Chapter 120: Trouble Rekindled
"Don't mind him," Russell said to Wednesday. "He treats all students with equal—and profound—malice."
"You should know," he continued, "that in the wizarding world, there's a group of people known as Squibs."
"Of course," Wednesday replied, puzzled. "What about them? There are Squibs in the Addams family too. When we went to Russia over the summer, weren't there some there as well? They're still our family."
Her words made Russell realize something all at once.
No wonder some of the Addams carried guns instead of wands.
"Not all wizards think the way your family does, Wednesday," Russell said quietly, stating an uncomfortable truth. "In the eyes of most of the wizarding world, Squibs can't use magic, which makes them only marginally better than Muggles."
"Filch probably grew up in that kind of environment. Seeing young witches and wizards freely using magic—it likely bred envy. And that envy turned into resentment."
"Oh."
Wednesday nodded calmly, accepting it without much emotional reaction.
"Are you hungry?" Russell asked. Brewing potions drained both stamina and focus, and he was starting to feel it. "I'm thinking of grabbing a late-night snack."
"I'll go with you," Wednesday said immediately. She'd seen through his intention—she simply wanted to spend more time with him.
After scratching Thing lightly under the chin, the two headed for the kitchens—only to find several familiar faces already there.
Fred and George Weasley, Cedric, and Cho Chang.
Aside from Cho, the other three were eating with alarming enthusiasm.
"Evening, everyone," Russell greeted them.
"Russell! We've been looking for you all night," Cedric said after swallowing a mouthful of food. "Where did you two disappear to?"
"You wouldn't believe it," Fred said excitedly.
"Harry, Ron, and Neville beat the stuffing out of Malfoy and his goons."
"Honestly," George added, grinning, "my little brother's grown up. I've decided to buy Ron a brand-new set of robes."
"Then I'll get him a new hat," Fred chimed in immediately.
"So this is a celebration?" Russell said, sitting down beside Cedric, finally catching on.
Wednesday took the seat next to Russell.
"Exactly!" Fred said. "You should've seen it."
His storytelling was vivid enough that, in another era, he could've made a living as a bard—or, in ancient China, a master storyteller.
"Ron let out a shout and charged straight at Malfoy. Malfoy's face went white—he reached for his wand, but Ron clocked him square in the face before he could even pull it out."
"Harry wasn't about to be left out," George continued.
"He slid in and swept Crabbe right off his feet. Goyle tried to jump Ron, but Neville slammed into him and sent him flying."
"By the time the professors arrived," Fred concluded, "Malfoy's face was a mess—bruises everywhere."
"Gryffindor lost fifty points over it," George added, "and Slytherin got docked fifty too."
"What did they even start fighting over this time?" Russell frowned.
He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.
Perhaps because of the butterfly effect, Russell couldn't help feeling that this Malfoy was even more obnoxious than the one from the original story.
"He was standing up for a Gryffindor first-year witch," Cedric said, finally full and joining the conversation.
"I think her name was Hermione Granger."
"Malfoy called Granger a Mudblood," Cedric continued, "and that's when Ron completely snapped."
"I had no idea they were that close," Fred said with a mischievous grin. "Looks like Ron's growing up."
The truth, however, was a little different from how they described it.
After being discharged from the hospital wing, Malfoy had been in a foul mood. Seeing Harry and Ron laughing together only made things worse, and he took the initiative to provoke them. Hermione stepped in, believing Gryffindors should look out for one another—but Malfoy shoved her to the ground and hurled the insult Mudblood at her.
That was what sparked everything that followed.
It was a simple lesson, really: watch your mouth, or one day you won't know where the punch came from.
"So they only lost points? No detention?" Russell asked curiously.
Judging by the timing, Snape had probably still been in his office. The one handling it was most likely Professor McGonagall.
"Oh, they definitely got detention," Fred said, curling his lip.
"They're scrubbing the trophy room—by hand. No magic allowed. Supposedly so they can 'learn from Hogwarts' outstanding students.'"
"If you ask me," George added, "Bill and Charlie were outstanding graduates too—and they caused plenty of trouble back in the day."
---
By the time they finished their late-night snack, it was already deep into the night. When Russell escorted Wednesday back and returned to his dorm, it was well past midnight—yet his two roommates were still wide awake.
"Tomorrow's the weekend," they said cheerfully. "You can sleep in. Want to join us?"
"I'll pass," Russell replied with a smile. He still had early-morning spell practice planned with Cedric.
---
"How's business going?" Russell asked, panting slightly as he put away his wand.
Across from him, Cedric looked even worse—he'd collapsed onto the ground outright.
"We're basically sold out," Cedric said regretfully.
"Almost every student's bought a gas mask. For the ones who couldn't afford it, we sold at cost or practically gave them away—goodwill matters."
"Now pretty much everyone knows the name Weasley Joke Shop," he continued.
"But Fred and George think it feels wrong to name it after themselves, since all four of us are in this together."
"And since you're the largest shareholder," Cedric added, "they want you to come up with a new name."
Russell nodded, thinking for a moment.
"Let's call it the Dark Moon Circus."
"It sounds a bit strange," Cedric admitted, "but it's definitely eye-catching."
---
After resting briefly, they headed—as usual—to Professor Sprout's greenhouse.
"Wednesday? What are you doing here?" Russell asked in surprise as he lifted the curtain.
"It's Saturday. Shouldn't you be sleeping in?"
"Professor Sprout invited me to sit in," Wednesday said calmly, handing him a teacup.
"Want some?"
"Sure. I was getting thirsty anyway."
Russell took a gulp—and instantly grimaced.
"That's bitter."
Seeing her prank succeed, a faint smile appeared on Wednesday's face.
"How's my newly cultivated tea?" Professor Sprout asked as she walked in, lifting the teapot.
"Care for another cup?"
"I've had enough," Russell said quickly. "Why don't you give Cedric one instead?"
Cedric took a sip—and immediately pulled a face.
---
After lunch, Russell arrived at Professor McGonagall's office and knocked.
Today was his first time attending the Transfiguration Club.
"Mr. Fythorne," Professor McGonagall said in surprise, "you're rather early. It doesn't start until two."
"I'm just excited," Russell explained. "And I thought I'd see if you needed any help."
Her expression softened immediately.
"No wonder so many professors like you—even Severus."
"That's not true," Russell said with a smile. "And please—just call me Russell."
"Very well, Russell," she said, ushering him inside.
"Give me a moment while I organize the materials."
Russell sat quietly, taking in the office.
It was neat and orderly, but the walls were covered in Quidditch posters. On a nearby desk, he spotted a photograph of a young Professor McGonagall.
She looked vibrant—wearing a bright Gryffindor uniform, broom tucked under her arm, trophy held proudly in both hands. Her joy was unmistakable.
"Professor," Russell asked suddenly, "do you like Quidditch?"
McGonagall paused, momentarily caught off guard.
"Of course," she replied with a smile.
"When I was a student, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup every single year."
There was clear pride in her voice—but it soon gave way to worry.
Charlie Weasley, the former captain and backbone of the team, had graduated this year. His successor, Oliver Wood, was talented—but losing Charlie had undeniably weakened Gryffindor.
She glanced at Russell, feeling slightly guilty.
At this rate, Gryffindor might not even be able to beat Ravenclaw.
Lose to Slytherin, then Hufflepuff, then Ravenclaw…
If this kept up, Gryffindor would be finished.
---
Seeing that it was nearly time, Professor McGonagall led Russell to the Transfiguration Club venue.
Russell levitated a thick stack of documents, following close behind.
The club met in the Transfiguration classroom—but it had been completely rearranged. The desks were pushed aside, and chairs were set in a wide semicircle around the center.
Because they'd arrived early, the room was still empty.
Professor McGonagall told Russell to pick any seat he liked while she adjusted the lectern.
Soon, students began filing in.
Most were unfamiliar faces—upperclassmen from all four houses. After a brief moment of surprise at seeing a younger student, they offered Russell friendly smiles in greeting.
The Transfiguration Club was about to begin.