Dolores Umbridge was becoming increasingly overbearing at Hogwarts. Apart from Regulus Black, who held a position alongside her, her list of
Dolores Umbridge was becoming increasingly overbearing at Hogwarts. Apart from Regulus Black, who held a position alongside her, her list of official duties was growing longer by the day. She was meddling in more and more affairs, involving herself in increasingly minute details. Naturally, this made her more and more disliked throughout the school.
The dashing Harry Potter had started organizing activities with his friends.
Inside Assistant Professor Black's office was a secret passage leading to a room outside the castle. Everyone involved knew about this hidden route, but no one had guessed that the location was actually the Shrieking Shack. Harry had never led anyone out through the tunnel.
The only one in the know was Ron Weasley, and he took great pride in keeping the secret from his two mischievous older brothers. After years of being the butt of their jokes, he finally felt like he had the upper hand.
The Shrieking Shack was far enough from the Hogwarts castle, and its constant shaking and eerie noises helped cover any magical disturbances they caused inside. No matter how much spellcasting they did, no one paid attention. In fact, the terrifying rumors surrounding the Shack began to spread again—monsters had supposedly resumed their rampage inside.
"First, let's go over the 'Stupefy' spell. When the effect is weak, it only knocks the target back. It only causes unconsciousness when the effect is strong enough."
The dashing Harry Potter demonstrated the motion of the wrist and pointed out a few key details to watch for.
"Our objective is to stun the target without sending them flying. Who wants to volunteer for a demonstration?"
As the instructor, Harry certainly wasn't going to be the one to demonstrate.
"I'll do it! I've never been stunned by a spell before!"
George Weasley shoved his twin aside and stepped in front of Harry.
"Everyone watch closely—Stupefy!"
With a flick of his wand, Harry sent out a jet of magic that hit George directly. It didn't blast him backward but knocked him unconscious on the spot.
"Whooo... whooo... whooo..."
George began snoring steadily, standing completely still.
Fred poked his brother's face with his wand, but George showed no reaction. He was deeply unconscious.
"How long will it take George to wake up?"
Fred Weasley wasn't worried about his brother. In fact, the only surprising part was that he hadn't taken the opportunity to prank him while he was out cold.
After all, if Fred were the one passed out, George would certainly not let him off so easily.
"That depends—on how much magical power was used and the individual's physical condition. But while we're at it, let's learn another spell. Watch this! Aguamenti!"
The dashing Harry Potter conjured a stream of water from thin air and completely drenched the unconscious George.
"What happened? Fred, this must've been your doing!"
George woke up soaking wet and immediately assumed his brother was responsible.
"It wasn't me! Harry did it—it's part of the second spell. I'm dying! I'm dying! I'm dead!"
Fred rolled his eyes dramatically and stuck out his tongue as George grabbed him by the collar.
"I'll let you off!"
George let go, even though he knew Fred was just pretending.
"Alright, Harry, I'm next! I can't let George have all the fun while I miss out!"
Fred Weasley stepped in front of Harry.
"Alright! George, watch closely—this is exactly what I did. Stupefy!"
Knowing this was meant to show George how it felt, Harry matched the strength of the spell to the earlier one. Sure enough, Fred dropped into a standing slumber on the spot.
George then poked his brother's face with a wand. It was the kind of mischief only twins would find entertaining.
"Next spell—Aguamenti!"
A fresh burst of water appeared from nowhere and splashed Fred awake.
"Fred, I believe you now—it really wasn't you."
George hugged Fred solemnly.
"Of course it wasn't me. I've been saying that all along."
Fred wiped the water from his face and responded just as seriously.
"The only person who would pull something like this is Harry Potter."
The two brothers spoke in unison.
The onlookers burst into laughter. The dashing Harry Potter wore a helpless expression—these two brothers were simply too good at stirring up trouble.
The first event held at the Shrieking Shack was focused on practicing "Stupefy" and "Aguamenti."
It wasn't until curfew that everyone returned to Hogwarts through the Vanishing Cabinet.
From that day on, Dumbledore's Army held activities every day. Dolores Umbridge caught wind of something unusual and sensed that something was amiss, but she was never able to catch them in the act.
Regulus Black was also incredibly busy every day. Between his work as a teaching assistant, his duties as a department head at the Ministry of Magic, managing inspections of his various properties, comforting his many women, writing screenplays, preparing new films, and attending fan meetings, he had little time to spare.
Everyone assumed that Regulus Black, while attending classes by day and never sleeping at night, was likely flying across half the globe to attend promotional events in Europe and America—just as long as Lucy Piddle handed him the itinerary.
The film Crimson Manor had a small budget but yielded high returns. Its filming location was turned into a tourist attraction, and the crimson gemstones featured in the plot were also being sold. Quirinus Quirrell, who managed Crimson Manor, dressed like an adventurer just back from India. Tirelessly, he shared tales of his travels in India with visitors and promoted the crimson gemstones.
For tourists, it was an exciting and unique experience: staying overnight in the guest rooms of Crimson Manor, admiring exquisite jewelry, savoring gourmet steak dinners, and listening to the manager recount his wild adventures around the world. Sure, many of the stories were clearly made up—but weren't they still entertaining? And definitely worth the price of admission.
Before leaving, many guests would buy a ring adorned with a crimson gemstone or a pair of earrings for their lover or girlfriend—making the trip feel truly complete.
Though the prices weren't cheap, Crimson Manor only accepted reservations. They didn't entertain an unlimited number of guests, nor did they offer any sort of VIP treatment. Every visitor was treated equally. Elegance, nobility, and taste—that was the brand's identity.
There was also no pressure to buy the crimson gemstones. Those interested could purchase them from a dedicated boutique in London—the only one in the world. The owner behind it had no intention of opening a second location.
Inside the store, promotional photos featuring various celebrity endorsers lined the walls, rotated out regularly.
Jennifer Connelly wore nothing but a necklace across her upper body, and a bracelet on the arm draped across her chest.
Charlize Theron sat on a bed with her knees hugged to her chest, wearing only an anklet.
Naomi Watts sat by the water, her back to the camera, a belt around her waist shimmering with a series of crimson glows.
These artistic photos were personally taken by Regulus Black. The women in the photos wore nothing but crimson gemstone jewelry. Though technically nude, nothing was actually visible.
In this era, such artistic photography stood out as bold and avant-garde. Was it sensual? Yes. Was it explicit? No.
Regulus Black walked the fine line of legality—at times dancing dangerously close to the edge of criminality.
But only those directly involved knew what was really going on. As these actresses helped elevate the crimson gemstone brand, their own value rose too. The term "endorsement fee," often used to showcase one's market worth, became a new point of pride.
A ten-million endorsement fee, plus the right to freely use any of the jewelry.
The exact duration of this deal was never disclosed. If it turned out to be a lifetime arrangement, then that ten million was a bargain.
Having free access to the jewelry meant that the crimson gemstone brand essentially became their personal jeweler. Although they didn't own the pieces, they could borrow and wear them at any time—something most women could only dream of.
Imagine being handed the keys to a jewelry boutique. You could wear whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted—as long as you remembered to return it. No need to spend money, no need to worry about maintenance. Could anything be more convenient or more enviable?
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