"Make way, make way—" Fred used the tray to push aside the chairs blocking his path, walked straight up to Harry, and set it down on the coffee table with a dull thud. He glanced at George, who pulled a small silver fork from a paper bag. Engraved on it was a lion breathing fire, and he handed it to Harry.
"Ginny made it." Fred's voice was not loud, but everyone in the common room heard him clearly. "She and the other muddleheads spent all afternoon in the kitchen, got flour all over their faces, and nearly got chased out by the House-Elves as lost ghosts." He bent down over the cake and took a deep breath, then straightened and looked at Harry with an expression that said, If you don't eat it, you're disrespecting me.
George pulled something else from the paper bag: a palm-sized box wrapped in colorful candy paper. He set it beside the cake and brushed the dust off it. "Try this. Our new Lion's Roar—after you eat one, your burps shoot golden sparks, and they're as loud as Professor McGonagall giving someone a telling-off. Designed especially for people who need a bit of courage." As he spoke, his gaze swept over the Gryffindors in the common room with their heads lowered. The curve of his mouth was not a smile. It was a blade.
Fred sat down on the sofa beside Harry, crossed one leg over the other, and fished out a Fizzing Whizbee from the paper bag. He unwrapped it and tossed it into his mouth. After chewing twice, his usual cheeky grin faded somewhat, as though the candy was not sweet enough—or sweet in the wrong place.
"Harry, whether you use your special talent is your own right and freedom. Don't care about