Richie climbed the spiral staircase, timing his steps so the moving stairs wouldn't throw him off.
He hadn't expected to deal with schoolyard bullying on his first night back, though from the way things ended it looked more like he was the one doing the bullying. Parkinson had been so cocky, sneering right in his face from point-blank range—until Richie moved and the guy folded like wet paper, literally. Classic villain mistake: talking too much before the fight even started.
Still, bullying was bullying. Richie didn't know whether Draco was in on what Crabbe and Goyle had tried, but he was keeping score on all three of them. He'd told them to go to the professors just to rattle them; he wasn't actually hurt. And he doubted they'd be stupid enough to report it themselves.
As for Parkinson… Richie would keep an eye on that one. Even a cornered dog can still bite.
He reached the fifth floor and slipped into the Weasley twins' underground workshop—their private hideout tucked away in one of the castle's secret corners.
"Richie! Finally!"
"We've been waiting forever!"
Fred and George stood behind two desks shoved together, dozens of small burlap sacks lined up in front of them.
"Come on, take a look—this is everything we made selling Dungbombs last term!"
"Haha, first time we've ever pulled in this much!"
Both twins waved him over. Richie stepped closer.
"How much?"
George flicked his wand. A simple untying charm loosened the nearest sack, spilling out a small mountain of copper Knuts.
They launched into their report like a pair of accountants on a sugar rush, cross-checking the numbers against a Muggle ledger.
"Total: six thousand seven hundred and fifty Knuts!"
"Effective sales window: sixty days. We moved thirteen hundred and fifty bombs."
"Cost per unit: two Knuts. Total cost: two thousand seven hundred."
"So net profit: four thousand and fifty Knuts!"
Richie blinked. "You actually sold thirteen hundred Dungbombs?"
Sixty days, thirteen hundred units—that was twenty or thirty a day. He hadn't realized Hogwarts had that kind of appetite for chaos.
Fred grinned proudly.
"Our version is way more portable and user-friendly than anything Zonko's sells. One Scouring Charm and the mess is gone."
"Plus we built in a special anti-Peeves effect."
"So any witch or wizard who wants to prank without the cleanup nightmare sees it as the perfect tool."
George picked up the thread.
"Most of our customers were Gryffindors looking to pay Slytherins back for all the crap they get."
"Hufflepuffs bought them just for fun."
"Ravenclaws grabbed a few out of pure curiosity—probably to take them apart and study them."
"And the night owls bought them in bulk to keep Peeves off their backs while they sneak around."
Richie nodded, impressed. Hogwarts students really did love their mischief. The twins had picked the perfect market.
According to their original deal, Richie's cut was twenty percent—eight hundred and ten Knuts, roughly one Galleon and sixty-four Knuts. It wasn't even a fifth of the ten Galleons he'd fronted at the start, but the split was permanent. As long as at least one twin stayed alive and kept his word, Richie would keep earning without lifting a finger.
He was more than happy with that.
The copper coins were already sorted into three small sacks and set aside for him. Then the twins got to the real reason they'd asked him to come.
"Richie, we think selling just Dungbombs isn't enough anymore."
"We're ready to expand the empire!"
"Look at this—our latest masterpiece: the Auto-Ink Quill!"
George pulled a perfectly ordinary-looking quill from a drawer.
"Double ink chamber loaded with Inkweed solution. We embedded a Relaxing Force Charm inside."
Fred spread out a sheet of blank parchment and gave a quick demo.
"Write three to five words, apply a little pressure on the nib, and the inner chamber cracks. The Inkweed solution hits the charm, the spell activates, and—boom—ink explodes everywhere."
He scribbled a couple of quick symbols. On cue, the quill gave a soft pop and half the parchment vanished under a thick black smear.
"Nice," Richie said, genuinely intrigued.
The prank was simple in concept: the magical properties of the Inkweed triggered the stored charm, forcing the ink out. What really caught his attention was the Relaxing Force Charm itself—triggered silently, wandlessly, just by drawing on the quill's own magic.
He chose his words carefully.
"I've got a question, and I'm only asking out of curiosity. I've been studying the core elements of spell construction. How are you managing to trigger a Relaxing Force Charm like that—silent, no wand movement, just pure magical absorption?"
The twins exchanged a quick glance, then shrugged.
"We trust you."
"Ravenclaws are always like this—obsessed with how magic actually works."
"Truth is, it uses a form of embedded magic storage."
"We only figured it out because a Ravenclaw alumnus gave us a hand."
They pulled a roll of yellowed parchment from another drawer.
"Richie, come here."
He stepped closer.
"You have to promise you won't tell anyone what you're about to see."
Richie nodded seriously. "You have my word."
Fred raised his wand over the parchment and spoke the familiar oath in a solemn voice.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The parchment unfurled on its own. Lines of ink spidered across the blank surface, forming elegant script:
Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
Ink continued to flow, sketching out the full layout of Hogwarts Castle—every classroom, corridor, corner, and hidden passage. The four folded corners stretched outward, expanding the map to its true size.
Richie leaned in, eyes wide.
The map wasn't just a blueprint. It showed the castle in real time, with tiny labeled dots moving through the halls—every single person inside Hogwarts, exactly where they were right now.