Chapter 101: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
"Don't do that, George," Russell said with a visible shudder. "Just talk properly."
"Hahahaha!"
The twins exchanged a look and burst out laughing.
"So now we finally know what scares you."
"If you don't say it, I'm leaving," Russell said, deliberately putting on a dark expression and turning as if to walk away.
Before he could take two steps, both of them grabbed him and dragged him back.
"Alright, alright," Fred conceded. "We just want you to invest in us a little."
"Invest?" Russell raised an eyebrow, surprised—not unwilling, just caught off guard.
After all, he remembered very clearly how successful Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would be in the future.
"But you're only in third year."
"So what?" George said dismissively. "You won a Third Class Order of Merlin in your first year."
"Exactly," Fred chimed in. "Please believe us—we really can do this."
Yet under Russell's calm gaze, they finally told the truth.
"We just want to help out at home a bit more," George lowered his voice, careful not to let Mrs. Weasley hear. "Mum and Dad work too hard."
"Yeah," Fred added softly. "They couldn't even afford to buy Ron a new wand."
"No problem," Russell said without hesitation. "I'm in. I'll invest."
"Really?"
The twins' faces lit up instantly. "Russell, thank you so much!"
"So," Russell asked, "how much research funding do you need?"
Fred and George exchanged a glance—then held up one finger.
"One thousand Galleons?" Russell frowned briefly, then relaxed.
Magical joke items were, at their core, still a form of alchemy—just a rougher, more playful kind. And anything related to alchemy burned money like wildfire.
"A thousand?!"
The twins nearly jumped out of their skins.
"What—don't tell me it's ten thousand," Russell said, spreading his hands helplessly. "That I really can't manage."
If he converted all his "Morgan-head" gold coins into Galleons, he'd easily have several hundred thousand—but unless absolutely necessary, he wasn't about to do that.
Drawing attention like that would only invite trouble.
"No, no, no!" George hurriedly waved his hands.
"We originally meant ten Galleons."
"We've saved a bit ourselves," Fred added. "If we pool it together, it should just about be enough."
In their original calculations, the basic materials for early-stage magical prank items wouldn't cost much.
Russell shook his head.
"If a thousand isn't needed, then at least a hundred definitely is. Ten is far too little. With that, how long would it take before you see any results…"
"I was even planning to wait for my dividends," Russell said with a smile.
"You're our talent scout—our very own connoisseur!"
The Weasley twins put on exaggeratedly dramatic expressions.
"These two thoroughbreds are officially under your care now."
"Stop that," Russell waved them off. "I genuinely believe in the two of you. Consider this money an investment in your talent. Honestly speaking, even a thousand Galleons doesn't come close to what you're worth."
"As for profits," Russell suggested, "how about we split them three ways?"
"No, no, absolutely not," the twins protested in unison.
"You're the one putting up the money—you should get the bigger share. Seventy for you, thirty for us is already more than enough."
Russell refused to budge. After a round of back-and-forth bargaining, they finally reached an agreement.
They would follow the Muggle corporate shareholding model:
Russell would hold fifty percent, while the Weasley twins would jointly hold the other fifty percent, contributing their skills as capital.
Just as they were excitedly envisioning the future, Russell suddenly noticed Wednesday handing a skull-painted bottle to a curious Ginny.
When Ginny was about to bring the bottle to her lips, Russell nearly had a heart attack.
"Stop—don't drink that!" he shouted, rushing over and snatching the bottle away.
Ginny was startled by his reaction. She looked utterly wronged, holding back tears, while Russell turned to Wednesday with a stern expression.
"How could you give that to Ginny, Wednesday? You might be able to handle it, but she can't!"
"Oh? Really?"
A mischievous smile curled at the corner of Wednesday's lips.
Uneasy, Russell carefully poured out a little of the liquid—only to discover it was pumpkin juice.
…He'd been played.
With a sigh, he sheepishly handed the bottle back to Ginny.
"Sorry. I'll make it up to you—have some candy."
He pulled out a handful of specialty sweets from the Soviet Union and placed them into her hands.
Ginny instantly brightened, her tears vanishing as she beamed.
Russell reached out and pinched Wednesday's cheek lightly.
He couldn't believe he'd been tricked by her.
All those years hunting geese—only to get pecked in the eye by one.
"Children, it's time to go in!" Mrs. Weasley called out loudly.
Beside her, Morticia still looked reluctant to end the conversation. Since the Weasley family was rather large, they let the Addams family go first.
After the twins dashed through under their mother's sharp reprimands, a thin, scruffy black-haired boy pushing a trolley much larger than himself approached hesitantly.
"Excuse me… sorry to bother you."
Harry felt incredibly lucky. It was his first time at the platform, and he had no idea how to get through. If not for this kind woman, he might have become the first wizard in history to miss the Hogwarts Express simply because he couldn't find the entrance.
"Hey, Lee! What have you got this time?"
The twins immediately spotted their friend Lee Jordan.
A crowd of kids had gathered around him.
"Let us see it too, Lee—come on!"
Harry, curious, leaned over as well.
Lee opened the box he was holding, revealing a furry, long-legged creature inside. The children screamed and scattered backward in panic.
"Merlin, that's terrifying!" a voice exclaimed beside Harry.
He turned and saw it was the son of the kind woman—Ron, if he remembered correctly. For some reason, Ron looked oddly familiar, as though Harry had seen him somewhere before.
Noticing Harry's glance, Ron shrugged and said, "I've hated spiders since I was little. Those legs are just disgusting."
Harry thought back to his life in the cupboard under the stairs. Spiders had crawled over his clothes and socks all the time—he'd grown so used to them that he could calmly pick one off with his bare hands.
Still, seeing how much Ron hated them, Harry nodded in agreement.
"I'll help you carry your things aboard," Ron said cheerfully, clearly pleased to find someone who shared his opinion.
Just as they were about to board the train, laughter suddenly erupted nearby.
"Longbottom, what's wrong with you? You can't even lift a trunk?"
Harry looked toward the noise and saw a group of kids pointing and laughing at a chubby boy.
The boy—Longbottom—looked clumsy and flustered. His face was bright red, sweat streaming down as he stubbornly wrestled with his trunk, refusing to say a word.