"Merlin's beard!" Fred blurted out, eyes wide. "Lockhart... how could he spout nonsense like that?"
"Merlin's pants!" George echoed, pulling the same incredulous face. "And the worst part is, you actually bought it—and now you're testing it?"
Vizette shook his head, giving the glass bottle in his hand a gentle swirl. "Not yet. I'm just about to."
The Weasley twins shot him matching thumbs-ups. "Brilliant!"
They leaned in, eyes glued to the bottle like it held the secrets of the universe.
Vizette caught their eager stares and tilted his head. "Curious about Mr. Filch's memories?"
Fred nodded, a sly grin creeping across his face. "Oh, yeah. Wonder what the old sourpuss gets up to in his downtime."
"Don't make it sound dodgy!" George laughed, clapping Fred on the shoulder. "We're just keen on cracking those magical runes. You know us—we're always fiddling with enchanted gadgets."
Fred rubbed his hands together excitedly. "If those runes are what's keeping that fake wand going strong... this could be huge. No ordinary enchantment lasts that long."
Vizette raised an eyebrow. He dabbled in magical theory but wasn't deep into artifact crafting. The twins, though? They spent half their free time in hidden corners of Hogwarts, tweaking spells on everything from fireworks to trick sweets.
George settled back, getting comfortable. "See, magical items come in all sorts. Right now, we're pros at the short-lived ones—Quidditch balls, wizard chess pieces, Gobstones, biting teacups, fang-filled candy boxes. You name it."
"Entertainment stuff mostly," Fred added. "They fizzle out after a month or two... maybe a year if you're lucky. Lose their magic and poof—back to ordinary junk."
"But some are built to last," George said. "Like that wonky clock in our house, Vizette. Remember? The one that doesn't tell time worth a Knut."
He nodded with a smile. "How could I forget? Fascinating bit of family magic."
George beamed. "Exactly! Dad got it from Granddad—proper heirloom. Speaking of which..." Fred chimed in, fetching three frosty bottles of Coolick. "Fancy a sip while we chat? Ages ago, the family could craft long-lasting items. But those tricks got pinched or lost along the way. Still, we kept the know-how for the quick ones."
Vizette tipped his bottle back, gulping down the fizzy brew. A puff of white smoke curled from his ears, tickling and warm. "So, you're aiming to revive the Weasley legacy? Bring back the glory days?"
George chuckled slyly. "Spot on! We could spin that to Mum—no harm in a little family pride."
Fred matched his grin. "Crack a permanent enchantment, and she might even back our prank empire!"
In unison, they declared: "Pranks first and foremost—legacy's just gravy!"
Vizette couldn't help laughing. Classic Weasleys—turning ambition into a joke. It was that fire, that sheer joy in the chaos, that kept them experimenting, even through explosions and near-misses. He knew the feeling all too well; his own passion for magic drove him to pore over tomes late into the night, sparks of insight lighting the way.
After a quick wrap-up, he handed off the magic rune research to the twins—the club's second official project. One of the perks: pooling brains meant ideas turned into action faster than solo grinding. Energy was finite; collaboration was key.
Just like Serena and her crew of allies back in the day. But building a circle like that? That took finesse.
---
The week blurred by as Halloween loomed, the castle buzzing with jack-o'-lantern glow and the scent of spiced cider. With reserves replenished, the flu's grip finally loosened—no more hacking coughs echoing through the halls.
Hagrid was in his element, hacking away at colossal pumpkins in the grounds, the sharp tang of fresh squash wafting up to the castle. After each carve, he'd set down his tools, grab a massive bottle, and chug deeply. The grin splitting his bearded face, coupled with wisps of smoke from his ears, always drew a crowd—especially from Hufflepuff.
Students paused on the stairs, noses twitching. What was that drink? Why the bubbly fizz and the energizer haze? Bubbles danced in the bottle like trapped fireflies.
Hagrid, spotting the interest, would beam and hold up the label. "Coolick! Best flu-buster there is. Tastes like a party in a bottle—crisp, fizzy, with a kick!"
The Hufflepuffs perked up at the flavor talk. "Goes great with crisps, you say?"
"What about roast chicken? Or chips? Spill!"
Skeptics piped up too—mostly Muggle-borns. "Sounds like fizzy pop from the shops. Nothing new."
"Looks a bit like Sprite. Cute imitation, but come on."
The defenses flew back fast. "But the smoke! Can your Sprite do that?"
"It's magic, not some Muggle tonic!"
"You called it butterbeer kin—how's it fight flu?"
The buzz spread like Fiendfyre. In the drizzly autumn chill, a drink blending fun and function? Instant hit. Coolick's rep soared, whispers chasing Hagrid wherever he lumbered.
But prying the source from him? Impossible. Even Harry and the gang hit a brick wall.
"Hagrid's clammed up tight," Ron grumbled, watching from afar. "He didn't even drop a hint!"
Harry stared at a glowing pumpkin lantern, mood dimming. "We need to sort the anniversary do... It's tonight."
Hermione nudged him. "Nearly Headless Nick's got your back, remember? He promised."
…
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