The quiet morning air of the Gryffindor dormitories was thick with the slow, rhythm of sleeping boys as Harry opened his eyes. The dull, persistent throb in his chest had subsided into a manageable hum, though his limbs still felt slightly stiff. He glanced at the clock resting on his bedside table. It was barely half past four in the morning.
Today was September nineteenth. Harry swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his face with both hands, unaware of the subtle significance of the date. His mind was too preoccupied with the quiet stillness of the castle and his own need to move around after days of forced bed rest.
Dressing quietly in a thick wool sweater and trousers, Harry tiptoed down the spiraling stone staircase toward the common room. The room was bathed in the faint, flickering ember-glow of the dying fireplace. As Harry reached the bottom step, he noticed two long figures stretched out awkwardly across the plush velvet couches.
Fred and George were both fast asleep, snoring softly in sync. A mess of parchment, scribbled diagrams, and tiny glass vials were scattered across the low coffee table between them. Harry recalled seeing them huddled over the exact same table when he had retired to his four-poster late last night. They had clearly pulled an all-nighter.
Deciding against waking them, Harry slipped quietly through the portrait hole and made his way down the silent, torchlit corridors toward the basement kitchens. The cool stone floors felt soothing under his boots, and the early morning solitude was a welcome relief. After a quick visit to the house-elves, who were delighted to see him up and about, Harry walked back up the stairs holding a warm mug of fresh, strong black coffee.
When Harry climbed back through the portrait hole fifteen minutes later, he found the twins groggily sitting up. George was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, while Fred stretched his arms high over his head with a loud groan.
Harry walked over, taking a seat on the adjacent armchair. Before taking a single sip from his mug, he extended it toward the pair.
"Thought you two might need this," Harry said softly. "Haven't touched it yet."
Fred blinked, his eyes focusing on the steaming mug before a broad grin spread across his sleepy face. "Harry, you absolute saint."
George took a careful sip, let out a satisfied sigh, and passed the mug to his brother. "A true gentleman. What brings you out of bed at this ungodly hour?"
"Just couldn't sleep," Harry replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He gestured toward the chaotic mess of papers and tiny glass bottles spread out on the rug. "What kept you two up all night anyway?"
Fred and George exchanged a quick, conspiratorial glance. George reached into his robes and pulled out a small leather pouch, carefully tipping its contents onto the wooden surface of the table. A handful of small, bright, crystalline candies rolled out, glittering softly in the low firelight.
"What are those?" Harry asked, tilting his head.
"These, my dear brother, are our latest masterpiece," Fred declared, puffing out his chest. "We call them Chromatic Chews."
Harry raised an eyebrow, eyeing the colorful confections with mild suspicion. "And what do they do?"
"Try one," George urged, picking up a bright yellow piece and tossing it to Harry. "It is completely harmless, we promise on our honor as Marauder acolytes."
Harry held the small candy between his thumb and forefinger. Steeling himself with a faint smile, he popped it into his mouth. It tasted faintly of sweet citrus and fizzed softly on his tongue.
A second later, George reached under a couch cushion, pulled out a small handheld mirror, and held it up to Harry's face.
Harry blinked. Slowly, from the roots down, his messy black hair was shifting into a vivid, glowing electric blue. He ran a hand through his locks, watching the color shift subtly toward a brilliant cobalt as he chewed. He couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.
"So they just change your hair color?" Harry asked.
"As long as you keep the candy in your mouth, the color keeps cycling periodically," Fred explained with a grin. "Shifts through five different shades before it dissolves."
"That is brilliant," Harry said, genuinely impressed as he caught his vivid blue reflection in the mirror. "How long does the overall effect last?"
"About a day," George replied. "Then your natural color settles right back in. No permanent damage to the follicles, no lingering magic."
"You two should sell these at Hogwarts," Harry said, setting the mirror down on the table. "I am serious. The younger students would go mad for them, and people would pay good money just to wear their house colors for Quidditch matches."
The twins shared a brief, wry smile, though their enthusiasm dimmed slightly as George gestured to the sparse pile of candies on the rug.
"We would love to, Harry," George said smoothly. "Believe me, we have the recipes mapped out for an entire line of trick sweets. But raw materials cost money. Dragon liver powder, fluxweed extracts, stabilized sugar bases... none of it is cheap."
"We made eleven including the one you just ate," Fred added, picking up one of the remaining candies and spinning it between his fingers. "That is literally every scrap of ingredient we could afford with our pocket money."
"Your pranks are going to be legendary," Harry noted, looking at the meticulous notes scribbled on their parchment. "People already talk about the things you construct."
"Oh, we know we are geniuses," Fred smirked, though he leaned back against the cushions with a quiet sigh. "And if we sell these ten right here, we will make maybe three Galleons total. Just enough to buy a few basic ingredients for the next small batch."
Harry sat quietly for a moment, watching the firelight flicker across the polished surfaces of the candies. A sudden thought took root in his mind. He looked up at the twins, his expression turning thoughtful.
"Tell me something," Harry asked smoothly. "How much money would it take to actually launch this properly inside Hogwarts? Not just ten candies at a time, but enough inventory to handle real demand and run it like a proper operation?"
Fred and George blinked, surprised by the sudden direction of the conversation. George pulled a blank piece of parchment toward himself and tapped his quill against his chin, his brows furrowing in concentration.
"Well," George began, scribbling a quick series of numbers down the side of the page. "If we want to produce in bulk, we need wholesale ingredient orders from Diagon Alley. Plus storage tins, protective charms for testing, and enough initial stock to cover three different product lines."
"And you have to account for the buffer," Fred interjected, his tone surprisingly sharp and analytical. "If a product flops or the brewing goes wrong, you cannot just stop. You need enough reserve capital to cushion the loss and pivot to a new recipe without going completely broke."
Harry looked at them in quiet amazement. Even without formal business training or capital, the twins instinctively understood concepts like runway, loss prediction, and operational buffers. Their chaotic prankster personas hid a remarkably sharp, intuitive grasp of enterprise.
"Total it up," Harry said softly. "What is the number?"
George finished his rapid math and circled a figure at the bottom of the parchment. "To start up properly and keep a safe cushion? We would need at least three hundred Galleons."
Fred let out a dry, amused chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned his head back against the sofa. "And as you well know, Harry, given our family's financial situation, three hundred Galleons might as well be three million."
Harry looked down at his hands, feeling the faint, hum of his recovering magical core, and then looked back up at the twins. A slow, steady smile spread across his face.
"Here is an idea," Harry said, leaning forward. "How about I invest in it?"
Fred and George stared at Harry, the early morning light casting long shadows across the common room. For a brief second, the sleepy humor vanished from their expressions, replaced by a sudden, rigid pride.
"Harry, mate, we appreciate the thought," Fred said, his voice dropping its usual teasing tone. "Really, we do. But we can't take your money."
"We're Weasleys, Harry," George added, leaning back and crossing his arms tightly. "We might be broke, but we don't take handouts. Not even from you."
They knew Harry had money. The Potter family fortune was no secret, and the sheer prestige of his background was something everyone in Gryffindor was vaguely aware of. Not to mention the Dursleys and the Blacks. But taking charity was where the twins drew a hard, unyielding line.
Harry expected this. He leaned in, resting his forearms on his knees, his green eyes steady and unblinking.
"Who said anything about a handout?" Harry asked, his voice calm and completely serious. "I am talking about a business transaction. An investment. I put up capital, and in return, I get equity."
Fred frowned, glancing at George before looking back at Harry. "Equity?"
"I will provide one thousand Galleons," Harry said smoothly.
The twins froze. George actually choked on his own breath, while Fred's jaw went slack. One thousand Galleons was more than three times the buffer they had calculated. It was enough to transform their small room operation into a legitimate, full-scale production line.
"One thousand?" George squeaked out, his voice cracking slightly before he caught himself. "Harry, that is absurd."
"It is strategic," Harry corrected instantly. "And it comes with strict conditions. I am not giving you a gift. Here are my terms."
Harry held up a single finger. "First, I own ten percent of your business. If you ever register a proper company after Hogwarts, I hold a ten percent stake in it. I am entitled to ten percent of all net profits. However, there is a catch. I will only collect my share of the profit if your total annual earnings exceed one thousand Galleons. Anything below that threshold, my ten percent automatically gets reinvested straight back into your business for research, development, and scaling."
Fred and George exchanged a wide-eyed, stunned look. The structure was brilliant. It protected their early growth while ensuring Harry was tied to their long-term success.
"Second," Harry continued, raising a second finger, "I get free access to your entire product line for personal use, whenever I want, for life."
In truth, Harry had no real interest in pranking anyone. He was far too practical for theatrical chaos, but adding the clause made the agreement sound like a genuine, ruthless negotiation rather than a masked act of generosity.
"And third," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave as he held up a third finger. "I want the Marauder's Map."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Fred and George went deathly still. The easygoing posture vanished instantly, replaced by sheer, unadulterated shock. George stared at Harry as if the younger boy had suddenly sprouted a second head, while Fred reached down instinctively toward his inner robes, his eyes wide with disbelief.
They had never told a single soul about the map. Not Ron, not Percy, not their parents. Absolutely no one knew it existed, let alone what it was capable of doing.
"How..." Fred stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do you know about that?"
"How do you even know what it is called?" George demanded, leaning forward, his gaze scanning Harry's face for any sign of a joke.
"I learned about it directly from one of the original Marauders," Harry replied smoothly, keeping his posture relaxed as he leaned back in his chair.
The twins exchanged bewildered, skepticism-laced glances. George squinted closely at Harry, trying to figure out if this was some elaborate wind-up.
"A Marauder?" Fred questioned, his voice tinged with deep disbelief. "Are you pulling our legs, Harry?"
"No joke," Harry said, keeping a perfectly deadpan expression. "I happened to speak with an original Marauder who mentioned the map. Said he used it extensively during his time at Hogwarts."
"The Marauders are ancient history," George countered, crossing his arms, though his eyes burned with fierce curiosity. "How did you even meet one?"
"You two have met them as well," Harry smirked. "In fact, you have met three of them."
Fred's jaw dropped slightly, and George's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. They racked their brains, trying to recall any ancient, legendary pranksters they might have crossed paths with.
"We met them?" Fred echoed, utterly lost. "Who? When?"
Harry chuckled at their bewildered expressions and decided to take pity on them. "The original Marauders aren't ancient, Fred. They were my father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter Pettigrew."
The twins stared at him, the revelation hitting them like a sudden Stunner.
"You are telling us," Fred began, struggling to find the words, "that your dad, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Pettigrew were the actual Marauders?"
"My father was Prongs," Harry explained, a glint of quiet warmth in his green eyes. "Sirius is Padfoot, Remus is Moony, and Pettigrew was Wormtail. They created the map during their school years. So yes, you have met the creators."
George let out a low, breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Bloody hell."
"Well, I'll be…" Fred breathed, a massive, triumphant grin slowly breaking across his face. "We had no idea… We thought Marauders were ancient. Probably 300 years ago at the very least."
"Does that mean you inherited their penchant for mischief, Harry?" George asked with a smirk, the initial shock dissolving into deep respect.
"Maybe a bit," Harry shrugged playfully. "You give me the map, I'll study its charmwork. And once I'm finished making my own, I'll give it back. Maybe I'll upgrade it as well. So, what do you say to the deal?"
Fred looked at George, the sheer momentum of a thousand Galleons in capital combined with the blessing of a Marauder's heir making the decision absurdly easy.
"The deal just got a lot more interesting," Fred admitted, extending his hand. "Alright, Harry. You have yourself a deal. You get the map, and we build an empire."
George shook Harry's hand right after his brother, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. "Just make sure our products become legendary."
George shook Harry's hand right after his brother, a wicked spark returning to his eyes. "Just make sure our products become legendary."
Harry stood up from his armchair, his vivid violet hair finally fading back to its natural, messy black as the candy dissolved.
"Deal," Harry said smoothly. "Wait here, I am going to head up to the dorm and wake Ron."
The twins blinked, looking at each other in confusion before turning back to Harry.
"For what?" Fred asked, raising an eyebrow. "Ronniekins isn't usually an early riser unless someone is waving bacon under his nose."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Today is September nineteenth. It is Hermione's birthday, and I completely forgot about it until just now. Since we are heading out, I need to drag him along so we can pick up a proper present for her."
"We are going to Hogsmeade?" George asked, tilting his head. "On a school morning?"
"Hogsmeade is just on the way," Harry replied, a sharp smirk touching his lips. "We are going to Diagon Alley. I do not carry a thousand Galleons in my pocket, so I need to make a trip to my vault. We slip out through the passages to Hogsmeade, and then I will take us straight to London."
Fred whistle low through his teeth. "Diagon Alley... Bold move, Potter."
"On that note, I am adding one small sub-clause to our investment deal," Harry added, his tone shifting into something quieter and more deliberate. "We are going to buy Ron a brand-new wand while we are in London."
Fred and George frowned slightly, their easygoing banter dropping.
"Harry, Ron's wand is Charlie's old one," George noted gently. "He makes do."
"Hand-me-down wands do not serve new masters properly," Harry said firmly. "It misdirects intent and stifles core growth. It is holding him back, and I want him using proper tools. I will add ten Galleons to your initial business allocation specifically for a new wand. You two buy it for him. Do not tell him the money came from me."
The twins stared at Harry for a second, catching the quiet, unyielding care behind the strict command. A pair of identical, theatrical smirks spread across their faces, and both Fred and George snapped into crisp, flawless mock salutes.
"Yes, boss," they chimed in perfect unison. "Your secret operational directive shall be executed with utmost discretion."
"Stop doing that," Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes as he turned toward the spiraling staircase to the boy's dormitory to drag a sleeping Ron out of bed.
Fifteen minutes later, the faint, damp smell of subterranean earth enveloped the four boys as they made their way through the narrow, twisting tunnel behind the one-eyed witch statue. The low flicker of Harry's lit wand cast long, rhythmic shadows against the damp stone walls.
Ron trudged along near the front, rubbing sleep from his eyes and letting out a long, heavy yawn that echoed down the corridor.
"So, what are we actually getting her in Hogsmeade?" Ron asked, his voice still thick with slumber. "Is Zonko's even open this early?"
"Probably nothing in Hogsmeade," Harry replied, adjusting his stride to match the narrow path. "It is barely past five in the morning. None of the village shops will open for hours. Diagon Alley, on the other hand, starts opening early for wholesale traders. We are going to London."
Ron stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in complete bewilderment. "London? Harry, we are in a secret tunnel under Hogwarts. How are we getting to Diagon Alley without using the Floo?"
"I am Apparating us," Harry said simply, stepping around him to keep moving.
"Wait, can you even do that?" Ron asked, scrambling to catch up. "I thought side-along Apparition was strictly limited to two people at a time! Bringing three people at once takes massive spatial control."
"I do not really have those kinds of limits," Harry noted casually.
Fred and George exchanged a quick, meaningful glance over Ron's head. Fred accelerated his pace, coming up on Harry's left.
"Are you sure you ought to be doing heavy spatial magic, Harry?" Fred asked, his voice dropping its usual playful edge into quiet concern. "Your core was completely empty two days ago. Dumbledore gave you medical leave for a reason."
"I appreciate the concern, Fred, but side-along Apparition is light work compared to what drained me," Harry assured him, offering a brief, reassuring smile. "I have enough magical energy restored to Apparate us ten times over without feeling a flicker of strain. It is fine."
Satisfied, George shifted the topic, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. "Mum sent a letter with Vesper yesterday. Said Ginny is at France with your family and Sirius."
Ron raised an eyebrow, looking over at Harry. "Yeah, how did that even happen?"
"It was Sirius' idea," Harry explained softly. "After everything that happened back at our house, the atmosphere was too heavy. So Sirius decided the best thing for them was to get out of Britain entirely for a few days, so he is taking them to the Black estate on the southern coast of France."
"And Ginny?" Ron asked.
"Well I believe Sirius got permission from your parents so that Abigail would have company there." Harry said.
"Proper luxury, that," George chuckled, breaking the brief solemnity. "Ginny is probably living like royalty right now while we are trekking through this dark passage."
"Speaking of luxury," Fred chimed in, slanting a look at Harry. "What are you getting Granger for her birthday anyway?"
"I already know," Harry replied smoothly. "I am getting her dresses."
Ron, Fred, and George all stopped simultaneously, staring at Harry with identical expressions of sheer, unadulterated confusion.
"Dresses?" Ron repeated, squinting as if Harry had suddenly begun speaking Gobbledegook. "For Hermione? Harry, she reads books. She lives in the library."
"I saw her eyeing one of Lavender's robes in the common room last week," Harry said, unbothered by their looks. "She liked the cut and the fabric, even if she would never buy something like that for herself. I am going to Twilfitt and Tatting's to pick out a few fine robes for her."
Fred let out a low whistle. "Twilfitt and Tatting's... Blimey, Harry. Going straight for high-end tailoring."
"Well, we have absolutely no idea what to get her," George admitted, scratching his chin. "Maybe a brass telescope? Or an overly complicated quill?"
"You will think of something once we get to the Alley," Harry said. "What about you, Ron?"
Ron sighed, looking down at his worn boots as they continued walking. "I would love to get her an owl. A small one, so she doesn't have to keep borrowing the school birds every time she wants to write to her parents. But... well, I don't really have the Galleons for an owl."
Fred and George paused, sharing a brief, silent communication that passed between them in a fraction of a second.
"We will give you the money for it," Fred said casually.
Ron stopped again, his mouth dropping wide open in utter shock. "What? You two? Give me money?"
"On one strict condition," George added, pointing a warning finger at his younger brother. "You do not breathe a single word about where you got it to Mum, Percy, or anyone else. You take the Galleons, buy the owl, and keep your mouth shut."
Ron stared at his brothers as if they had been replaced by Polyjuice impostors, completely speechless as Harry hid a quiet, satisfied smirk in the shadows of the tunnel.
The cool, damp subterranean passage widened slightly, though it was still a tight fit for four growing boys. Harry came to a sudden halt, holding up a hand to stop the group. Up ahead, the stone walls were carved with the subtle, ancient runes marking the absolute edge of the Hogwarts wards. Beyond this threshold, spatial magic was no longer restricted.
"This is as far as we walk," Harry said, turning back to face them. "Form a circle and hold hands tightly."
Ron, Fred, and George looked at each other, squeezing close in the narrow corridor. Harry grabbed Fred's hand on his left and George's on his right, completing the loop.
"Hold your breath," Harry murmured.
Without a single sound, without a crack of displaced air or the slightest pop, the dark passage vanished.
There was no violent jerk, no agonizing sensation of being squeezed through a tight rubber tube, and no nauseating tug behind the navel like the boys had experienced whenever Arthur Apparated them. It was completely seamless. One second they were breathing the damp, earthy air of a secret tunnel, and in the space of a single heartbeat, the cool morning breeze of London hit their faces.
They opened their eyes to find themselves standing in a quiet, shadowed alleyway just off the main drag of Diagon Alley.
Ron stumbled back a step, blinking rapidly at the cobblestones under his boots. He looked down at his own hands, then at Harry, his face a picture of absolute, unadulterated shock.
"What... what was that?" Ron gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where was the squeeze? The pop? Dad's Apparition feels like being jammed into a cannon and fired through a keyhole!"
Fred and George were staring at Harry as if he had just rewritten the laws of nature. Fred ran a hand through his hair, checking to make sure his head was still attached.
"Harry, mate," Fred breathed, his eyes wide. "That was... nothing. We just walked through a shadow."
"I didn't feel a thing," George added, shaking his head in disbelief. "No dizziness, no jerk, no noise. How did you do that?"
Harry offered a faint, crooked smile, brushing a stray dark lock from his forehead. "That is how spatial folding is actually supposed to feel. Most people cast it by forcing the magic through violent displacement, which creates friction. If you match the ambient spatial frequency, there is no resistance. Everyone just learns it wrong."
He patted his coat, cutting off their rising tide of questions before they could start. "We do not have time to marvel at spatial magic right now. The Alley is just starting to wake up, and we have a schedule. I need to make a quick run to Gringotts to sort out my funds. You three go browse for your gifts. I will meet you inside Eeylops in ten minutes."
Before the twins could protest, Harry spun on his heel and strode down the cobblestones toward the towering white marble façade of Gringotts.
The main hall of the goblin bank was quiet, lit by the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Only a few early-morning clerks were at their high desks. Harry bypassed the central line and headed straight for a familiar figure standing near the side archway.
"Griphook," Harry called out smoothly.
The goblin looked up from his ledger, his dark eyes glinting with instant recognition. "Mr. Potter. You are out early today."
"I am in a rush," Harry said, pulling a dark leather pouch from his inner coat pocket. "I need this subspace pouch linked directly to my main vault ledger. I want to pull funds without coming down to the vaults every time. Can it be done immediately?"
Griphook took the pouch, inspecting the fine dragon-hide stitching with a critical eye. "It can be."
The goblin vanished through a heavy iron door behind the counter. True to his word, Griphook returned precisely ten minutes later, handing the pouch back to Harry. The leather now shimmered with a faint, silver rune carved into the brass clasp.
"The fee is forty-five Galleons for the immediate enchantment," Griphook stated.
"Take it directly from the vault," Harry said, slipping the pouch into his pocket. "Thank you, Griphook. I am in a rush."
Without waiting for a reply, Harry turned and ran out of the marble hall, taking the white steps three at a time. He darted down the cobbled street toward Quality Quidditch Supplies. The shopkeeper was just unlocking the front display case, but Harry bypassed the brooms entirely, marching up to the counter and purchasing a brand-new, unbonded subspace leather pouch for ten Galleons.
Stepping back out into the morning air, Harry focused his magic, tapping his linked pouch. A heavy, satisfying weight shifted invisibly inside the new container as he transferred exactly one thousand and ten Galleons into it. One thousand for the twins' business capital, and ten for Ron's new wand.
Harry walked briskly down the street until he reached Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shop smelled heavily of wood shavings, soft feathers, and crushed seeds. Inside, a sleepy shopkeeper was leaning over the counter, yawning widely as he rearranged a display of owl treats.
Over in the corner, Fred, George, and Ron were huddled around a row of perches, admiring the birds.
Harry walked up to the twins, stepping into their shadow. Without saying a word, he caught Fred's hand and slid the heavy, newly purchased subspace pouch directly into his palm.
Fred's eyes went wide as he felt the immense, magical weight settling in his grip. He turned to thank Harry, his mouth opening to speak, but Harry immediately caught his eye and shook his head slightly, casting a subtle look toward Ron, who was currently enthralled by a glossy brown bird.
Fred clamped his jaw shut, nodding once in deep, silent understanding. George nudged his twin, glancing down at the pouch with a flash of solemn, fierce gratitude in his eyes.
Leaving the twins to quietly pocket the investment, Harry walked over to the front counter. The shopkeeper blinked down at him, his tired eyes widening as he recognized the boy's sharp features.
"Morning, Mr. Potter," the shopkeeper mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "You're up before the sun."
"Good morning," Harry replied politely. He leaned over the counter, pretending to look at a display of owl vitamins, and dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Sir, a quick word."
The shopkeeper tilted his head, leaning in closer. "Aye?"
"My friend over there," Harry whispered, pointing subtly toward Ron, "is looking for an owl. When he comes up to buy it, charge him exactly three Sickles."
The shopkeeper stared at Harry as if he had lost his mind. "Three Sickles? Son, even a prime Tawny owl goes for ten Galleons! I can't just give away stock!"
Harry discreetly slid a heavy silk pouch containing fifteen Galleons across the wooden counter, pressing his palm flat over it.
"You are not giving it away," Harry said smoothly. "I'll pay you fifteen Galleons right now. When he asks the price, tell him you give a massive discount to your very first customer of the day. Tell him it is a personal tradition to bring good luck for the rest of the day's business. If there is any money left over from the fifteen Galleons after the owl's cost, throw in a heavy travel cage, a care package, and a large bag of premium treats."
The shopkeeper looked down at the pouch of gold under Harry's hand, then up at Harry's calm, unyielding green eyes. A faint, knowing smile slowly spread across the old man's face.
"A luck of the morning tradition, eh?" the shopkeeper muttered, sliding the gold into his apron pocket. "Aye. I can do that. A good merchant always respects a proper morning tradition."
"Thank you," Harry said softly. "I am heading over to Twilfitt and Tatting's to pick up my gift. I will meet you lot outside." He added loudly for the other three to hear.
With a final nod to the twins, Harry slipped quietly out the front door, leaving the three Weasleys in the rustling, feathery dimness of the shop.
A moment later, Ron picked up the small wooden perch carrying the dark chocolate-brown Tawny owl. The bird hooted softly, nuzzling its sleek head against Ron's knuckles. Ron smiled, though his expression fell slightly as he looked toward the counter. He reached into his pocket, counting the tiny handful of copper Knuts and silver Sickles he had managed to scrape together from his saving tin. It wasn't much, but he had to ask.
Ron walked up to the desk, setting the perch down carefully. "Excuse me, sir? How much for this Tawny owl?"
The shopkeeper put down his feather duster, leaning his elbows on the counter. He looked at the bird, then looked at Ron's hopeful, anxious face.
"That fine bird?" the shopkeeper said loudly, his voice echoing in the quiet shop. "That'll be three Sickles, lad."
Ron froze. He blinked once. Twice. "I... I'm sorry, did you say three Sickles? Not three Galleons?"
"Three Sickles," the shopkeeper repeated firmly, nodding his head.
"Is... is there something wrong with him?" Ron asked, his eyes darting to the owl in sudden concern. "Is he sick?"
"He's as healthy as a hippogriff!" the shopkeeper scoffed playfully. "Look here, lad. I have a strict rule. The very first customer who steps through my door every morning gets the First Light Discount. It brings good fortune to the till for the rest of the day. You're my first customer today, so you get the opening rate. Three Sickles."
Ron stood there in complete, stunned disbelief. He looked back at the owl, then down at his hand, where three silver coins were sitting.
"Fred! George! Come here!" Ron yelled, his voice cracking with excitement.
The twins trotted over, looking thoroughly intrigued. "What's the noise about, little Ronniekins?" Fred asked.
"Look!" Ron beamed, pointing at the bird. "Three Sickles! The shopkeeper gives a massive discount to his first customer of the day for good luck!"
Fred and George exchanged a quick, subtle glance, catching the faint ghost of Harry's clever maneuvering behind the store owner's words.
"Three Sickles?" George said, putting on a look of dramatic astonishment. He looked up at the shopkeeper. "Well, blimey! If we buy another bird right now, do we get the discount too?"
"Nice try, son," the shopkeeper chuckled, shaking his head. "First customer only. One bird per discount."
Ron gleefully slapped his three silver Sickles onto the wooden counter. "I'll take him! I'll definitely take him!"
"Right then," the shopkeeper said. He reached under the counter, pulling out a large, heavy leather bag of owl treats, a fine brass-trimmed travel cage, and a small care kit for feathers, setting them all down beside the bird. "And since it's the First Light special, the whole starter kit comes with it. Free of charge."
Ron looked like he had just been handed the keys to the Ministry of Magic. He picked up the cage and the bag of treats, his face practically glowing with joy. "Hermione is going to love this! I can't believe it!"
Fred smirked, reaching into his robes and pulling out his own coin pouch. He pointed toward a sleek, magnificent dark Ural owl resting on a high perch near the back window. The bird had sharp, intelligent amber eyes and broad, striking dark wings.
"We will take that Ural owl over there," Fred said, setting a heavy stack of Galleons onto the desk.
"Ah, a magnificent specimen," the shopkeeper approved, tallying the coins. "That'll be fifteen Galleons."
George paid the sum without batting an eye, taking the wooden cage as the Ural owl stepped smoothly onto the inner perch.
"Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen," the shopkeeper grinned, waving them out. "Have a fine morning!"
After about twenty minutes, Harry met the three Weasley brothers standing right outside the spires of Ollivanders Wand Shop. Ron was holding a sleek, pale wooden wand in his right hand, staring at it in absolute fascination as light sparks danced faintly around his fingertips.
Harry walked up to them smoothly, the crisp green box from Twilfitt and Tatting's tucked under his arm.
"Did you guys manage to get your gifts?" Harry asked, looking between them with an easy smile.
"Yeah, we got ours sorted," Fred answered, "And we also got ourselves an owl." gesturing towards the Ural Owl that George was holding.
"And not just that, Harry!" Ron interjected eagerly, stepping forward to show off his new bird before holding up the pale wand. "Listen, I had the most incredible luck today at Eeylops! The shopkeeper had this tradition where the very first customer of the day gets a huge discount for good fortune. I got this brilliant Tawny owl, the cage, and a whole care kit for just three Sickles!"
Harry raised his eyebrows, putting on a look of utter, genuine surprise. "Three Sickles for a Tawny owl? That is unbelievable, Ron. Talk about perfect timing."
"I know!" Ron beamed, his face practically glowing. He then proudly extended his right hand, displaying the polished wooden shaft resting in his palm. "And look at this! Fred and George insisted on taking me into Ollivanders right after. I got a brand-new wand, Harry! Willow and unicorn hair, fourteen inches long. The second I held it, sparks flew out the end! It feels ten times better than Charlie's old one!"
Harry inspected the wand, nodding in genuine approval as he caught the subtle, grateful glance Fred and George sent his way over Ron's shoulder.
"It suits you, Ron," Harry said warmly. "A proper wand makes all the difference in the world."
The four of them stepped into the shadowed doorway of an unused shopfront, taking extra care to stay out of view of the few early-morning shoppers.
"Back to the circle," Harry instructed softly, holding out his hands.
Ron, Fred, and George joined hands without hesitation, having complete trust in Harry's spatial magic this time. Harry gripped Fred's and George's wrists, closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, and folded the space around them.
The bright cobbles of Diagon Alley vanished. Once again, there was no nauseating yank, no crack, and no pressure. In a quiet breath, the four boys were standing right back in the subterranean passage, just outside the Hogwarts boundary runes.
Ron checked his pocket watch under the faint glow of Harry's wand. "It is barely six o'clock," he breathed, letting out a relieved sigh. "We made it back before anyone in the dorm even realizes we are gone."
As they reached the exit behind the one-eyed witch statue and stepped into the quiet corridors of the castle, Ron turned to the group, clutching his new wand box tightly in one hand and the owl cage in the other.
"I am going to take this owl up to the Owlery so it can rest before breakfast, and then drop off my stuff," Ron said, his face still split into a huge, broad grin. "See you guys at the Great Hall!"
"See you, Ron," Harry said, watching him hurry down the passage with a lighter step than he had shown in months.
Once Ron's footsteps faded into the distance, Fred and George immediately stepped into Harry's path, blocking the corridor. Their usual lighthearted banter was completely gone, replaced by a quiet, earnest weight.
Fred reached out, catching Harry by the shoulder. "Harry... about the wand. And the extra gold."
"We know what you did at Eeylops, mate," George added, his voice unusually soft. "And forcing our hands on Ron's wand... you didn't have to do that."
"I did," Harry said calmly, meeting their eyes with an unyielding look. "He needed a wand that actually responds to him, and he would have never accepted it if he knew I paid for it. You two gave him the cover he needed."
Fred swallowed, shaking his head slightly with a faint, fierce smile. "Still. A thousand Galleons for our business, plus taking care of our brother... We won't forget this, Harry."
"Then don't waste time getting emotional about it," Harry cut in smoothly, a sharp, challenging smirk touching his lips. "Consider it my first official directive as your primary investor. Go wild with it. I want a fully functioning, operational inventory and a proper supply line built before Christmas."
He tapped the green Twilfitt and Tatting's box under his arm and stepped past them down the corridor.
"I put my gold into your heads for a reason," Harry called back over his shoulder. "Now make sure I get a return on my investment."
Fred and George stared after him as he walked away, identical, wicked grins slowly spreading across their faces.
"Before Christmas, he says," Fred murmured, cracking his knuckles.
"Looks like we have an empire to build, brother," George smirked.