Chapter 135 – Harry's Excitement
"These were taken straight from Professor Dumbledore's office—and you're all looking at them like that?"
"What? In that case, I have to try one," Cedric's expression changed instantly.
Without hesitation, he grabbed a Cockroach Cluster and tossed it into his mouth. Cho could even see the little legs twitching as they stuck out between his lips.
Crunch.
The candy burst in his mouth, white syrup oozing from the corner of his lips.
Cedric's eyes lit up. "Professor Dumbledore truly has refined taste."
He reached for another.
"Are you sure you got these from Professor Dumbledore?" Cho asked skeptically. "He's already quite elderly. Eating this much sugar—what if he gets diabetes?"
"Exactly! And cavities too," Hermione added, chin raised stubbornly.
Partly because her father was a dentist—she had grown up wary of sugar.
But also because she simply refused to believe that Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world, was secretly just an old man with a sweet tooth.
"Honestly, you two," Fred sighed. "This is the wizarding world. We have potions that can regrow teeth. And as for diabetes—I've never even heard of such a thing."
Just then, a milky-white figure drifted through the wall.
"Good evening, children. How delightful to receive such an invitation."
The first ghost to arrive was the Fat Friar of Hufflepuff.
The moment Wednesday saw him, her eyes gleamed with unmistakable excitement.
Next, Nearly Headless Nick and the Grey Lady drifted into the kitchen one after another.
"Well? Surprised?" Russell grinned. "It's a pity the Bloody Baron declined my invitation."
"No, this is already wonderful. Thank you," Wednesday replied softly, genuine happiness flickering in her voice.
"We cannot partake in mortal food, young wizard," the Grey Lady said, glancing at the table laden with dishes and shaking her head.
"I know," Russell said confidently. He had come prepared.
He glanced at Wednesday, signaling her.
Ever since discovering that Hogwarts had ghosts, Wednesday had been carrying around a selection of… suitable "refreshments."
First came three bottles filled with golden liquid. If one leaned close and inhaled, there was a sharp, sweet fragrance—rotting roses mixed with camphor.
"It's called Nectar of the Weeping Vine," Wednesday explained. "Its scent makes one recall their saddest memories."
Next, she produced three more bottles—this time filled with a deep sapphire liquid.
"Midnight Lily of the Dead—distilled from graveyard lilies that bloom at midnight, soaked in the tears of the murdered."
Then another set:
"Biting Rose Tincture—cultivated from dark-magic roses grown in graveyards. Their petals turn bone-white after absorbing nutrients."
To avoid overwhelming the living guests, Russell had carefully selected items with minimal or nearly nonexistent odor.
"Oh my, I've never experienced scents like these," the ghosts exclaimed in delight.
The Fat Friar had the heartiest appetite and enjoyed all three. Nearly Headless Nick disliked the Weeping Vine nectar—it reminded him too much of being rejected by the Headless Hunt. Even the Grey Lady lingered over the sorrowful fragrance of the nectar.
Wednesday seated herself among them, eagerly asking what it felt like to become a ghost.
---
"How's business lately?" Russell asked, turning to Fred and George. He himself was mostly a hands-off investor; sales were entirely the twins' domain.
"We've hit a plateau," Fred admitted with a sigh. "No new products yet. The Anti-Stink Masks barely sell anymore."
"Perfect timing. I've got something new for you to test. We can decide on pricing afterward."
He produced the simplified Transformation Potion.
The twins' eyes lit up the moment they learned what it did. They immediately began asking about costs.
"I miscalculated at first," Russell said wryly. "A one-hour version costs twenty Galleons in materials alone. If we price it at fifty Galleons, not many will buy it."
After all, it was derived from a simplified version of the Transformation Draught, itself built upon Polyjuice Potion—with additional ingredients layered in. Even using lower-grade materials to cut costs, it remained expensive for ordinary students.
"So I thought—we dilute it. A three-minute version for two Galleons."
"Or further diluted—one minute for ten Sickles."
The shorter the duration, the cheaper the materials. Of course, the transformation quality would decline accordingly.
"Why not sell all tiers?" Cho suggested. "But limit the one-hour version—sell it exclusively to wealthy Slytherins willing to splurge. The rest can be unlimited."
"I agree," Cedric said immediately.
"Done," Russell nodded. "These are samples—five-second transformations. You can demonstrate them to customers or let them try."
He laid out several tiny vials.
Fred raised his mug. "To making a fortune this Halloween!"
They clinked Butterbeer.
Good times passed quickly. By midnight, Russell escorted Wednesday back to her dormitory before quietly heading toward the chamber housing Fluffy.
After casting Disillusionment, Concealment, and Shield Charms, he approached the sleeping three-headed dog and snipped a small tuft of fur as proof—then slipped away without a sound.
Fluffy never stirred.
---
Since learning he had a godfather, Harry had never felt happier.
"Harry, wait. I'm taking you to Professor Dumbledore. Someone wants to see you."
After Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall stopped him, her expression complicated.
When she'd first heard Sirius was the traitor, she'd been devastated. Sirius and James had been inseparable—how could he betray him? Now that she knew he was innocent, she felt an unexpected relief. He had been her student, after all—a mischievous Gryffindor, but a Gryffindor nonetheless.
Still… James's death had resulted from Sirius's decision.
She shook her head. There were no "ifs" in reality.
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied, heart pounding. He could already guess why.
"May I come too?" Ron asked.
"No, Ron. This is Harry's private matter."
"Professor," Russell interjected smoothly, appearing at her side, "it's better if Ron comes. Scabbers was his pet."
McGonagall hesitated. "…Very well."
"Thanks, Russell," Ron muttered. "But please—don't mention Scabbers again. I feel sick whenever I hear that name."
"Of course. Though I don't know why you're so sensitive about Scabbers. Speaking of Scabbers, I mean Peter Pettigrew . I wonder how he's doing in Azkaban—"
Ron turned pale before Russell finally stopped.
With Harry and Russell walking beside him, Ron enjoyed the rare experience of being the center of attention as they crossed the castle.
---
"Professor Dumbledore, I've brought Harry," McGonagall said, then departed.
"You're all here," Dumbledore smiled. "Have a seat. He'll be here shortly."
Moments later, sparks ignited midair—expanding into flame.
Russell recognized Fawkes' phoenix travel immediately.
Ron and Harry stared in amazement.
But this time, the flames lingered strangely long—flickering, unstable.
Dumbledore frowned and stepped forward, grasping the fire.
Pop!
Fawkes stumbled into view midair, clearly weakened—feathers sparse, wings barely strong enough to beat.
As the phoenix faltered, Russell darted forward and caught him.
"Professor Dumbledore," Russell declared solemnly, "this is animal cruelty. Look at him—you're still making him work."
Fawkes gave a supportive chirp and glared at Dumbledore.
"Why not let me take care of him instead?"
At that, Fawkes promptly pecked Russell's hand in protest.
"I would agree," Dumbledore chuckled, "but Fawkes appears unwilling."
"Fine, fine."
Russell set the phoenix down—then, before anyone could react, deftly plucked one of Fawkes' tail feathers.
"Hey! I just caught you. Fair trade," he said righteously. "You're about to molt anyway. You don't need that many feathers."
Fawkes huffed indignantly and turned away, refusing to look at him.
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