneous. Ron's eyes went wide as saucers, his chewing slowing down to a complete halt as his face washed over with absolute bliss. "Merlin's beard," he breathed faintly, before immediately diving back in for a second bite.
Hermione tentatively cut off a tiny morsel, blowing on it gently before taking a taste. Her eyes widened in similar shock, a small, helpless sigh escaping her lips. "Oh... wow. It's so warm. It feels like... like drinking hot soup, but it's meat. But it's quite an uncertain flavour."
With the heavy ironwood board scraped entirely clean and the last drops of Butterbeer and Cherrilush drained from their tankards, the group sat back in the booth, thoroughly full and warm against the autumn draft outside.
"I don't think I can move," Ron groaned happily, leaning his head back against the dark leather headrest. "I might just live in this pub now."
"Come on," Hermione said, though she looked just as comfortable, pulling her scarf back around her neck. "We should start heading back before it gets too dark. The curfew for the Hogsmeade trips is strictly enforced."
Harry nodded, sliding out of the booth and pulling the paper-wrapped parcel of books under his arm. "You guys head toward the door. I'll settle up with Rosmerta."
Fred instantly reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small leather coin pouch that clinked softly. "Hold on, Potter. We're pitching in for the drinks and the potato dish at least."
"Absolutely," George insisted, drawing his own pouch. "We aren't letting you foot the entire tab after buying a dragon."
Ron dug through his pockets as well, pulling out a few loose Sickles and holding them out. "I've got some silver, Harry."
"Put your money away, guys, seriously," Harry said, waving his hand to stop them. "No need at all. It was my idea to try the steak, so I'm paying for it. And like I said when we sat down, the first round of drinks and snacks was on me." He offered a small, easy grin. "You can buy me a round next time we're here if you really want."
Before anyone could argue further, Harry quickly turned his attention back to the food they had just eaten to shift the topic entirely.
"Besides," Harry added, shaking his head slightly with a thoughtful look, "that dragon steak was definitely an unexpected dish... I'm not even sure I'm looking forward to having that ever again. The taste is just so unsettling."
"Unsettling?" Ron repeated, his jaw dropping in absolute disbelief as his mind completely derailed from the money conversation. "Are you mad? That was the greatest thing that's ever happened to my mouth!"
"It was delicious," Hermione admitted, stepping around the table, "but I see what Harry means. That lingering internal heat in your chest feels very unnatural. It's almost like the magic is still sitting in your stomach."
"That's the best part!" Fred declared loudly, putting his coin pouch away to gesture dramatically. "It's food that warms you from the inside out!"
While the twins and Ron debated the culinary merits of fire-drake tenderloin, Harry walked over to the mahogany bar where Madam Rosmerta was waiting with a small slate tally.
"Enjoyed the steak, did we?" she asked with a dry, knowing smile.
"It was certainly memorable," Harry replied smoothly. "How much do I owe you for everything?"
Rosmerta tapped the slate with her quill. "Five drinks came out to eleven Sickles and twenty-one Knuts. Two plates of The Maw at three Sickles each makes six Sickles, bringing your food and drink total to seventeen Sickles and twenty-one Knuts, which comes to exactly one Galleon and twenty-one Knuts. Add the forty Galleons for the dragon tenderloin, and your final bill is forty-one Galleons and twenty-one Knuts."
Harry reached into his pouch, counting out the forty-one heavy gold Galleons along with the loose copper Knuts, and set the neat pile onto the polished wood.
"Thank you, Madam Rosmerta," Harry said politely.
"Thank you, love," she grinned, sweeping the gold into her register. "Safe travels back to the castle!"
Harry rejoined the group by the entrance, where Ron was still actively trying to convince Hermione that dragon meat should be added to the standard Hogwarts Sunday roast menu. Harry pushed the heavy oak door open, leading the way out into the crisp, snow-dusted Hogsmeade evening.