Sure enough, the little prince is all tough talk but soft at heart. Sullivan's lips curved into a smirk as he pulled a small round orb from his Undetectable Extension Bag. "Don't bother casting anything, or this little gadget will make you regret it."
The next instant, Sullivan activated the orb. A spherical wave of magical disruption rippled out from it, spreading about twenty meters in every direction.
Every professor and student in range felt their magic stutter for a split second before settling again.
The device was called a Magical Disruptor. For a normal witch or wizard, it was just a brief, unpleasant jolt—nothing more, no lasting harm.
But if you happened to be in the middle of casting a spell when it went off? That was a different story. The chaotic surge would snap your magical circuits like a twig.
Best case: your spell fizzled, and you felt queasy for an hour or two. Worst case: you coughed up blood and spent a week in the hospital wing.
And if you were foolish enough to be Apparating at that exact moment… well, congratulations, you'd get to experience what it felt like to splinch yourself permanently.
Right now, no one around seemed to be casting—except Professor Quirrell. The sudden disruption hit him like a Bludger to the chest. He nearly spat out a mouthful of blood but swallowed it back down to avoid drawing attention.
If Quirrell had ever watched old Muggle adventure films, he'd know that spitting it out usually means you're fine. Swallowing it? That's how you end up with serious internal injuries.
Up in the air, Harry's broom finally steadied. He spotted the Golden Snitch at once, kicked his broom into gear, and shot after it.
After a furious chase, Harry dove toward the ground at breakneck speed, pulling up at the last second to skim just above the pitch before leveling out in the center.
He hopped off his broom, clapped a hand over his mouth like he was about to be sick, coughed a few times—and then a small golden ball dropped into his palm.
"I caught the Snitch!" Harry yelled, holding it high over his head. The match ended in a roar of chaos.
Sullivan pocketed the Magical Disruptor and teased Snape with a grin. "Ouch, looks like Slytherin lost!"
Snape quickly wiped the faint smile off his face and replied in his usual cold, haughty tone. "It's just some brat who probably chugged Felix Felicis. I'll file a complaint and demand a potion test."
Sullivan rolled his eyes. "Would it kill you to say something nice about Potter for once?"
"Yes," Snape answered without hesitation, then flicked his cloak dramatically and stalked off.
"Professor Snape is still so… unique," Tonks said timidly, shrinking back a little.
"Just stubborn as a hippogriff. Come on, we should head out. We've still got to meet Herd in Hogsmeade to close the deal." Sullivan grabbed Tonks's hand and started walking.
Then he spotted something odd—a figure hiding under the stands. A familiar one. "Hermione? What are you doing down there?"
Hermione had come to stop Snape from cursing Harry. From the opposite stands, she'd seen Snape muttering toward Harry and assumed the worst.
She'd rushed over here, ready to set his robes on fire. But before she could act, Sullivan had already handled everything. Now she just felt a bit silly.
She'd planned to wait until everyone left and slip away unnoticed, but of course Sullivan spotted her.
No choice—she crawled out from under the seats and stammered, "Professor, if I said I came here specifically to find you… would you believe me?"
"Sure," Sullivan said, amused. "So what did you need?"
Hermione's brain kicked into gear. She asked the question she'd been sent to ask. "Professor Sullivan , Farley's older sister asked me to find out—is Miss Tonks really not your girlfriend?"
Before Sullivan could answer, Tonks jumped in. "Sorry, Hermione Granger, but I owe you an apology. Last time I lied. I am Sullivan 's girlfriend!"
As she spoke, Tonks looked straight at Sullivan. Their eyes met, and Sullivan could feel the certainty in hers. Their fingers laced together tighter.
"Got it. Professor Sullivan , and big sister Tonks—congrats!" Hermione decided this gossip was deliciously juicy. She flashed a bright smile, then bounced off happily.
She couldn't wait to tell every little witch she knew. Sharing the best gossip always doubled the fun.
In a private room at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade, Herd had already been waiting over an hour. Sullivan had promised noon sharp—where was he?
Herd paced back and forth, quietly lowering his price expectation yet again.
Finally, the door creaked open. Sullivan strolled in. "Sorry, Herd, something came up at the school. Running late—my bad."
He said the words, but his expression showed zero remorse. He just plopped down in a chair, still holding Tonks's hand.
Herd forced a smile. "No worries, Professor Sullivan . School business comes first, of course. I've been enjoying a quiet drink here on my own."
Sullivan got straight to the point. "My Auror friend already checked out the property. She thinks the issues can probably be fixed, but it'll cost a pretty penny, so…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Herd got the hint—this was a haggle. He put on a pained expression. "Professor, 200 Galleons is already a steal. Even the most remote houses in Hogsmeade go for more."
Sullivan shrugged. "Honestly, I mostly need space for a workshop. Whether it's zoned commercial doesn't matter that much. Worst case, I buy a regular house—lower risk."
"No, no, no, Professor. Whatever you're planning to produce, you'll need to sell it. Having a proper shopfront is all upside. Tell you what—I'll knock off another 10 Galleons."
Sullivan shook his head. "Still too risky. If those problems can't be fixed, I'm stuck with a worthless building."
"How much, then?" Herd looked like he was about to cry.
"150 Galleons," Sullivan offered.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" Herd nearly lost it. He'd bought the place years ago at 150 Galleons per square meter. After thirty years, he wasn't going to break even?
After some fierce back-and-forth, they settled at 185 Galleons per square meter. Sullivan paid roughly 20,000 Galleons total and finally walked away with the deed in hand.
"So, heading over today to deal with the issues?" Tonks asked as they left the Hog's Head.
Sullivan shook his head. "No need. Your magic hasn't fully recovered yet. Stay out of this one. Tomorrow our new factory manager arrives—perfect chance to test his skills."
Sunday rolled around. Sullivan left Tonks at the school and came alone to Hogsmeade. He'd arranged to meet Remus Lupin at the newly purchased shop.
When Sullivan arrived, Lupin was already waiting outside. Compared to his Hogwarts days, Lupin looked worn down—life had not been kind.
He carried an old, battered suitcase and wore a threadbare suit that had clearly been washed one too many times. His hair was neatly combed but still looked unkempt.
He was thinner, with dark circles under his eyes and faint scars on his face from old transformations. When he spotted Sullivan approaching, he shifted awkwardly.
Thinking about it, James Potter's little Marauders crew really had fallen on hard times—one worse than the next.
Lupin, obviously, was a werewolf. Discrimination came with the territory in wizarding society.
Sirius was locked in Azkaban, enduring loneliness and Dementors day after day.
Peter Pettigrew had turned himself into a rat and hidden with the Weasleys for over a decade. Any longer and the bloke might forget he was ever human.
And James… James had died at Voldemort's hand. Like that old Muggle saying went: the wheel of fortune turns, and no one stays on top forever.
"Remus, it really has been ages. Let me think—thirteen years at least? Good to see you." Sullivan spoke first, breaking the awkward silence.
Lupin relaxed a little at the friendly tone. Back in school, the two of them hadn't exactly been close.
"Yeah, we haven't crossed paths since graduation. Though I did use your Detection Ward when I was with the Order of the Phoenix. Brilliant product," Lupin said sincerely.
"Did Sirius think so too?" Sullivan teased with a wink.
Lupin paused, then gave a bitter smile. "He'd never admit it, but he studied the thing for ages. Then… he betrayed us."
"Betrayed?" Sullivan asked as he unlocked the door. "What happened?"
They stepped inside the shop. Lupin explained, "We used the Fidelius Charm to protect Lily and Harry. Sirius was the Secret-Keeper."
"But he… sold out James. Told You-Know-Who where they were hiding. And he killed Peter…"
"You're joking. The Sirius I knew would never do that." Sullivan meant it—both from his memories of the original story and from his own complicated history with Sirius.
"I didn't want to believe it either, but it's what happened. Even Dumbledore accepts it," Lupin said, looking defeated.
Sullivan shook his head. "Dumbledore isn't infallible. Just because he believes it doesn't make it true. Were you there when it happened?"
Lupin shook his head. "No, but when I left, James had definitely chosen Sirius as Secret-Keeper."
"So isn't it possible they switched after you left? Maybe to Pettigrew? Did you ever see Peter's body?"
Lupin thought back. "No, but…"
Sullivan cut him off. "Is it possible that arrogant James Potter decided to switch to that shifty little rat, and Peter happened to want to join Voldemort, so he offered up the location as a gift?"
"But…"
"I'm just asking if it's possible."
Lupin was quiet for a long time before nodding slowly. "Yes… it's possible. But where's Peter? They found one of his fingers at the scene. If he's alive, where could he have gone?"
Sullivan snorted. "One finger proves nothing. That little rat was an Animagus too, remember? A sneaky, smelly, cowardly rat."
"I warned you lot back in school not to trust him. Told you he'd ruin you one day. And you all accused me of bullying him…"
"Anyway, forget it. Right now, if he turned into a rat and hid, who'd ever find him?"
"But he can't stay a rat forever…" Lupin still hesitated.
"Why not? Look, I'm just throwing out possibilities. Whether it's true or not doesn't really affect me. A little suffering might do Sirius some good—who knows, teach him some humility after all that arrogance." Sullivan waved it off casually.
But his words had planted a seed. The more Lupin thought about it, the more sense it made. Sirius would never betray his friends—that just wasn't him.
And Peter… well, Peter had always been weak, timid. Lupin had never thought he'd turn traitor, but compared to Sirius? Lupin trusted Sirius far more.
If Sullivan was right, Sirius had been framed. Suddenly Lupin felt a wave of guilt and a burning need to uncover the truth.
Sullivan saw it immediately. "Don't get any ideas. There's only one way to prove what really happened: find Peter Pettigrew."
"You think you can do that alone? No offense, Remus, but you haven't exactly been thriving these past few years. Trust me—work for me, and I can give you what you want."
There it was—the real pitch. Everything Sullivan had said wasn't out of a burning desire to clear Sirius's name or some deep well of sympathy.
He knew Dumbledore had recommended Lupin for this factory manager job not just to help an old friend, but to keep an eye on him too.
Sullivan couldn't call Dumbledore out on it—he had no real power base or connections in Britain yet. A product like the magical phone was obviously lucrative; anyone could see that.
He couldn't protect those profits alone. Having Lupin as manager gave him Dumbledore's tacit endorsement—anyone looking to cause trouble would at least think twice out of respect for the old man.
But Sullivan wasn't about to let Dumbledore hold all the cards. Right now, Lupin's biggest vulnerability was his loyalty to his old friends—James, Sirius, that whole history.
So Sullivan offered hope: the hope of rescuing Sirius, of uncovering the truth. That way, whether through emotion or self-interest, the scales in Lupin's heart would slowly start tipping toward him.
It wouldn't flip overnight, of course. But once the balance started shifting, it would never be completely one-sided again.