Chapter 43. Small Gifts.
After our brief conversation, the Headmaster fell completely silent, sinking into his thoughts. He didn't say a word right up until we said our goodbyes, just sat there calmly while we carefully read through the endless contract that already bore the signature of the head of Gringotts Bank. And, to give them their due, this time there were no fine-print tricks and no stupid clauses like "return the weapon after death," which, honestly, makes you think we'd been thoroughly ripped off before — but we had no intention of backing out now. So we signed with a bit of impatience, already imagining what our personal weapon would look like — something that, if all went well, could become part of our soul, grow along with us, and follow us into future lives.
After that, we finally returned to Hogwarts, and the spark that had kept us going without sleep for the last couple of days finally burned out. Ignoring everyone and everything — and whoever might think whatever about it — we quickly changed into pajamas and collapsed into Regulus's bed, instantly sinking into a dreamless sleep.
"Professor, they haven't woken up since yesterday morning," Hermione's anxious voice reached us.
"Right, and when I tried to wake them up for breakfast this morning, they almost turned me into an icicle in their sleep," Ron's voice followed, with a mix of indignation and worry.
"I understand, children. Please step aside and let me examine them," came Professor McGonagall's voice, and we, still feeling drowsy, barely managed to pry our eyes open and sit up. A second later, the bed hangings were yanked aside, and we, like proper vampires, hurried to hide under the blanket from the malicious light.
"Mr. and Miss Black, I clearly saw that you are already awake. So be so kind as to get up and stop worrying your friends. And I did not expect such a lack of propriety from you, Miss Black. A young lady sleeping in the boys' dormitory — where has that ever been seen!"
"We're twins," came our immediate, synchronized, and slightly disgruntled reply. Still, we pushed the blanket off and, blinking a little, calmly looked at the ones standing nearby.
"Goooood morning," we yawned in unison before asking with a slight whine, "why did you decide to wake us so abruptly? We've already been working for two days without sleep."
"That is a matter that requires a separate conversation," the professor narrowed her eyes. "You left the school without informing me, your Head of House!"
"Sorry, Professor, but there was a deal worth almost two and a half million Galleons at stake," we finally pulled ourselves together and answered through Andromeda.
"…I beg your pardon? What did you say?" the professor asked, stunned, while Ron froze like a salt statue and Hermione stared at us just as bewildered.
"To be more precise, the deal was for two million four hundred and seventy thousand Galleons," we added through Regulus.
"Two million…" For a moment, it looked like the professor's brain had short-circuited from the amount we'd named.
"We killed a Thousand-Year Basilisk the size of a bus, so it's nothing surprising. Which is why we had to urgently get to work butchering it."
"I see… I can see you're fine as it is, so I shall be going," McGonagall, as she left, looked as though she were having heart palpitations. Still, we had no doubt she would be all right, so as soon as she stepped out, we finally turned to our friends.
"We've got presents for you, too," we said, getting out of bed and, still in our pajamas, started rummaging through the things we'd left behind until we pulled out two rough pieces of hide, each about two square meters.
"Here, this is basilisk hide. The goblins bought a square meter of this from us for twenty thousand Galleons, and there are two square meters here. With magic fitting and everything else, that should be enough for a set of clothing. Or you can sell it. Forty thousand Galleons is still a very large sum — enough to start your own business and still have something left over."
"Forty thousand…" Ron muttered in shock, clutching the hide in his hands. A tear slid down his cheek.
"Hey, what's wrong?" we blurted, taken aback by his reaction.
"No… it's nothing," the boy hurriedly wiped the tear away, then looked at us steadily. "I'll never forget this gift. Thank you."
"Yeah, right. Thank you very much," Hermione nodded quickly, apparently not sure how to react to such an expensive present.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake…" we rolled our eyes at their behavior. "Come on, get over here."
We stepped forward and grabbed the boy and girl into one big hug, wrapping them from both sides.
"We're friends. It would be shameful to completely forget about you after everything. We already feel like we gave too little. But we've already spent two million three hundred and twenty-five thousand Galleons."
"How much did you spend?!" Hermione and Ron exclaimed in unison.
"Two million…" we started to repeat, but Hermione cut us off.
"I heard how much you spent, I just don't understand what could possibly cost that much."
"The thing that means we won't feel so helpless against that bastard anymore," we darkened at once, remembering how Quirrell had easily blocked all our attacks, and we had no doubt those shields had been cast by a weakened Voldy.
"Next time, we're the ones who'll make Voldemort helpless," we declared firmly.
"Wait. Where's Harry?" we suddenly remembered.
"He's in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey said his nerves are damaged and need time to recover," Hermione answered.
"Is he in really bad shape?" we asked anxiously.
"No. They gave him a pain reliever, and if he were older, it would have all gone almost without consequences."
"Hm, I see. But bloody Quirrell was throwing Unforgivables around like confetti," we grimaced.
"Unforgivables?" Ron repeated, holding his breath.
"Yes. From the looks of it, he wanted to use Harry, so he 'only' used the Cruciatus on him. And we had to twist ourselves into knots just to avoid the Killing Curse. So it's good you didn't come with us. He wouldn't have spared anyone but Harry."
"And how did you defeat the basilisk?" Hermione asked, her eyes full of anticipation. "When it was all over, I found a book about them. Ordinary spells should have bounced right off it."
"That's exactly how it is, so we chose another way. We directed a concentrated wave of cold air at its head so that it went through its nostrils to the brain and froze it. And snakes are weak to cold as it is, so first it passed out, and then it simply died."
"The book didn't say anything about a weakness like that," the girl said, a bit disappointed.
"That's because the author never tested that method," we shrugged. "Books are written by people, and they only write about what they themselves know, and only from their own point of view. Or on the basis of whatever happens to occur to them."
"Then maybe we should contact the author and suggest he update his book?" Hermione suddenly lit up with an idea.
"Will the author even still be alive?" Ron asked with mild doubt.
"Of course! He's the world-famous magizoologist Newt Scamander."
"Why not. Go for it," we replied, making it clear she'd be the one doing the writing. Then we remembered something.
"By the way, Ron, this isn't just the hide of a Thousand-Year Basilisk — it's the basilisk from Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, so I recommend talking to your brothers. They've got a strong business streak, and I think they can figure out how you can best sell this hide and then multiply that sum by starting a business with them," we said through Andromeda.
"Fred and George?" Ron's face creased into a frown. He was clearly recalling all the times his brothers had pranked and mocked him. But after apparently making up his mind about something, he nodded. "Yeah, I'll talk to them."