The Three of Us Are Invincible!

Fred and George looked at him gravely: "Sorry, sir, we don't think we really need..."

"These things aren't something a little wizard could get his hands on," the figure in the black robe interrupted. "I imagine you are in great need of these items, aren't you?"

"I'd bet that in Hogsmeade, I am the only one who can get you what you're looking for."

Harry spoke up: "Where's the merchandise?"

The black-robed figure shook his head: "Those are contraband, my dear little sir. I couldn't possibly carry them on me, especially Ashwinder eggs—those little things are a massive headache."

"What's the price?" Harry asked.

The figure's face was hidden beneath the hood, but the greed overflowing from his tone was enough to imagine his expression: "I wonder how much you can offer?"

"I can offer ten Galleons," Harry replied after a moment of thought.

The figure shook his head: "No, no, no. These things are incredibly hard to come by. Twenty Galleons."

"Take me to see your goods first," Harry gestured with a wave of his hand. "If the quality is good, I don't mind paying that much."

The figure's tone turned delighted: "Of course, follow me."

Harry took a step, but before he could go any further, he was pulled back by Fred.

"Harry, you can't go with him," he whispered. "My father said that people like this are very likely to be Dark wizards."

"Don't worry, he's quite safe," Harry patted Fred's hand.

Safe?

The Weasley brothers were stunned.

That man was shrouded from head to toe in a black robe; he was a textbook example of a dangerous individual.

How could he possibly arrive at a "safe" assessment?

Fred didn't let go, and George grabbed Harry's sleeve as well.

"He doesn't even give me as much of a threat as a Troll," Harry raised his hand, pulled down his sunglasses, and revealed his eyes. "Trust me, nothing will happen."

"If you're worried, you can wait here."

Harry shook off their hands and followed the black-robed wizard toward the corner of the village.

Fred and George hesitated for a moment, then gritted their teeth and followed; in any sense of the word, they couldn't just leave Harry behind alone.

The black-robed wizard walked further and further into the outskirts, nearly leaving the village entirely, before stopping at a corner of a wall.

"I've hidden them here. Wait for me to get them out," the figure said gently to Harry, slowly crouching down to fumble at the corner of the wall.

Suddenly, his wrist flicked, a wand slid from his sleeve, and his knuckles turned to point it directly at Harry.

"Stupefy!"

A red light shot out.

Harry had been prepared; he dodged to the side, and the spell missed.

The black-robed wizard paused, spat, and waved his wand again. The bricks and stones at the corner of the wall began to rumble and hum, gathering into a man-sized stone statue in the blink of an eye.

"Are we not continuing our business?" Harry reached into his robe and drew the Sword of Gryffindor. "What a pity."

The black-robed wizard was stunned.

A sword...

A wizard who uses a sword?

He had no time to think further; he waved his wand, sending one statue lunging at Harry and the other at the Weasley brothers.

Harry raised his hand and cast the Quen Sign upon himself.

He rolled to dodge the statue's pounce.

He waved his wand again, turning some loose rubble into strange, misshapen objects. Harry wasn't yet skilled enough to perform precise transfiguration on multiple objects at once, so the quality was poor, but they were effective; they latched onto the statue's legs and rooted themselves into the ground, making it difficult for the stone figure to move.

The black-robed wizard was clearly panicking.

He waved his wand, chanting spell after spell.

But the brat in front of him was too agile!

He couldn't land a single hit.

Harry closed the distance, swung his sword, and the hand the wizard was using to hold his wand was easily severed, falling to the ground with a thud.

The flow of magic was cut off.

The two hollow stone statues collapsed with a clatter, returning to their original state as mere rubble.

Harry didn't hold back; he swung his sword again, slicing off the man's other arm.

The Weasley brothers were stunned.

They stared blankly at Harry, finally understanding why he had used the word "safe" earlier—wasn't it perfectly safe?

In a single exchange, the wizard had lost the hands he relied on most.

"You're very weak," Harry frowned. "If you hadn't cast a spell, I would have found it hard to believe you were a wizard at all."

The black-robed wizard shivered, curling up in the snow as his hood fell back to reveal a face twisted in sheer terror.

How could this be!

He looked like a student in only his third or fourth year, yet he was this strong.

"You devil!" the black-robed wizard wheezed. "A wizard, yet you use a sword."

Harry slowly crouched down, pulled back his robe, and took something out: "I'm a Gryffindor; isn't it perfectly normal to use a sword?"

The Weasley brothers wanted to say something but held back—no, this was not normal at all!

"Do you know what this is?" Harry displayed the item in front of the black-robed wizard.

The wizard didn't speak; he stared blankly at Harry's robes—in that brief, terrified glimpse when Harry had pulled his robe back, what had he seen?

Seven or eight vials of potions.

Judging by their dull, greyish color, they were certainly not for healing.

What was going on in this little wizard's head to be so cautious? He was only coming to Hogsmeade, yet he carried so many weapons...

"Oh, you don't know." Harry clicked his tongue. "It seems your Transfiguration is terrible, and you haven't learned much about Herbology either."

"Dittany, a magical plant; smear it on your wounds and it will stop the bleeding."

"Now, I ask, you answer. You might just survive this, understand?"

The black-robed wizard nodded tremulously; the blood loss was already turning his face deathly pale.

"Where are the potion ingredients I'm looking for?" Harry asked.

The black-robed wizard shook his head: "I don't have any contraband."

Harry's eyes turned dangerous: "Are you playing me for a fool?"

"No, oh... yes." The black-robed wizard struggled. "I just saw you had money and wanted to lure you over to rob you."

Harry looked back at the Weasley brothers.

George nodded: "We've heard of this. There are some deranged wizards in Hogsmeade who rob younger students of their pocket money."

Fred shrugged, speaking with complete candor: "You know how it is; aside from us Weasleys, most students are usually quite wealthy."

Harry clicked his tongue, looking at the black-robed wizard with disdain: "Ah, you really have some nerve, robbing children."

"I won't do it again, please, save me." The dark wizard pleaded. "I feel like I'm dying."

Harry raised a hand.

"Axii!"

The Sign was cast.

"Was everything you just said the truth?" Harry asked.

The black-robed wizard looked dazed, nodding: "Yes, it was all the truth."

"What is your name, and which school are you from?" Harry continued.

"Abner Smith, Magic Tricks..." As he spoke, the vacant expression on his face suddenly collapsed, and he looked at Harry in panic: "Oh, no, what did you do to me?"

"The Imperius Curse?"

Eleven seconds.

An adult wizard, far inferior to Professor McGonagall and severely wounded to boot, had only been influenced for such a short time.

Magic truly was a marvelous thing.

Harry ignored him and looked at the Weasley brothers, his eyes asking for an explanation.

Fred cleared it up for him: "A very obscure school for teaching magic tricks, unlike Hogwarts—this place teaches real sorcery."

"It was established specifically for performance, usually recruiting students who only awakened their magical abilities after their eleventh birthday, or those who never managed to earn a single certificate."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"Please, save me, I only wanted to rob you, I didn't mean to hurt you." The black-robed wizard continued to beg. "I only used Stupefy."

Harry picked up the Dittany, but just as he saw the wounds on the man's arms, he noticed the lingering scent of Blade Oil, which made him pause for a moment before he continued applying the salve.

Once the Dittany was applied, Harry stood up cleanly: "Let's go."

The dark wizard pleaded: "Wait, you can't leave me here, no..."

Harry ignored him.

"Are we really leaving him here? He might die." Fred couldn't bear it, looking back with every step, which only made the black-robed wizard howl even more miserably.

Harry remained expressionless: "I only severed his hand, not his legs."

"I've already shown great mercy."

"Do you know what would have happened if his Stupefy had hit us?"

The Weasley brothers froze.

"We would have been left here in this frozen wasteland," Harry continued. "If we were lucky, someone might have found us. If we were unlucky, what do you think would happen after sleeping out here in this environment for a night?"

Harry would be fine.

But the same could not be said for the Weasley brothers.

Of course... the castle's contract would not let anything happen to them so easily.

The Weasley brothers immediately stopped feeling sorry for him and followed Harry, leaving with cheerful steps. It was not until they ducked into the mirror that they seemed to finally process what had just happened.

"George, we just teamed up and beat an adult wizard!" Fred clenched his fists, brimming with excitement.

George high-fived him: "We're amazing! If we actually hit the books, we could get twelve certificates just like Bill!"

"No, I don't think that's a good idea." As soon as studying was mentioned, Fred calmed down immediately.

George nodded in agreement.

Harry shook his head: "You only dealt with a stone statue, and you didn't even win."

"We—did." Fred gestured in a circle, encompassing all three of them.

George shook his head: "That was still a transfigured creation of an adult wizard. An average young wizard..."

"He was weak, not even on par with a Troll." Harry continued to shake his head.

Fred put on a straight face: "Oh, Harry, you might be so talented that you have some misconceptions. A Troll is not exactly an easy opponent to deal with."

"Didn't you say sixth or seventh-year students could handle one?" Harry countered.

George explained: "That's for top students like Percy. Average students only get one or two 'O's or 'E's on their O.W.L.s to even qualify for sixth and seventh-year coursework. If you don't get the certificates, fifth year is the end of the line."

"Even at Hogwarts, most young wizards, once they reach adulthood, are only about at the level of the person you just took down."

"Of course, you're different." Fred looked at Harry's waist with excitement, hallucinating a massive, sturdy sword: "If Hogwarts had a fencing class, you'd definitely get an 'O' in your N.E.W.T.s."

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