Of course, it was only a small episode. With all the noise around them, missing a few words here and there was nothing unusual—though that wasn't the reason for Malfoy's distraction.
"You missed the Sorting Ceremony. What a pity," Malfoy remarked with a casual shrug.
"Anyway, who cares about that stuff? It's just the same few houses over and over," Pansy replied indifferently, her tone carrying the faintest hint of boredom.
"By the way, how did you get back?" Malfoy asked curiously.
Pansy pointed upstairs and winked. "You're not the only one with privileges, you know."
The Floo Network at Hogwarts was rarely connected to the outside world. It was like those isolated supercomputers in the Muggle world—completely secure, entirely cut off to prevent outside intrusion. But there were always exceptions. Pansy had clearly gotten the Headmaster's special permission to lift the restriction just long enough to use the network.
"Although it's fast, it's absolutely disgusting. I'd rather take the train," Pansy muttered, wrinkling her nose as she recalled the dizzying spin of green flames.
"Don't frown so much; you'll age faster," Malfoy teased lightly, patting her head. "Anyway, I'll give you your gift tomorrow. I worked half the holidays at Gringotts to get it."
Pansy's eyes sparkled. "What is it?"
"That," he said with a smirk, "is a secret."
"Tch." She turned her head away, clearly annoyed by his evasiveness. "I don't keep people in suspense. Here." She fished out a small, delicately wrapped box from her pocket and thrust it at him with mock reluctance.
"Thanks," Malfoy said simply. "If you're dizzy, you should sleep. That feeling isn't pleasant."
"Mhm." Pansy nodded, looking exhausted. She headed straight toward the Slytherin girls' dormitory, leaving Malfoy to himself.
Soon after, the dreadful Hogwarts school song came to a merciful end, signaling that all students should return to their common rooms—or straight to bed. But instead of following the crowd, Malfoy strode toward the Gryffindor table.
"What's he doing here?" Hermione whispered, her heart skipping a beat.
But Malfoy wasn't interested in her. He stopped in front of the Weasley twins.
"Well, if it isn't the young master of the Malfoy family," said Fred, grinning.
"Here to prank us?" George added in the same teasing tone.
"Just making a deal," Malfoy replied evenly.
"A deal?" they echoed, surprised. The Malfoys and Weasleys weren't exactly friendly, but no one in their right mind turned down money—especially not Fred and George. Ron might have, but his mischievous brothers were businessmen at heart. Perhaps they even saw an opportunity to squeeze some extra Galleons out of him.
"The more of these you can make, the better. Here's the deposit." Malfoy placed a parchment list and a small pile of Galleons on the table, then left without waiting for an answer.
Fred frowned and looked at the list. "A Canary Cream? George, what do you think he's up to?"
"No idea," George said, shaking his head. "Maybe the young master needs a little something to wake him up?"
Fred groaned at the weak joke, but George only grinned wider. "Well, one thing's for sure—our research funds just got a boost."
"Can't complain about that." Fred raised an eyebrow, and the two exchanged a knowing smile. With fresh funds, the Weasley twins were ready to make Hogwarts lively again.
Meanwhile, Malfoy was lost in thought as he left. Better than nothing, he mused. It's not real anyway—just something external. He wasn't in the mood to socialize, so he skipped the Slytherin common room entirely and went straight to bed.
In the Gryffindor common room, the mood was the complete opposite—rowdy, buzzing with excitement. Word of Ron and Harry's latest escapade had spread like wildfire, perhaps carried by the castle's ghosts or by Peeves himself.
"My brother! How did you do it? You should've called us!" George said eagerly.
"Yeah, you'd be a natural in our prank business," Fred chimed in. "We could use your kind of creativity!"
The room burst into cheers. To everyone, Harry's stunt was nothing short of legendary.
"You actually flew?" Hermione cut in sharply, sounding both incredulous and exasperated—more like Professor McGonagall than ever.
"Don't lecture us," Ron grumbled. "Anyway, no points got deducted. It wasn't even the start of term."
"This isn't about points! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" Hermione's voice rose, cutting through the laughter.
"Come on, we're fine," Ron insisted, spreading his arms as if to prove it. "Right, Harry?"
"Ron, shush," Harry murmured, nudging him. Then he tilted his head discreetly—Ron's expression changed instantly. Percy was coming. The last thing they wanted was another scolding. They quickly made up an excuse and escaped to their dormitory.
Upstairs, their roommates greeted them like heroes. Even Neville looked at them with awe. For a moment, the punishment they'd received earlier seemed trivial, even worth it. They had no idea that the real punishment—Mrs. Weasley's Howler—was waiting for them the next morning.
The following morning, the Great Hall buzzed with chatter. Students from all four houses were gathered for breakfast. Plates of eggs and bacon, porridge bowls, and stacks of toast filled the tables.
"I didn't expect I wasn't the only one who was late," Pansy said as she chatted with Malfoy. He'd just told her about Harry and Ron's "glorious adventure."
"So Gryffindor must've lost a ton of points to start the term, right?" she asked, eyes gleaming.
"Uh, no," Malfoy admitted. "Their Head of House probably wanted to, but apparently it didn't count since term hadn't officially started yet. They just got detention."
Pansy frowned. "Boring," she muttered, clearly disappointed. "I wanted to see Gryffindor start the year in last place."
"Don't worry," Malfoy said with a mysterious smirk. "Just wait a moment—you'll see a good show soon enough."
"A good show?" she repeated, skeptical. "What could possibly happen here?"
"There." Malfoy pointed toward the ceiling as the morning post owls swooped into the hall. Hundreds of wings beat the air as letters and parcels fluttered down to the students below.
"Errol!" Ron shouted as one particularly scruffy-looking owl careened through the air. The poor creature looked utterly exhausted—and rather unwell. It missed Ron entirely, crashed headfirst into Hermione's milk jug, and splashed milk and feathers everywhere.
"Errol!" Ron groaned, pulling the drenched bird out of the pitcher by its claws. The owl lay flat on its back on the table, legs twitching, a soggy red envelope clamped in its beak.
Even though he dreaded it, Ron tore it open. He knew ignoring it would only make things worse.
The moment the seal broke, everyone instinctively covered their ears. The Great Hall shook with an ear-splitting roar that echoed off the stone walls.
"RONALD WEASLEY!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice thundered through the hall, amplified a hundredfold. Even the dust on the ceiling trembled loose. Plates rattled, spoons jumped, and conversations froze mid-word. Harry stared, wide-eyed. He had never heard Mrs. Weasley sound so terrifying.
The Howler continued its tirade at full volume, scolding Ron and Harry for their reckless behavior. Every word echoed for what felt like an eternity. Ron shrank lower and lower in his seat until only the top of his bright red head was visible. Harry sat stiffly beside him, mortified.
Finally, Mrs. Weasley's voice softened.
"Oh, my dear Ginny, congratulations on being sorted into Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud of you."
With that, the letter hissed, smoked, and burst into flames.
Ginny blushed furiously and ducked her head, as if she were the one being scolded.
Around the hall, laughter erupted. A few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws chuckled quietly behind their hands, but the Slytherins roared with laughter. Pansy was nearly in tears, clutching her stomach. "How did you know that was going to happen?" she managed between giggles.
"With their family's finances, if they wrecked a car, what did you think would happen?" Malfoy replied coolly.
"Oh… right." Pansy stifled her laughter, realizing it wasn't very ladylike. Straightening her posture, she asked expectantly, "So, what about my gift? You did promise."
"I knew that was coming." Malfoy smiled and took out a small, beautifully wrapped box. "Here."
"Can I open it?" she asked eagerly, though she didn't wait for an answer.
"Go ahead," Malfoy said with a small flourish of his hand.
Pansy tore off the wrapping. Inside was a golden Snitch—though its color had faded with time. It wasn't truly golden anymore, more like dull silver-gray, the sheen worn away by age. The design, however, was intricate and unmistakably old.
Her hands flew to her mouth in astonishment. "Is this—can it fly?"
"Of course," Malfoy said, clearly pleased by her reaction. "But we'll have to test it somewhere smaller. Wouldn't want it escaping."
To repair the antique Snitch, Malfoy had made another trip to Borgin and Burkes. Restoring something that delicate had cost far more than buying a new one. Between the broom he'd purchased and this gift, even the generous goblins at Gringotts couldn't prevent his wallet from emptying.
"Thank you," Pansy said softly, her cheeks tinged pink.
"That's not like you," Malfoy teased. "The Pansy I know doesn't blush."
Pansy swatted him lightly on the arm but smiled all the same, cradling the Snitch as though it were something precious.
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