Fred and George stared at the man sternly. "Sorry, sir. I don't think we need—"
"These are items no ordinary young wizard can acquire," the man in the black robe interrupted them. "I think you desperately need them, don't you?"
"I'd bet you won't find these anywhere else in Hogsmeade," he added confidently.
Harry stepped forward. "Where's the merchandise?"
The robed man shook his head. "Those are contraband, my dear boy. I can't carry them around, especially Ashwinder eggs—those little things are trouble."
"And the price?" Harry pressed.
The man's face was hidden beneath his hood, but the greed in his voice made it easy to imagine his expression. "Depends on how much you're willing to pay."
"I'll offer ten Galleons," Harry said after a moment's thought.
The man scoffed. "No, no, no. These are rare and dangerous to obtain—twenty Galleons."
"Show me the goods first," Harry countered. "If the quality's good, I wouldn't mind paying your price."
The man's tone turned gleeful. "Of course. Follow me."
As Harry moved to follow, Fred grabbed his arm.
"Harry, you can't go with him," Fred whispered urgently. "My dad always says people like this are likely to be dark wizards."
"Relax. He's not dangerous," Harry said, patting Fred's hand reassuringly.
Fred and George froze in confusion.
The man was cloaked in black from head to toe—he was the textbook definition of a dangerous person. How could Harry possibly think otherwise?
Fred didn't let go, and George tugged on Harry's sleeve.
"He's safer than a troll," Harry added, pulling down his oversized sunglasses to reveal his cat-like eyes. "Trust me. Nothing will happen."
"If you're worried, you can stay here," he said, gently freeing himself from their grasp before following the black-robed wizard into the village's outskirts.
The twins hesitated, but after a brief glance at each other, they gritted their teeth and decided to follow. No way were they leaving Harry alone with someone so suspicious.
The man led them farther and farther away until they were nearly outside the village. He stopped at a secluded corner by a crumbling wall.
"I've hidden them here. Wait for me to get them," he said warmly, crouching to search.
But suddenly, his wrist twitched, and a wand slid from his sleeve. He twisted his hand, aiming directly at Harry.
"Stupefy!"
A beam of red light shot toward Harry, who sidestepped swiftly. The spell missed, striking the wall behind him.
The robed wizard froze for a moment before cursing and casting again. This time, the wall trembled, and stones began to assemble into a life-sized statue.
"No more business, then?" Harry murmured, reaching under his cloak and drawing the Sword of Gryffindor. "What a pity."
The wizard gaped at the sword.
A sword?
A wizard using a sword?
There was no time to think. The man pointed his wand, commanding one stone figure to attack Harry while another charged at the Weasley twins.
Harry cast a Quen sign, summoning a golden shield around himself, then rolled aside to dodge the statue's heavy swing.
He waved his wand, transfiguring some debris into strange, jagged shapes. Though poorly crafted due to his limited skill, they latched onto the statue's legs and rooted it to the ground.
The robed wizard panicked.
He cast spell after spell, but the boy was too quick, dodging each one effortlessly.
Harry closed the distance between them in a flash. One swing of his sword, and the wizard's wand arm was severed with a clean cut. The hand, still clutching the wand, fell to the ground.
With the magic severed, the stone statues crumbled into rubble.
Harry didn't hesitate. Another swift stroke took off the man's other arm
Fred and George froze, stunned.
Only now did they understand why Harry had called the situation "safe." It was safe, indeed—Harry had disarmed the man (quite literally) in mere moments.
"You're weak," Harry said, frowning. "If you hadn't cast spells, I wouldn't have believed you were a wizard."
The man collapsed into the snow, trembling. His hood fell back, revealing a pale, terror-stricken face.
How was this possible?
This boy—he couldn't be more than a third- or fourth-year—was absurdly strong!
"You're a demon!" the wizard hissed weakly. "What kind of wizard uses a sword?"
Harry crouched down, pulling something from his cloak. "I'm a Gryffindor. Using a sword is perfectly normal, isn't it?"
Fred and George exchanged looks, speechless. No, it wasn't normal at all!
Harry held the object in front of the man's face. "Do you know what this is?"
The man didn't answer. His gaze shifted past Harry, focusing instead on the contents of his cloak.
He had seen something terrifying in that brief moment—seven or eight potion vials, their murky colors suggesting they were anything but medicinal.
What kind of twelve-year-old comes this prepared?
Harry clicked his tongue. "Judging by your silence, I'd say your knowledge of Herbology is as terrible as your Transfiguration."
"This is Dittany, a miraculous plant. Applied to wounds, it can stop bleeding," Harry explained as he unstoppered the vial.
"Now, I'll ask, and you'll answer truthfully. Do that, and you might survive. Understand?"
The man nodded desperately, his pale face growing even whiter.
"Where are the potion ingredients I asked for?"
"I don't have any contraband," the man stammered.
Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you were playing me?"
"No! Yes! I mean, I just thought you had money. I wanted to lure you here and rob you," the man confessed, trembling.
Harry glanced back at the twins.
George nodded. "I've heard of this. Some scumbag wizards rob Hogwarts students' pocket money in Hogsmeade."
Fred shrugged, speaking matter-of-factly. "You know, aside from us Weasleys, most students actually have money to steal."
Harry turned back to the man, his eyes filled with contempt. "Robbing kids? You're really something."
"I swear I won't do it again! Please, save me—I'm dying!" the man pleaded.
Harry raised his hand. "Axii!"
The spell hit its mark.
"Were you telling the truth just now?" Harry asked.
The man, now under Axii's influence, nodded sluggishly. "Yes, it's all true."
"What's your name and school?"
"Abner Smith. School of Magical Dramatics…" The man trailed off, his dazed expression replaced by panic. "No! What did you do to me? Was that Legilimency?"
Eleven seconds.
That's how long the spell lasted on an injured wizard far weaker than Professor McGonagall. Magic truly was fascinating.
Fred clarified, "The School of Magical Dramatics teaches theatrical magic. It's nothing like Hogwarts, where we learn proper wizardry."
"It mainly accepts older students who discover their magic late or those who failed to pass their O.W.L.s."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"Please, I didn't mean any harm!" the man cried. "I only used Stupefy—no lethal spells!"
Harry applied Dittany to the man's stumps, noticing faint traces of sword oil lingering on the wounds. He hesitated for a moment before finishing the application.
Once done, Harry stood and dusted off his hands. "Let's go."
"You're leaving me here?" the man shouted. "You can't!"
Harry didn't look back.
Fred hesitated. "Are we really leaving him? He might die out here…"
"I only took his hands, not his legs," Harry replied coldly. "I've already shown mercy."
"What do you think would've happened if his Stunning Spell hit us?"
The twins paused.
"We'd have been left unconscious in the snow," Harry continued. "If no one found us, we'd be dead by morning."
Fred and George suddenly felt far less sorry for the man. With lighter steps, they followed Harry back through the secret passage.
Inside the tunnel, Fred pumped his fist. "George, we just beat a fully-grown wizard!"
George high-fived him. "We're amazing! If we study hard, we could get twelve N.E.W.T.s like Bill!"
Fred immediately recoiled at the thought. "No, that's a terrible idea."
George nodded solemnly.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You only dealt with a statue, and you didn't even win."
"We," Fred corrected, circling his finger to include all three of them.
"That was still a Transfigured construct by an adult wizard!" George argued.
"He was weak, even compared to a troll," Harry said flatly.
Fred crossed his arms. "Oh, Harry, you're too talented to understand. Trolls aren't easy
to beat!"
"You said sixth- and seventh-years can handle them," Harry pointed out.
"Only the best students," George clarified. "Most Hogwarts students barely scrape by with a passing grade."
"Frankly, most adult wizards are around that guy's level."
Fred beamed at Harry's sword. "If Hogwarts offered swordsmanship, you'd get an O in N.E.W.T.s for sure."