Professor, You Know Me...

Professor McGonagall's office was beside a corridor on the second floor of Hogwarts.

It was a small study, not very large, but packed with books.

There was a fireplace inside, and the Quidditch Pitch could be seen through the window.

Perhaps because the cat professor was rather sensitive to the cold, the fireplace in her office was always blazing. The whole room was pleasantly warm.

Since no one spoke, the room was utterly silent.

Only the occasional crackle of burning wood came from the fireplace.

"Professor McGonagall, what did you call us here for?" Fred broke the silence.

"Have a seat first, Mr. Weasleys."

After George and Fred sat down, Professor McGonagall adjusted her glasses and chose her words carefully. "You must have heard about Professor Quirrell, haven't you?"

"Oh, of course." George looked concerned. "Is Professor Quirrell feeling better?"

"He was badly frightened, but he is otherwise unharmed."

"That's good. But we do wonder why Professor McGonagall called us here today."

The two of them knowingly played dumb.

"Are you trying to say this has nothing to do with you?" Professor McGonagall looked at them sternly.

Even the flames in the fireplace seemed to shrink back in fear.

"Of course not!" Fred insisted without hesitation, refusing to admit anything.

"This really has nothing to do with us!"

"That's right." George nodded solemnly. "We were training on the Quidditch Pitch at the time. The other students and Madam Hooch can testify for us."

Putting on pitiful expressions, the two lowered their heads and shook them dejectedly. "Professor McGonagall, you're our Head of House. We believe you wouldn't falsely accuse us."

"It truly hurts that you would suspect us like this."

Professor McGonagall looked at Fred.

Fred straightened up. "Professor, you know me. I've always respected my teachers."

Professor McGonagall looked at George again.

George straightened up as well. "Professor, you know me. I've always been diligent and eager to learn."

McGonagall felt rather helpless.

Though neither of you had been there at the time, who else at Hogwarts besides you two brothers could have pulled off a prank like this?

That was why McGonagall had called the two of them to her office.

But no evidence had been left behind, and Professor Quirrell did not seem inclined to pursue the matter, so she could not exactly punish them.

After asking a few casual questions, McGonagall let them go.

Watching them leave, McGonagall sighed.

"If only you two could be more like your cousin Silan."

"That really is such a well-behaved child..."

George and Fred walked out of Professor McGonagall's office. After stretching at the same time, they exchanged a grin.

"What should we do now?"

"Sell maps, of course. Time is Galleons!"

Neither of them took the little incident to heart.

Given Quirrell's terrible reputation among the students, no one would speak up for him. Even he himself did not dare pursue the matter.

They had heard that after arriving at the Hospital Wing, he refused to let Madam Pomfrey remove his turban to treat him. After merely cleaning the stains off himself, he had slunk away in disgrace.

George and Fred were now wholly focused on making money.

As they passed the main staircase, Malfoy came over with his lackeys.

Seeing a young Slytherin witch pacing irritably back and forth on the stairs, Malfoy took the initiative to approach her.

"Isn't this Miss Parkinson? What's wrong?"

Pansy Parkinson had circled the place three full times already, yet she still had not found the way back to the common room.

It had put her in a foul mood.

When she heard someone calling her, she instinctively glared over like an angry little lion.

Only after realizing it was Malfoy did she suddenly rein in her expression.

Although the Parkinson family and the Malfoy family were both among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, there were still differences among pure-bloods.

Compared to the Malfoy family, the Parkinson family fell far short in both status and wealth.

She could put on airs in front of others, but she did not dare act arrogant before Malfoy.

"I'm lost," Parkinson said through gritted teeth. "These damned stairs keep changing."

"Oh~"

Malfoy drew out the sound as he elegantly took out the map he had just bought. He unfolded it ostentatiously, deliberately revealing the Malfoy family crest on it.

"I have a map. Follow me."

Seeing the map in Malfoy's hand, Parkinson could not help asking, "Is that one of the only ten maps in all of Hogwarts?"

"That's right." Malfoy looked immensely pleased with himself. "Mine is the first one. Only wizards with truly noble bloodlines are qualified to own one."

"Can I buy one?" Parkinson was tempted. "Please, Draco, ask for me."

"Of course. On the Malfoy family's name, I'll have Prewett sell you one."

"Thank you, Draco."

Parkinson's worshipful expression made Malfoy feel immensely gratified.

This map had been well worth the purchase!

Not only had it made Potter incredibly jealous, it had also given him a sense of superiority throughout Slytherin.

"He should be in the common room. Let's go find him."

Malfoy gave a grand wave of his hand and used the map to lead the way.

The group followed him toward the Slytherin Common Room.

Perhaps after Malfoy, that show-off, bought the map, he had been flaunting it everywhere in an "utterly casual" manner. Then he bragged endlessly about things like, "I have a map even Potter doesn't have," "There are only ten in all of Hogwarts," and "Only people of truly distinguished status are qualified to buy one"...

So the news quickly spread among Slytherin's first-year students.

The Malfoy family name was simply too useful.

Silan had just returned to the Slytherin Common Room when several people surrounded him.

"A map! Give me a map!"

"I got here first, sell to me first!"

"I can pay more! Sell it to me!"

Amid the clamorous noise, Silan did not even need to work hard at promoting or explaining them. He quickly sold eight maps.

Chris, Oliver, and Noah huddled together in a corner, squatting there and curling their lips disdainfully.

"These people are crazy."

"Five Galleons for a map that only lasts eight months?"

A pure-blood wizard who had just bought a map glanced down his nose at them and sneered without the slightest courtesy.

"There are only ten of these maps in all of Hogwarts. Only noble pure-bloods like me, whose families stand alongside the Malfoy family, are qualified to buy one."

"You? Hmph, you aren't even qualified to buy one."

Chris and Noah nearly ground their teeth to dust.

One belonged to the Nott family, and the other to the Bulstrode family.

Both families were also among the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

Yet because they did not have maps, they now looked like beaten dogs, like some nobody by the roadside. Any pure-blood wizard who bought a map dared to come over and step on them.

Chris had not bought one because he had no choice. Silan had practically extorted all his money from him.

Noah and Oliver, meanwhile, had not bought one because they did not want to feed Silan's arrogance.

They were now the kind to call grapes sour because they could not reach them.

In truth, not everyone coming to buy a map actually needed one.

Some people simply wanted to preserve their family's dignity.

Think about it: the Malfoy family and the other pure-blood families had all bought one.

If you did not buy one, how could you have the nerve to call yourself one of the noble Sacred Twenty-Eight?

As the implications of the matter passed from mouth to mouth, "Should we buy a map?" quickly became "We have to buy a map."

Otherwise, they would fall behind.

Once something turned into a competition, it would stray from its original purpose.

Malfoy pushed through the crowd with Parkinson to stand before Silan.

"Are there any maps left? My friend Parkinson wants one."

[Author's Note: "Time is Galleons" is a common wizarding expression, meaning the same as "Time is money."]