Hermione’s feet froze on the lawn, her eyes widening into circles.
“Are you saying Quirrell is hiding something under his turban?”
“I’m saying he doesn’t even take his turban off to sleep, which is weird.”
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it.
Clutching her stack of books tightly, she quickened her pace to keep up with Evelyn.
“What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing for now.”
“Nothing?”
“No evidence, no motive, no witnesses.
It’s not like I can just run to Dumbledore and say, ‘Headmaster, I shot your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a slingshot because I think he’s got hemorrhoids under his turban.'”
Hermione: (ꐦ⊙∀⊙;)
“Can you describe an event normally for once?”
“Normal people don’t hit their teacher in the back of the head with a slingshot.”
Hermione didn’t reply.
The two of them passed through the castle doors and walked into the Entrance Hall.
…
The crowd leaving the Quidditch match poured in from all directions, a noisy blur of intermingling red and green scarves.
Just as Evelyn stepped onto the staircase, a hand patted her shoulder from behind.
Fred emerged from the crowd, his school robes flecked with grass bits and mud spots, a Beater’s bat still slung over his shoulder.
George was right behind him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his tie crooked all the way to his ear.
Fred lowered his voice.
“Little Evie, free tonight?”
“What’s up?”
“Profit sharing.”
That word hit Evelyn’s attention dead on.
Fred leaned half a step closer, dropping his voice to a whisper meant only for the three of them.
“Last month’s stock is completely sold out, and the accounts over in Hogsmeade are all settled.
A whole bag full—we need to count it in person.”
George added, “One-Eyed Witch passage, nine o’clock.
Don’t be late!”
Evelyn: (≖ω≖)
“When have I ever been late?”
“Last time you were forty seconds late.”
“That was because Filch’s cat blocked my path.”
“So don’t get blocked by a cat tonight!”
Fred patted her shoulder, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.
Before leaving, George looked back over his shoulder, a faint smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
Hermione had been standing beside them the entire time, holding her stack of books like a shield.
“What kind of economic activity is this ‘profit sharing’ of yours, exactly?”
“Legitimate campus entrepreneurship.”
“Legitimate entrepreneurship doesn’t require meeting up in a secret passage!”
“Hermione, do you want to come?”
“I’m not going!”
Hermione hefted her stack of books up.
“And I don’t want to know any details either.
If you get caught, I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”
“That’s the second time today you’ve said you don’t know me.”
“Because you did two things today that made me wish I didn’t!”
Hermione turned around and walked off toward Gryffindor Tower.
After five steps, she turned right back around, pulled a thin booklet from her stack of books, and shoved it into Evelyn’s hands.
“Filch’s patrol schedule.
I traded the portrait of the knight on the third floor for it.
He’ll be in the West Wing on the fourth floor from nine to nine-thirty, so take the eastern stairs.”
Evelyn looked down at the small booklet in her hand.
Hermione: (ꐦ눈‸눈;)
“Don’t look at me like that.
I just don’t want Hufflepuff losing points because you got caught.”
“Hermione Granger, you are the most respectable accomplice I’ve ever met.”
“I am not an accomplice!”
Hermione’s voice echoed twice down the corridor.
The tail of her red scarf whipped around the corner, and she disappeared.
…
9:02 PM.
The secret passage behind the One-Eyed Witch statue was narrow and low.
Cobwebs hung from the vaulted ceiling, and water droplets seeped from the stone walls.
Fred lit a glowing lantern at the end of the passage.
The blue-white light cast their three shadows long and flat against the walls.
A checkered cloth was spread out on the ground, topped with a bulging leather pouch.
Fred untied the pouch’s drawstring and tipped it over onto the cloth.
Golden Galleons poured out with a clatter, piling into a small mountain.
Bronze Knuts and Silver Sickles were mixed in between, the crisp clink of metal echoing through the passage.
Evelyn squatted down, staring at the pile of gold.
Evelyn: (⊙ω⊙)
“How much?”
George leaned against the wall and pulled a crumpled bill of sales from his pocket.
“We shipped three batches over to Hogsmeade.
The Muggle bouncy balls sold best—two Sickles apiece.
Net profit went up forty-fold.”
“How much did the bouncy balls cost?”
“Bought them at a Muggle shop for five pence each.”
Fred flashed a thumbs-up.
“The essence of cross-realm commerce lies entirely in the exchange rate.”
Evelyn picked up a Galleon from the pile of gold and spun it under the light.
The goblin-minted gold coin reflected warm yellow speckles of light onto her face.
“Forty-seven Galleons,” she calculated on her fingers.
“How many pounds of Occamy eggshell would that buy?”
Fred: (ꐦˇ᷄⌓ˇ᷅;)
“Your first reaction to getting your cut is calculating Potion ingredients?”
“Occamy eggshells are six Galleons a pound, so forty-seven is enough for over seven pounds.
Plus salamander blood and powdered moonstone…”
“Little Evie.”
Fred rested his hands on his knees, his expression deadly serious.
“We spent a whole month busting our tails selling bouncy balls and Dungbombs, and you plan to throw all the cash into Snape’s Potions storeroom?”
“Your phrasing is inaccurate.
It’s being thrown into my own experiments.
Snape’s storeroom is merely the storage location.”
“Where’s the difference?”
“The difference is I don’t need to fill out requisition forms.”
George chuckled and folded the bill back into his pocket.
He shifted half a step sideways to give Evelyn more room to squat.
The passage was too narrow; his shoulder was nearly pressed against the stone wall, the hem of his robe brushing the tip of Evelyn’s boot.
“How are we splitting it?” George asked.
“Usual rules: fifty-five to forty-five.”
“Little Evie, we took the fall for the troll for you, got two weeks of detention, and scrubbed the trophy room until our hands cramped every day.”
Fred spread his hands open, showing three blisters on his palm.
“Look at these.
These are the hands of the working class.”
“You volunteered to take the fall for the troll.”
“The premise of volunteering was that you dumped the blame on us first!”
“Dumping blame was an emergency situation; profit sharing is a long-term agreement.
They’re two separate matters.”
Fred clutched his chest.
“Little Evie, your ruthlessness in business negotiations is even more cold-blooded than Snape deducting points.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
George separated the pile of gold into two stacks.
He pushed the larger stack toward Evelyn and gathered the smaller one between Fred and himself.
“Twenty-five Galleons and eight Sickles—yours.”
Evelyn picked up the Galleons one by one and slipped them into her canvas pouch.
The coins clinked against each other, filling the passage with the sound of wealth.
Fred tilted his head as he watched her count the money.
“Little Evie, you look exceptionally good when you count money.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious!”
Fred leaned forward, resting his weight on his hands.
“You look pretty great normally when you’re fighting trolls, hitting teachers, or infuriating Snape, but when you count money, you have a special glow.”
George: (ˇ᷄ωˇ᷅)
“Bro, the quality of your pick-up lines is as cheap as the cost of our bouncy balls.”
“If you’re so smart, you try.”
George didn’t reply to Fred.
He straightened up from the wall, walked over to Evelyn, and squatted down beside her.
The secret passage was too narrow; squatting side by side, their shoulders pressed against each other.
He reached out, helping her gather a few scattered Knuts near the edge of the checkered cloth.
His fingers brushed against the back of her hand, lingering for a beat before staying right there.
George’s warm breath brushed against the curve of Evelyn’s ear, a gentle thermal current slipping through her hair.
The water droplets seeping from the stone walls in the passage were freezing cold.
His warm exhales condensed into small clouds of white mist in the chilly air, dissipating beside her cheek.
“Little Evie.”
“Yeah?”
“As for next month’s inventory, Fred and I have already set things up.
Mundungus has a cheap batch of Auto-Refill Inkwells.
Wholesale price is three Knuts each, and we can flip them for two Sickles.”
“What’s the profit margin?”
“Sixty-fold.”
“Order them.”
George chuckled, his breath grazing the tip of her ear.
“Why are you leaning so close?”
“The passage is narrow.”
“It is narrow, but your mouth doesn’t need to be glued to my ear to report an inventory list.”
On the opposite side, Fred choked on his own spit and laughed, slapping his thigh.
Fred: (ꐦ≧∀≦;)
“George, you just got called out to your face!”
George lazily straightened up and stepped back toward the wall.
The corners of his lips remained curved, the reflection of the lantern light in his eyes split into two.
“Now that the inventory list is done, there’s one more thing.”
“Speak.”
“For the Christmas holiday, we’re going back to the Burrow.” George stuffed his hands back into his pockets.
“What about you?”
Evelyn tied the drawstring of the canvas pouch tight and tested its weight.
“Staying at school.”
Fred’s smile faded halfway.
“Staying at school?
You’re not going home?”
“Which home?”
The passage went silent for two seconds.
The lantern hummed faintly, casting a cool tone of blue-white light over Evelyn’s face.
Neither Fred nor George knew what to say.
Evelyn stuffed the canvas pouch into her inner robe pocket, dusted off her knees, and stood up.
“Don’t make those faces.
I’m staying because there are plenty of holiday tasks, so farming points will be most efficient.”
“Fewer people, fewer restrictions, and way more things to stir up trouble with.”
Fred stood up, nearly banging his head against the vaulted ceiling.
He reached out and tousled the top of Evelyn’s head gently, his fingers sliding from the crown of her head to behind her ear.
“When we get back, we’ll bring you a sweater Mum knitted.”
“I don’t wear sweaters.”
“A Weasley sweater is something you have to wear.”
Fred pulled back his hand, his tone suddenly dropping an octave into seriousness.
“Mum asked about you.
I gave her your name.”
Evelyn: (ˇ᷄⌓ˇ᷅;)
“What did you tell your mum about me?”
“Told her we have a Hufflepuff business partner who’s extremely reliable, extremely good at fighting, and exceptionally good-looking when counting money.”
George twisted the knife further.
“He also told her about you turning the troll into a pig.
Mum’s reply was full of exclamation points.”
“Can your family letters pass a security clearance check first?”
“The Weasley family has no tradition of secrecy.”
Fred raised the lantern, illuminating the path toward the exit.
“Let’s go.
Filch is about to patrol over this way.”
The three of them crouched low as they picked their way toward the exit.
Fred took the lead, George brought up the rear, and Evelyn was squeezed in the middle.
The Galleons in her canvas pouch jingled with her steps, giving off muffled metallic clinks.
The System panel flickered at the edge of her vision.
[Mischief Points +40!
Reason: Underground economic empire continues to expand!]
[Current Total: 2960.]
At the bottom of the panel, a new prompt floated up.
[Teaser: Christmas Holiday Special Task unlocking soon.
Student body drastically reduced; operational leeway significantly increased.]
[Additional Intelligence: Draco Malfoy has appeared on the Christmas stay-at-school list.]
Evelyn stared at the last line, her pace dropping half a beat.
George’s chest bumped against her back.
“Why’d you stop?”
“Nothing.”
Evelyn closed the panel and kept walking.
The Galleons in her canvas pouch jingled once more.
Feeling the outline of the pouch, she mentally calculated her shopping list of Occamy eggshells and salamander blood.
The corners of her mouth curved upward.
“George, about Mundungus’s Auto-Refill Inkwells… can you get him to throw in a batch of salamander blood?”
“Salamander blood?
That’s a controlled substance.
You need a teacher’s signature to buy it.”
“Who do we get to sign it then?”
Fred turned his head ahead of them, the lantern light catching his grin in shifting shadows.
“Snape.”
All three fell silent for a second.
Evelyn patted her canvas pouch twice, the sound echoing through the passage.
“I’ll go get his signature tomorrow.”
Fred’s lantern almost hit the ground!