"Hermione is just competitive, Ron," Harry said, trying to calm Ron, who was clearly annoyed by Hermione's behavior. "She grew up in a Muggle family, so she's always worried about falling behind at Hogwarts and getting laughed at."
"Come on, Harry," Ron retorted with a roll of his eyes. "You and Hermione were the only ones in the entire class who managed to get that stupid needle to transform. Not even Neville or I, who grew up in the magical world, could do it—and neither could the Ravenclaws in our group. I don't see what she has to be unhappy about."
Ron had a point.
"Admit it—she just wants to outdo you, Harry," Ron added with a shrug. "Merlin's beard, you're Harry Potter! The Savior of the Wizarding World!"
"I'm just a regular person, Ron. You're exaggerating," Harry replied, shaking his head slightly.
"A regular wizard? Can a regular wizard defeat You-Know-Who? Can a regular wizard summon a giant stone golem bigger than a house?" Ron pressed. "Hermione just doesn't want to admit it... Anyway, I'm not going to compete with you—it's pointless."
When the gap is too vast, even jealousy struggles to take root. The thought of competing never even crossed Ron's mind.
As for his current situation, Ron couldn't be happier.
With seven children in the Weasley family, Ron's parents loved all of them, but there were simply too many to go around. Inevitably, some children felt overlooked. At home, Ron often felt like the forgotten one, especially with Ginny being both the youngest and the only girl.
But things were different now.
On his very first day at Hogwarts, he'd made quite the impression—not only earning praise from countless older Gryffindors but even receiving shoulder pats and compliments from Fred and George, those two mischievous older brothers. And, of course, he'd become the friend of none other than Harry Potter himself.
Honestly, Ron felt like he was living a dream these days—if only there weren't so much homework from the professors.
At dinner, Ron was, for what felt like the hundredth time, retelling the story of how he'd punched Malfoy square in his smug face. And the best part? People still loved hearing it—especially whenever a Slytherin walked by the Gryffindor table.
If Malfoy himself passed by? Even better.
"Oh my, Fred, do you hear that? What is this?"
"Isn't that our dearest little brother, Ronnikins?"
As Ron was in the middle of dramatically recounting his tale, two pairs of hands grabbed him from behind. It was none other than Fred and George.
"Let's see now, what's the latest version of the story?"
"Is it the one where Ron singlehandedly defeated Malfoy and his two cronies?"
"No, no, Fred, that's outdated. I believe it's at least two cronies now—"
"Wait, maybe three?"
"Four, I'd wager."
"Fine, we'll settle on five—five upper-year Slytherins! Merlin's beard, it's been three minutes since we last heard the glorious tale of Ronnikins' triumph!"
"Absolutely! I'm feeling itchy all over!"
"Shut up, Fred! George!" Ron's face turned beet red as he glared at them. He looked ready to stab his brothers with his fork. "Can't you two just eat your dinner quietly for once?!"
When it came to threats, Ron was certain his biggest ones were sitting right here—his own brothers.
The table erupted into laughter. Even Hermione, who had been frowning all afternoon, couldn't help but chuckle.
That was the thing about the Weasley twins—wherever they went, laughter followed.
Ron, however, had a different opinion.
"Wait a second... What's on your heads—?" Harry suddenly noticed something odd about the twins and was utterly speechless.
"You've spotted it, Harry!" Fred exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.
"Brilliant, isn't it?!" George chimed in, beaming with pride.
Standing beside the long Gryffindor table, Fred and George proudly displayed their foreheads—which now sported a pair of horns.
Yes, horns. Much like the ones on Harry's head… except the twins' were larger, more curved, and resembled ram horns.
Admittedly, they looked surprisingly impressive and intimidating.
"We worked on these all night, Harry!" Fred declared, clearly thrilled by the attention they were receiving from the entire Great Hall. He clapped George on the shoulder.
"Exactly! And the best part? These horns are far more impressive than they look!" George shouted, hopping onto a chair to make himself more visible. "Watch this!"
Fred joined him, both now standing atop their chairs. Under the watchful eyes of the entire Great Hall, their horns began to—glow.
First red, then orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—the colors cycled like a dazzling light show.
The moment the horns started glowing, Harry nearly lost it. When they began shifting through all the colors of the rainbow, illuminating the hall like a disco ball, Harry... Well, he had to suppress a powerful urge—an urge to punch the twins in their glowing faces.
The ever-changing light painted everyone's faces in different hues. Whistles echoed through the hall as the atmosphere turned lively, no longer confined to just the Gryffindor table.
It felt like they were in a nightclub—or a bar—minus the music. But the twins didn't let that stop them; they swayed to the whistles and cheers. Finally, they struck dramatic poses, arms raised, one leaning left and the other right.
And then—
And then!!
Under Harry's now bloodshot gaze, the twins' horns suddenly emitted a loud "toot-toot" sound, followed by a long, resounding moo, and—yes—streams of confetti. A small red-and-gold magical firework burst above their heads.
Harry tried. He really did. But he couldn't help it.
He shoved several mouthfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth to stifle his urge—the urge to bury Fred and George six feet underground.
To be honest, it was a monumental effort. Ever since regaining his youthful energy, Harry found it much harder to rein in the impulses of his younger self.
So, he repeated to himself like a mantra: They're just kids, just kids, just calves, just calves...
Until he heard the twins bowing and thanking their "audience."
"Thank you! Thank you!!"
Like performers after a stage play, Fred and George bowed to the applause.
"Harry Potter-inspired glowing horns! Two Galleons a pair! Brighten up your day—and your face!" Fred announced.
"Join us! Become a horned hero!"
"You could be the next Horned Wizard!"
"Make Horned Wizards great again!"
Patience—patience—nope, patience is gone!
Harry threw a punch, landing squarely on their stomachs, and the comedic twin duo slid off their chairs in exaggerated agony, their faces twisted in mock pain. It was as if they were enacting their final moments, stretching out trembling hands in an over-the-top performance—they really should consider acting as a career.
Yet, instead of making the atmosphere more serious, Harry's punches only seemed to crank up the energy in the dining hall.
Cheers, applause, and whistles echoed throughout, not just from the Gryffindor table but even from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables nearby. Some students actually stood up, shouting Fred and George's names, ready to place orders.
Even the Slytherins joined in!
Although, at the Slytherin table, they kept their enthusiasm subtle, feigning disdain to maintain appearances.
Clutching his face in frustration, Harry genuinely began to wonder if there was some kind of generational gap between him and these young wizards. How was he supposed to stop this madness?
How? What could he do—declare a manhunt within Hogwarts? They were just a bunch of kids looking for a good laugh.
Besides, if they really wanted these things, they could always make them themselves. Harry suddenly felt an odd kinship with Professor McGonagall—this must have been exactly how she felt that day she handed him back the warhammer and shield.
"Ha-Harry," Fred's trembling hand tugged at Harry's robe as he lay sprawled under the table. "We could cut you in on the profits. A forty-sixty split! You get forty; we get sixty!"
"I don't need your money!" Harry snapped through gritted teeth, turning his head. "What you're doing is desecrating the honor of the Tauren!"
"Hey, Harry, don't put it like that," George, suddenly abandoning his "injured" act, popped up beside Harry and threw an arm around his shoulder. "First of all, no money is small money. Wealth is built over time—and besides, we're charging two Galleons for a pair. That's not small change!"
"Exactly! Look at the demand—we've got a bestseller on our hands," Fred chimed in, seating himself on Harry's other side. The twins flanked him, speaking into each ear. "And as a newly emerging race, we should recruit more people. The more there are, the greater our tribe's glory! Let's make our people even more magnificent!"
The twins had already started identifying as Tauren themselves.
"...It's not what you think," Harry sighed, uncharacteristically weak in his protests. "At best, this is performance art. It's not real Tauren culture."
There were too many things he couldn't explain to Fred and George, things that wouldn't make sense—or that simply didn't need explaining. To the twins, the Tauren were just a brilliant idea of Harry's, and they were happy to be part of the grand vision.
But the Tauren they envisioned and the Tauren Harry remembered were not the same.
At least, Harry had never imagined Tauren at Thunder Bluff—with horns that could glow, change colors, and shoot fireworks.
Cairne would probably butcher them… probably…
And Magatha… she'd likely have a heart attack. She was the traditional type, after all.
"Of course, of course," Fred clapped Harry on the shoulder repeatedly. "We know nothing about Tauren, but that's why we've got you!"
"Exactly! Since we don't know anything, you can teach us about the glory of the Tauren," George added cheerfully. "Their culture, their traditions!"
"—It's just so cool!"
At that, the twins shouted in unison, their eyes practically sparkling.
"...Your eyes are literally glowing," Harry muttered, borrowing a line Hagrid once used on him. He propped his head on his hand, utterly drained.
But honestly, considering what he had planned for the future—things like spreading the path of shamanism and reviving the elements worldwide…
… Associating that with the Tauren didn't seem like such a bad idea.
Using Tauren traits as symbols for this path might even strengthen organizational identity—and bring some familiar sights into this world to ease his homesickness.
...Actually, it wasn't bad at all.
Harry was trying to console himself. Really, he was. Otherwise, there might have been bloodshed in the Hogwarts dining hall today.
After all, this wasn't Azeroth. Things had to be done differently here.
Yes. That's it.
Absolutely.
—But the horns definitely could not be multicolored, glowing, or shooting fireworks! Absolutely not!
That was Harry's bottom line!
Breathing heavily, Harry no longer had his usual composed demeanor; even his breaths came unevenly.
"This isn't so bad, is it?" Hermione, who had been laughing uncontrollably nearby, finally managed to speak. "Back on the Hogwarts Express, could you have imagined a day where you'd say the words 'performance art' to someone?"
Harry: "..."
He realized this little witch had not only a sharp memory but also a penchant for holding grudges.
She still remembered how he'd teased her on the train.
"It's not the same," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Not even close."
"Sure, go tell them that… pfft!" Hermione gestured toward the students still shouting to order glowing horns, clearly trying to suppress her laughter but failing miserably.
Hermione, at this moment, looked nothing like the stressed and overwhelmed girl from earlier in the day. She seemed genuinely happy now.
"Fine, laugh. Go ahead and laugh," Harry muttered, glancing around at his friends, all struggling to contain their laughter. He sighed deeply. "If it makes you happy, I guess that's fine."
After all, making the little ones happy was the least he could do… bite back frustration.
"Hahahahahahahahaha!"
The laughter only grew louder.
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