read lots story at patreon
always update and finish
ilham20 only for 3$
Richie scanned the Marauder's Map, his eyes locking onto a small line of text tucked in one corner—underground beneath the Hogwarts clock tower.
His gaze sharpened.
So that's how it is...
Fred's voice cut through the quiet.
"Back in first year, Filch caught us mid-prank and hauled us straight to his office."
George picked up right on cue.
"That's where we spotted a drawer labeled 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous Items.'"
Fred grinned like he'd just pulled off the heist of the century.
"So George chucked a Dungbomb to distract Filch, and while the old man was busy, I reached in blind and grabbed whatever I could. Turned out to be this map."
George groaned. "Zonko's basic Dungbombs were total garbage—weak, messy, and they backfired half the time. That's when we decided we were done with their junk and needed to make our own."
Fred nodded. "Once we had the map, we studied it nonstop until we cracked the password. And like you see, this is what was inside."
"We were blown away. How the hell does it show people's names and track them in real time, forever?"
"So we started digging into how it worked."
"Eventually we discovered the technique behind it: spell crystals."
"We only figured it out thanks to a Ravenclaw alumnus who gave us a hand."
Fred kept talking while George took apart the used Auto-Ink Quill, exposing the inner chamber.
Richie took the component Fred handed him and examined it closely. The chamber was woven from spider silk.
"Making a spell crystal is actually pretty simple," Fred continued. "You cast the spell on certain materials, then rapidly cool and compress them. Once the crystal forms, it stays stable even when the temperature goes back up."
"We tested a bunch of stuff and found that silk from the eight-eyed spiders in the Forbidden Forest works perfectly. That's what we use for all our products now."
"Both the Dungbombs and this Auto-Ink Quill are made with that spider silk."
Richie finally saw the full picture.
The spell-crystal technique didn't bypass the normal rules of magic at all. It was just casting the spell ahead of time, storing the magic, and releasing it later on command—like a ready-made meal you only had to heat up.
"If you want to study spell crystals, we've got all our old research notes right here," Fred said, pulling a small yellow notebook from yet another drawer.
That drawer really is bottomless.
Richie looked at the notebook, tempted but hesitant. "You're just handing over your research like this?"
"Of course," George said with a wink. "We trust you won't use it for anything shady."
"As scholars, knowledge should be shared," Fred added. "But as businessmen, we have to keep some things secret."
"So Richie, we're giving this to you so you can study it. But we need you to keep it confidential." George paused. "At least for the next ten years. Can you do that?"
Seeing how much faith the twins were placing in him, Richie nodded solemnly. "You have my word."
The twins exchanged satisfied glances.
"Right—where were we?" Fred asked.
"Oh yeah," George said. "We want to expand the business. That's why we created the Auto-Ink Quill. Next up, we're planning some edible prank foods. But that's going to need more advanced spell-crystal work, and the research is going to get way more complicated and expensive."
"We don't have enough funding, so…"
"We're hoping to trade you a cut of the profits from both the quills and the new food line," Fred finished.
Richie didn't need it spelled out—they were looking for an investor.
"How much do you need?" he asked straight out.
The twins glanced at each other. George spoke a little nervously. "Twenty Galleons… if that's too much—"
"Done," Richie said without hesitation.
Between the money his aunt had slipped him twice and the generous welcome gift from his grandfather, after subtracting earlier expenses he still had seventy-three Galleons left. Twenty was a big chunk, but Richie was certain it would be worth every Knut. Plus, this was also his way of thanking them for sharing the spell-crystal technique.
"Brilliant!" the twins shouted, high-fiving each other.
They quickly hashed out the details and stuck with the same twenty-eighty split. The Auto-Ink Quill would sell for two Sickles—much pricier than the Dungbombs—but after the success of their first product, the twins were confident these would fly off the shelves.
---
Meanwhile, Crabbe and Goyle slunk back into the Slytherin common room looking extremely uneasy.
Draco was lounging on a leather sofa with his legs crossed, looking completely relaxed.
"Where have you two been?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at their exhausted faces. "Did you get lost in the castle or something?"
"Boss! You… you're back to normal?" Goyle said, sounding relieved.
The two boys hurried over.
"Hmph. I've never been better," Draco said, arms folded tight as he stared into the flickering fireplace. "I finally figured it out. Harland played me!"
"'Who are you?' What kind of stupid question is that? I am who I am!"
"I'm Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family! My father is Lucius Malfoy!"
"What's wrong with that?!"
"Nothing!" both boys answered at once, shaking their heads hard.
"Exactly. That filthy Mudblood doesn't understand the honor of pure blood. He's just jealous of the Malfoy name, so he tried to mess with my head with those little tricks!"
Draco slammed his fist into the sofa cushion.
"Who does that Mudblood think he is, making me prove who I am?!"
"He should be the one proving himself to me!"
"How dare he mess with me?"
"Hmph!"
"I'll make him pay for this sooner or later!"
Hearing Draco's rant, Crabbe and Goyle exchanged nervous glances. After some shoving back and forth, Crabbe finally spilled everything that had happened that night—including Parkinson's miserable state and the exact message Richie had told them to deliver.
The second Draco heard it, his face turned pitch black. His cheek twitched violently. Then he shot to his feet and shoved both of them hard.
"You two idiots!"