The lingering sting of envy didn't fade the moment Fred and George disappeared toward the corridor, their pockets heavy with gold. Ron stood motionless, his face a complex map of frustration and bewildered awe. Harry, ever the peacemaker, moved closer, keeping his voice low as the common room's ambient noise continued around them.
"Look, Ron," Harry said, his tone gentle. He understood the feeling better than anyone; he'd spent years in the cupboard under the stairs, watching Dudley toss aside gifts that would have felt like a king's ransom to him. "It's not as if we're suffering. We have enough for books, for robes, for everything we need. You're comparing your start to their sprint."
"It's not just that," Ron muttered, his ears turning a tell-tale shade of red. "It's the sheer… ease of it. Since when did they become businessmen? They're supposed to be failing half their classes and setting off dungbombs, not running a logistical operation."
"It's the communication cards," Harry said, his mind clicking into place. He'd seen the advertisement on the notice board, the one that had been the talk of the Gryffindor table for days. "The ads mentioned Fred, George, and Lee. They aren't just selling them—they're the sales force. And someone like Albert? He's the one providing the product. It's a classic arrangement, really. The brains provide the utility, the sales team handles the ground game, and they split the cut."
Ron's eyes widened. "So you think Anderson just… hired them? Like a shopkeeper hires an assistant?"
"Seems like it," Harry shrugged, though he couldn't help but feel a flicker of his own curiosity. "It's efficient. If you've got a product that prints gold, why waste your own time playing door-to-door salesman? You outsource the labor."
Ron looked horrified. "That's cold, Harry. Utterly, calculatedly cold."
Harry chuckled, pulling a piece of folded, yellowing parchment from his pocket. It was the "treasure map" he'd unearthed earlier from a library book. It was an odd, cryptic thing, signed with the initials ALFG. "Forget the gold for a second. Look at this. Do you really think someone would go to the trouble of leaving a trail if there wasn't a prize at the end?"
Ron leaned over, studying the delicate, flowing script. "Congratulations to our grandchildren on finding the treasure we left behind. Go and find it; we have placed all the treasure there. — ALFG"
"ALFG?" Ron squinted at the letters. "That doesn't sound like a name. It sounds like a code."
"Probably some prankster," Harry sighed, though his heart was racing. "But look at the map on the back. It's not just a drawing; it's a layout. Look at these symbols—the ghost, the pumpkin, the drainpipe."
"Wait," Ron said, his brain suddenly shifting gears. "A ghost? A pumpkin? And that… is that a toilet?" He pointed at a rough, circular sketch. "Harry, that's clearly a bathroom floor plan. And those symbols—ghosts and pumpkins—that's almost certainly a reference to the upcoming Halloween feast."
"But why a toilet?" Harry asked, his bewilderment deepening. "Are you suggesting the treasure is hidden in the pipes?"
"Only one way to find out," Ron said, a sudden, reckless grin breaking through his gloom. "We check the second-floor restrooms. If it's a prank, it's a damn good one."
The trek to the second floor was tense. Every suit of armor seemed to watch them with suspicious intent, and the silence of the corridors felt heavy, as if the castle itself were holding its breath. They reached the lavatory doors—one of which was clearly marked as 'Out of Order.'
"Right," Ron said, pulling up short. He pointed at the sign. "Girls' restroom. Absolutely not."
"It's empty, Ron. Everyone's in the Great Hall or the library," Harry countered, though he felt a sudden, sharp spike of anxiety.
Before he could reach for the brass handle, a familiar, crisp, and utterly judgmental voice rang out.
"I wouldn't advise that, unless you're looking for a detention that'll last until graduation."
Hermione Granger stood at the end of the hall, her arms folded tightly over her books, her expression one of pure, unadulterated disdain.
"We're on a treasure hunt!" Harry blurted out, his face flushing crimson. "It's a map, Hermione! We're just following the clues!"
"A treasure hunt," Hermione repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "How original. Do you really expect me to believe you're not just trying to sneak a peek at the girls' bathroom? I'll have you know a Ravenclaw was nearly expelled for the exact same stunt last year. The faculty is already on edge."
"We're not—" Ron started, but Hermione was already walking away, her chin held high.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," she called over her shoulder. "If I see you in there, I'm heading straight for Professor McGonagall."
Ron looked at Harry, his face pale. "She's not kidding, Harry. If we get caught in there, my mother will actually perform a curse on me before the school has a chance to expel me."
"Then we go in, we find the clue, and we get out before anyone knows we were even on this floor," Harry said, gritting his teeth. He pushed the door open. The air inside was cold, damp, and smelled of stale water and old tile.
Suddenly, a shimmer of translucent blue appeared near the sinks. Moaning Myrtle, her eyes puffy and red, drifted through a stall door, looking ready to shriek.
"Great," Ron whispered. "The ghost."
"I know I'm dead, you don't have to keep pointing at me!" Myrtle wailed, her voice echoing off the ceramic walls.
"We don't want trouble, Myrtle," Harry said, stepping forward. "We're looking for a clue. A treasure. Someone told us if we came here, we'd find something."
Myrtle paused, her face twisting into a mischievous, eerie grin. "Oh, the handsome one! He told me! If anyone comes looking, just say… fifteen."
"Fifteen?" Harry and Ron repeated in unison.
"He was so charming," Myrtle giggled, floating toward the ceiling. "He promised to come back and visit. He wouldn't let me tell his name, but he was very… insistent."
Before they could ask for clarification, Myrtle vanished into the U-bend of the sink, leaving them alone in the oppressive silence.
"Fifteen?" Ron muttered. "Fifteen what? Steps? Minutes? Gallons?"
"We're leaving," Harry decided, the nerves finally getting to him. "This is too weird."
They sprinted for the door, burst out into the hallway, and nearly collided with a trio walking the other way. It was Albert, followed closely by Fred and George. The three of them stopped, eyeing the boys with varying degrees of amusement and shock.
"Harry? Ron?" George raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering toward the lavatory they had just exited.
"What in the name of Merlin are you two doing coming out of the girls' restroom?" Fred asked, his voice barely holding back a laugh.
"It's not what you think!" Harry started, his face burning.
"No, really, I think I understand perfectly," Albert stepped forward, his expression unreadable. He looked at the two of them with a strange, knowing calm. "Look, I'll be brief: if you want to keep your reputations intact, I'd suggest you move along. I remember a certain student last year who tried this and spent the rest of his term being the laughingstock of the school. Trust me, you don't want to be the punchline."
"We were—" Ron tried to explain, but the words died in his throat as Lee Jordan began to chuckle.
"Just go," Albert said, his voice dropping into a tone that invited no further argument. "And if you're looking for treasure, try looking for something that won't get you expelled."
Harry and Ron didn't need to be told twice. They hurried down the corridor, their hearts pounding in their chests.