As the students reached for the candy, Dumbledore added with a twinkle in his eye, "Don't worry—these are leftovers from last year. They've all been... properly enjoyed."
Madam Pomfrey peered ahead, her eyebrows arched high, her gaze piercing.
Dumbledore caught the hint and cleared his throat. "The same applies this year. Any remnants will be handled with care."
Professor McGonagall shook her head in quiet exasperation. "Albus, you really must temper your optimism."
Dumbledore shot her a gentle wave, as if to brush it off.
Snape crossed his arms, his dark eyes gleaming with sardonic amusement, as though daring her to sample the "bitter remedy."
...
The students streamed out of the Great Hall amid the chatter of the feast's end. Colin Creevey bucked the crowd, hurrying toward the staff table with his Polaroid camera clutched tight. Excitement mingled with shyness in his voice. "Professors... Headmaster... could I get a photo?"
"This potion does have its charms," Dumbledore mused, glancing toward the entrance. Fred and George pulled exaggerated faces before breaking into wide grins.
He nodded knowingly and crouched to Colin's level. "How shall we do this? A group shot, perhaps?"
"The camera's a Muggle marvel," Dumbledore continued. "Let me have a go—my arms are a tad longer than yours."
Colin quivered with surprise at the headmaster's warmth, stammering through the instructions. "Dumbledore... this is the shutter... the lens... then just... press down..."
...
Vizette and Luna joined the exodus from the Great Hall, only to bump into the Weasley twins mid-grimace. "Not heading back?" Vizette asked.
Fred flashed a roguish smile. "Not yet. This 'trend-riding' lark is pure gold!"
George eyed Colin snapping away. "Publicity via Dumbledore? I can practically hear the Galleons clinking!"
Luna tilted her head. "Trend-riding for sales?"
"Spot on," Fred said. "Picked it up from a Muggle book. We're giving it a whirl!"
"Mr. Weasley's fondness for Muggles is inspiring," Vizette noted warmly. "Even their literature."
"Dad's hooked on Muggle gadgets," George clarified. "But that book? A dark artifact he seized."
Vizette's brow furrowed. "Cursed?"
"No hexes," Fred assured her, waving it off. "Just laced with belladonna potion dust by some rogue."
"Belladonna?" Vizette echoed. "Hallucinogenic... for tricks?"
"Exactly," George confirmed. "Wizards spike popular Muggle reads with it. Buyers get visions—daydreams that twist reality."
Fred leaned in. "One poor sod with that marketing tome hallucinated a meeting with the Prime Minister. Wizards would perch outside, snickering at the chaos."
Vizette grimaced. "That's vile."
"Couldn't agree more," George said. "Real pranksters target our own kind. Tormenting Muggles is just lazy cruelty."
Fred nodded. "Enter Dad—he hauls them to Azkaban. A few days with Dementors, and they're meek for months."
"Unless it's Mundungus Fletcher," George quipped. "That one's a lost cause."
"Repeat offender," Fred laughed. "Dad's nicked him so often, he probably fancies the Dementors as old mates—pops in for tea."
...
A faint, chilling whisper slithered through the air, barely audible. "Hungry... so much... blood... flesh... hungry..."
Vizette's head snapped up, eyes narrowing into the dim corridor. The voice was a ghost of malice, achingly familiar.
Luna caught his tension. "Vizette? What's the matter?"
"I heard something odd." Vizette fished the Marauder's Map from her pocket, wand at the ready. He tapped it firmly. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
Tracing the whisper's source, she scanned the parchment. Nothing—no names, just empty ink. The path to the dorms swarmed with dots, a chaotic blur of students.
He folded the map. "Mischief managed!" Pocketing it, he pressed his wand to his temple, sifting through memories. The voice echoed again: cold, ravenous. "No mistake... I heard it clear as day."
"What was it?" Fred and George pressed, alert to her unease.
Luna's concern deepened. "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Vizette said, dismissing it with a wave. "Just a weird noise. I'll check with the professors."
Colin bounded over then, camera triumphant. "Got it! Headmaster Dumbledore took the shot himself..."
Vizette dodged past, sprinting back to the staff table. The professors paused, Flitwick spotting her grim face first. "Vizette? Everything alright? Feeling off?"
"No need for expertise—I'll sort it!" Lockhart drew his wand, aiming to pluck a nearby bloom, only to fumble it to the floor.
Snape's lip curled in a smirk, the natural sneer sharpening.
Vizette exhaled in relief, murmuring "Episkey!" to mend a minor ache from earlier. He steadied his voice. "Professor Flitwick, I caught a strange sound—from that direction."
Dumbledore arched an eyebrow, glancing at Snape.
Snape's eyes narrowed, the fleeting smirk from the Pepperup Potion incident vanishing behind a mask of suspicion.
Footsteps echoed from the hall's entrance—Penelope Clearwater, Percy, and the other prefects rushing back, faces taut with urgency.
…
100 Powerstones = 1 Bonus Chapter Tomorrow!
Help us reach the goal!
Too slow? We upload 10 Chapters/Day on P@treon!
The book is likely Already Finished there. Don't wait for daily updates—read the complete story + R-18 scenes right now!
[email protected]/Ren Saga
—