The Twins' Plan

Amosta watched the slightly disappointed Harry Potter leave his office. In the end, he had failed to get even the slightest hint of any secret not meant for outsiders from him.

Amosta was not surprised by this. Wizards Harry's age were naturally in a sensitive stage of life, and Amosta himself was from Slytherin. If he were in Harry's shoes, he would have no reason to trust a stranger rather than tell Headmaster Dumbledore what he knew.

Still, after that little probing just now, Amosta had indeed confirmed that Potter was hiding some extremely crucial information. If he knew that information, the situation probably would not be so passive.

"Perhaps I should think of some way to gain his trust?"

Amosta stared at the shifting light and shadows on the ceiling, frowning in frustration. What if that Heir never showed any weakness?

Amosta had considered that perhaps he could brew some Polyjuice Potion and disguise himself as Colin or Justin, then spread word that the attacked young wizard had awakened and provided the school with vital clues about the culprit's identity. All he would need to do was show his face while posing as the victim, then hide in the Hospital Wing without coming out.

It was a good plan, but it had one flaw: if Colin and Justin had not seen the culprit's true face when they were petrified, then this method probably would not scare the attacker.

"Let's wait and see—"

Amosta withdrew his gaze. He moved his fingers at the surveillance wall, and the drapes silently drew open. Staring at the figures moving across the entire wall, he muttered,

"If nothing comes of this, then I'll have no choice but to cling to the protagonists—"

After leaving Mr. Breen's office, Harry headed toward Gryffindor Tower. He had originally planned to tell Hermione about the conversation first, but after thinking it over carefully, Harry felt there was nothing urgently requiring Hermione's wisdom.

He had already figured out the most important matter: Mr. Breen would not readily believe the rumors in the school. Until he had definite evidence, he would not throw anyone in the castle into prison. For Harry, that was enough.

As for why he had not told Mr. Breen about the terrifying voice and Dobby's warning, Harry saw it this way.

Since Mr. Breen had refused to clear his name, saying those things probably would not change the outcome. It would only make him seem even more suspicious.

Besides, Harry had always felt that if anyone needed to know about those matters, it should be Headmaster Dumbledore—as he passed through the portrait hole behind the Fat Lady portrait, Harry thought just that.

Aside from Percy, all the Weasley children were sitting on a soft, oversized sofa beneath a bright crystal chandelier. The moment they saw Harry, their faces showed immediate relief, and they happily waved him over. The sight warmed Harry's heart.

"So, Harry, did that Breen give you trouble because of Filch?" Ron got up and handed Harry a cup of pumpkin juice.

"It went better than I expected, Ron." Harry grinned.

Twenty minutes later, after Harry had told them the entire conversation, the worried and tense Weasleys all looked considerably more relaxed.

"Oh, that Investigator seems wiser than we expected, George. Looks like we'll need to adjust our plan." Fred muttered, though he looked somewhat disappointed. "We were going to teach him a lesson!"

"Don't, Fred." Harry said worriedly. "Mr. Breen isn't some empty show-off like Lockhart. He won't be easy to deal with!"

"Trust the professionals, Harry." George said smugly. "We never miss!"

"What are you planning to do?" Ron looked at George with keen interest. "Throw Dungbombs into his office?"

Once Harry said that he would not be inexplicably thrown out of school for the time being, some color returned to Ginny's pale, haggard face, which looked as though she had not slept in half a month. She lowered the hand clutching her chest and let out a breath of relief. Before long, however, her breathing quickened again, and she looked tense.

"That Mr. Breen said he was monitoring the school, but how does he do it? I mean, he hardly ever leaves that office of his?"

It was indeed a baffling question. Harry could not answer it either, but his instincts told him Mr. Breen had not lied. They discussed it for a long time, eventually concluding that it probably had something to do with the wall hidden behind the drapes.

"Looks like we'll still have to make a trip there, Fred!" At the end of the conversation, George raised his eyebrows and gave his brother a mischievous grin.

"Of course, George. Aside from the two of us, probably no one can seize the chance to sneak into his office!" Fred waggled his eyebrows at George.

After everyone else had left, Fred quietly said to George,

"Do you think Breen has one too?"

"Shut up, Fred!" George said urgently as he watched Percy laboriously climb into the common room. "By tomorrow, we'll have the answer."

On Tuesday morning, the third-year Gryffindors had Professor Flitwick's Charms class. Today, he was introducing the young wizards to a spell that could make people laugh until their sides hurt—the Cheering Charm.

"—At the end of the casting motion, you need to give your wand a subtle upward flick. This is very important, ladies and gentlemen," Professor Flitwick said in his shrill voice, standing atop a stack of books beside the podium. "Otherwise, when you come to, you'll find yourself lying on the floor with a black-furred baboon standing on your chest!"

"What are you two plotting now?"

Angelina noticed that Fred and George were not practicing the spell on each other at all. Instead, they had their heads lowered as they secretly examined a piece of parchment. Dense lines of writing wandered back and forth across the yellowed paper.

"Peeping into someone's privacy is a despicable thing, Katie. I wouldn't want a despicable person as my teammate~"

Fred turned his head, glared Angelina away, then secretly gave George a look. Receiving the signal, George immediately shook an orange-yellow sweet out of his sleeve.

"If this kills me, Fred, remember to bury my body in Filch's office!" George said with a grin.

Three minutes later, the once-noisy classroom fell silent amid a series of ear-piercing screams. The bright red liquid spurting from both of George's nostrils left everyone dumbfounded. Professor Flitwick hurried over, and when he saw George's miserable state and the large bloodstains on Fred's robes, he too panicked.

"Fre—ah, no, George. Fine, whichever of you is which, can someone explain to me what exactly happened?"

"He's dying!" Fred supported the deathly pale George, his face filled with grief. "Could you allow me to find somewhere to bury my dear brother?"

"No one is dying, Weasley!" Professor Flitwick said angrily.

"Take him to Madam Pomfrey at once and get him treated. If there's time, I hope you can return to practice the Cheering Charm. This lesson is very important, Weasley, because—"

Flitwick did not finish his sentence, because the moment the two Weasleys heard that he had permitted them to go to the Hospital Wing, they sprang up full of life and dashed out of the classroom without looking back, leaving Professor Flitwick standing in a huge pool of blood in utter confusion.

Since class was in session, few young wizards were wandering around the castle. Fred and George, with George clutching his nose, raced through the corridors. When they reached the fourth floor, Fred suggested that he investigate Breen's office while George went to the Hospital Wing for some simple treatment.

"We haven't made an antidote for this stuff yet, George. It might drain every drop of blood from your body!"

"Don't even think about going alone, Fred. You can't take all the credit for yourself!" George clutched his steadily bleeding nose and charged straight toward the third floor.

Based on what they had observed over the past few days, Amosta Breen only left his mysterious office between ten-thirty and eleven in the morning, and between four and four-thirty in the afternoon. He would first go to the kitchen to find something to eat, then take a bath in the Prefects' Bathroom to ease his fatigue, before rushing straight back.

Breaking the defensive charm on the office door proved far easier than the twins had expected. A simple Alohomora took care of everything.

The twins slipped into the room in a crouch. The office's simple furnishings could be taken in at a glance and were not worth special attention. Fred and George stood before the black drapes, exchanging excited looks.

"Count down from three, then let's unveil this mystery together!"