Chapter 100: Rejoining Forces

When Snape left, he walked right past Silven, allowing Silven to clearly hear what he said.

Could Snape not undo a second-year student’s bogey hex?

And Professor McGonagall didn’t intervene either—after saying a few more words to Hermione, she simply walked away.

This was too interesting: one was the head of house most biased toward Slytherin students, the other the strict and fair deputy head who treated all students equally. Perhaps to Snape and McGonagall, a simple wave of their wands would have easily undone this bogey hex.

Yet the two reached an astonishing unspoken understanding—neither raised their wand; both pretended not to see.

So even after Crabbe and Goyle dragged him away, Malfoy kept spitting out bogeys, still shouting, “I’m telling my father,” “You’ll regret this,” and more—spitting even more as he spoke.

Even Crabbe and Goyle were starting to find him repulsive, holding his arms while tilting their heads as far back as possible, as if avoiding something unpleasant.

On the other side, Harry and his two friends had lost even more points and were assigned detention, yet their faces showed no sign of distress.

“Did you see it? Did you see my bogey hex?” Ron said excitedly. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.”

“You actually…” Hermione started to say something, then immediately stopped herself and said instead, “Yes, that was a difficult spell.”

At that moment, Harry noticed Silven nearby and his eyes lit up. “Hey, Silven, what are you doing here?”

“I ran into Nearly Headless Nick. He said Gryffindor and Slytherin students were fighting by the Black Lake, so I came to check. ” Silven looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect you to act so fast.”

He’d only suggested Harry punch Malfoy yesterday—and today, Harry had already done it.

“No, no, you’ve got it wrong,” Harry quickly waved his hands. “I didn’t even go looking for trouble with Malfoy—he kept complaining he couldn’t use the Quidditch pitch and said a lot of nasty things.”

“Hermione thought both houses were to blame for that incident, so he called her… well, anyway, he started it.”

“I can guess.” Silven said, glancing at Hermione.

She probably still didn’t fully understand the meaning of “Mudblood”—she didn’t look particularly angry. In fact, she had the energy to review the battle just now.

“My Disarming Charm still isn’t polished enough—I almost let Crabbe get through.”

“No, you did great,” Harry said. “You hit Crabbe right on the head, and when he stumbled back, he knocked over Goyle—that’s how we won decisively.”

“Harry, your punch was perfect,” Ron grinned. “Malfoy was completely stunned—spitting bogeys and screaming.”

“Don’t mention it—I wasn’t thinking that much then…” Harry glanced at Silven unconsciously. “I just figured if we used spells, we’d get severe punishment anyway, so I might as well punch him a few more times.”

Though hitting Malfoy felt satisfying, Harry was still uneasy thinking about the punishment he’d face afterward.

He’d already imagined the possible consequences: two hundred points deducted, permanent ban from Quidditch, even expulsion.

But he hadn’t expected McGonagall to deduct only thirty points total—ten each. Compared to what they’d gained, the punishment felt more like a reward.

If you could punch a Slytherin student for just ten points deducted, Gryffindors would line up to do it—some might even compete to answer questions in class just to earn more points and get another chance.

But this didn’t match what Silven had said before—they used magic, yet the punishment was negligible.

Silven noticed Harry’s glance and guessed what he was thinking.

They’d just been lucky—caught a rare opportunity. If Malfoy hadn’t called Hermione “Mudblood,” McGonagall wouldn’t have deducted only thirty points, and Snape wouldn’t have been so lenient.

“At least we still have detention with Snape,” Ron sighed suddenly. “He won’t let us off easy.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Harry comforted him. “After all, Malfoy is his favorite student. This is already better than expected.”

“You’re right,” Ron said, glancing at his wand and carefully wiping off a speck of dust. “Too bad Colin, your admirer, isn’t here—if only he could’ve taken a photo of Malfoy.”

Harry paused, surprised to find Ron’s words made perfect sense.

The incident spread quickly through the school.

Gryffindor students cheered like Christmas had come early. Except for Percy, no one cared about the thirty points lost—they just slapped Harry or Ron on the back and shouted, “Well done!”

“Malfoy’s father’s a school governor—maybe they’ll all get expelled!” Percy said, but his voice was drowned out by the cheers, not even a ripple.

Because Hogwarts’ headmaster was Dumbledore—even a governor couldn’t override him to expel a student.

So what was there to worry about?

Harry was delighted, drowning in sincere compliments.

More importantly, he hadn’t seen the annoying Malfoy in days. If not for occasional shared classes with Slytherins, he’d have thought Malfoy had left Hogwarts entirely.

Without Malfoy’s venomous taunts, Harry felt lighter than ever—even on Monday, when he played a snowman in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he threw himself into the role with extra enthusiasm.

“Your snowman looked convincing,” Silven said sincerely. “Better than the werewolf.”

“Exactly,” Ron gave a thumbs-up. “And your timing with Hermione was perfect—I almost thought that was a Stunning Spell.”

The group laughed and chatted as they left the classroom, heading for the Great Hall for lunch.

As they stepped into the cool entrance hall, a voice rang out: “You look pleased, don’t you? Potter, Weasley, Granger…”

Snape strode toward them, face grim. “I’m afraid I must dampen your spirits—you three will serve detention tonight.”

Their smiles vanished instantly.

They’d been so happy these past days they’d completely forgotten about detention.

“What will we be doing, Professor?” Hermione asked, gripping her hands tightly.

“You, Granger, go to Filch and clean the Trophy Room,” Snape said. “No magic—wipe everything by hand. If you work hard enough, you might finish before your first class tomorrow morning.”

Hearing this, Ron let out a long sigh of relief and whispered to Hermione, “I’ve done this before—it’s easy for three people. Won’t take nearly that long.”

“Three people?” Snape suddenly smiled, his laugh cold as a venomous snake, sending a chill through them. “I believe you’ve misunderstood something, Mr. Weasley.”

“The two of you—come to my office at nine tonight. I’ve prepared a special gift.” Snape raised an eyebrow. “Remember—nine o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Harry and Ron trudged gloomily into the Great Hall, Silven beside them, unsure how to comfort them.

Snape’s “gift” certainly wouldn’t be something hanging on a Christmas tree.

Hermione, at least, was better off—though cleaning the Trophy Room alone was a heavy task, it was still the best outcome among the three. At least she didn’t have to face unknown terror.

At dinner, Harry and Ron speculated about what Snape had prepared for them—neither could even stomach their meat-and-potato pie.

As nine o’clock neared, their expressions grew heavier, as if they were heading not to Snape’s office but into a dragon’s lair.

At eight-thirty, Hermione left the common room first—even under detention, she kept her habit of arriving early.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Ron finally shuffled out, dragging their feet.

“I’d rather play a snowman a hundred times…” Harry muttered, his voice swallowed by the corridor.

“What do you think they’ll face?” Fred asked curiously in the common room.

“I don’t know,” Silven shook his head. “But if Snape spent two days preparing it, it’ll likely be unforgettable.”

“I already feel sorry for Ron,” George said, grinning widely.

“Don’t say that…” Ginny looked worried, though it was unclear whether her concern was for Harry or Ron—better not risk stirring sibling tensions.

Once their figures vanished completely, Fred sat up, staring at Silven. “Something’s off—our future Transfiguration master didn’t go to the library today?”

Few Gryffindors liked the library—besides Percy and Hermione, Silven was the third. And he’d suddenly taken to reading after term started. Such an unusual shift naturally drew Fred and George’s attention.

They didn’t understand: last year, he was their partner in midnight adventures and rule-breaking—why was he suddenly eager to study?

At first, they thought he was just pretending, maybe plotting a new prank. But after secretly observing him for a while, they realized it wasn’t a act.

Silven was genuinely reading—books on Transfiguration. A few days ago, an owl even delivered him a copy of *Intermediate Transfiguration Guide*, a textbook for third-years.

“Did Madam Pince finally kick you out?” George teased.

“No,” Silven said. “I just wanted to discuss something with you.”

“Us?”

Fred sat up straight. George dropped Lee Jordan and walked over.

“Go ahead.”

“As long as it’s not asking us to go to the library with you.”

“Otherwise Pince will kick all three of us out,” George said, laughing at himself.

“It’s something else,” Silven said. “Do you remember the wand stickers from the holidays?”

“Of course—we bought some,” Fred pulled out his wand, pointing to a Snitch sticker. “I’ve always wanted to ask you—why did it stop moving after term started?”

“Ah, that’s not important,” Silven said vaguely. “I upgraded the stickers a bit. Now they look like this.”

Silven pulled out the prepared Headmaster series stickers—including silver Dumbledore and golden Lockhart.

“This is…”

Fred and George’s eyes lit up simultaneously. With their minds, they instantly grasped the idea—this would sweep through Hogwarts.

Elsewhere, maybe not—but in Hogwarts, Headmaster stickers would be far more popular than magical creatures.

“So you want to collaborate, right?” Fred asked.

“Exactly,” Silven nodded. “You know I have to go to the library, so…”

“Leave it to us!” George interrupted. “You can entrust this to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes—we’ll handle the sales.”

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?”

“Our future shop’s name. What do you think?” George grinned.

“Sounds great,” Silven nodded.

“Thank you,” Fred bowed dramatically. “Now, back to business—if you agree to let Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes sell these, we guarantee they’ll be on every student’s wand in Hogwarts within days.”

“I have no doubt,” Silven nodded. “What’s the price?”

“Ah, that,” Fred and George exchanged a glance and grinned. “It’s early—we can discuss it properly.”

(End of Chapter)