As students stretched out their hands to snatch the tumbling candies, Dumbledore added with a twinkle, "No need to worry about the sweets being leftovers from last year—last year's batch was thoroughly enjoyed..."
Madam Pomfrey arched her brows, her gaze sharp as a scalpel.
Sensing her scrutiny, Dumbledore gave a discreet cough and continued, unruffled, "And this year will be no different... any remaining candy will be properly disposed of—by eating, of course..."
Professor McGonagall shook her head with a sigh, murmuring under her breath, "Albus, you really must learn some restraint..."
Dumbledore seemed to catch her words and gave a gentle wave of his hand.
Snape stood with his arms crossed, eyes brimming with mockery—his expression all but saying, "Let's see how you handle the consequences of your sweet tooth."
The students began to file out of the Great Hall, but Colin Creevey made his way against the flow, clutching his camera with a mixture of excitement and nerves.
"Professor... Headmaster... may I take your picture?" he asked, voice trembling.
"This potion really is quite fascinating," Dumbledore remarked, glancing toward the doors where Fred and George were pulling faces before breaking into matching grins.
Catching on, Dumbledore nodded and crouched down. "How shall we do this? Are you hoping for a group photo?"
"A camera, what a marvelous invention. Why not let me try? My arms are a bit longer than yours, you see..."
Colin shook with surprise at the Headmaster's easy manner, stammering, "Dum... Dumbledore, sir... this is the shutter... and that's the lens, and then you... you just press..."
Wyzett and Luna followed the crowd out of the hall, only to run into the mischievous Weasley twins.
"Aren't you heading back?" Wyzett asked.
Fred bared his teeth in a wide grin. "We're waiting a bit longer. This whole 'piggyback marketing' idea is genius!"
George nodded toward Colin and his camera. "With Dumbledore in the picture, I can already see the Galleons rolling in!"
Luna tilted her head curiously. "Piggyback marketing?"
Fred nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! It's from a book written by a Muggle. We're putting it to the test!"
Wyzett said sincerely, "Mr. Arthur Weasley truly has a passion for Muggles—he even reads books on their business tricks. Impressive!"
George explained, "Dad does love Muggles, but he's more into their gadgets. As for that book... it was actually a Dark artifact Dad confiscated..."
Wyzett blinked. "A Dark artifact? Was it cursed?"
Fred waved it off. "Not exactly... Dad said someone tampered with it, mixing in some powdered belladonna potion."
"Belladonna potion powder?" Wyzett raised an eyebrow. "It's got hallucinogenic properties... was it for pranks?"
"Exactly! Some wizards get a kick out of this sort of thing," George said. "They buy books that Muggles like, lace them with hallucinogenic potions..."
Fred chimed in, "Then, when a Muggle reads the book at home, they breathe in the potion and start daydreaming—wild, vivid dreams."
"Like that piggyback marketing book," George continued. "Its last owner apparently dreamt of meeting the Prime Minister and striking it rich..."
"And that's when the wizard shows up at the Muggle's window, just to watch them daydream," Fred said, shaking his head. "They love seeing the effects."
Wyzett frowned, disgusted. "That's just vile."
"Isn't it?" George agreed. "A proper prankster should target other wizards, not Muggles!"
"That's when Dad steps in," Fred added. "He'll toss those idiots right into Azkaban for a few days—keeps them in line for at least half a year."
"Well, most of them," George corrected. "Remember Mundungus Fletcher? He never stays out of trouble."
"He's a regular," Fred agreed. "Dad's caught him more times than I can count! Maybe he likes Dementors—wants to visit 'home' every now and then."
Suddenly, a voice as cold and faint as a mosquito's whine slithered through the air.
"So... hungry... so much... blood... flesh... hungry... hungry..."
Wyzett's head snapped up, his brow furrowing as he stared into the distance.
The voice was barely more than a whisper, but its icy, venomous tone was all too familiar.
Luna immediately noticed the change in his expression. "Wyzett, what's wrong?"
"I heard something strange," Wyzett replied, reaching into his pocket for The Marauder's Map.
He tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
He scanned the map, focusing on the direction where the voice had come from—but found nothing.
Not a single name appeared where that chilling, hateful voice had echoed.
Meanwhile, the corridor leading back to the dormitories was packed, a thick cluster of names crowding the map.
With a flick, Wyzett restored the map. "Mischief managed!"
He tucked the map away, pressed his wand to his temple, and sifted through his recent memories.
There it was again: that cold, poisonous voice. "Something's wrong... I definitely didn't imagine it..."
"What did you hear?" Fred and George asked at once, both having noticed Wyzett's sudden tension.
Luna added, concern in her voice, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Just heard something odd," Wyzett said, waving it off. "I'm going to find the professors."
At that moment, Colin came running over, camera held high. "I got the photo! Headmaster Dumbledore helped me take it himself!"
Wyzett slipped past him and hurried toward the staff table.
The professors, who had been preparing to leave, paused. Flitwick caught sight of Wyzett's grave expression. "Wyzett, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"
"No one knows healing like I do! Let me—oh!" Lockhart whipped out his wand, apparently aiming to conjure a flower, but only managed to drop it with a clatter.
Snape's mouth twisted into a perfectly natural—if slightly cruel—smirk.
"Episkey!" Wyzett muttered, catching his breath as a healing charm steadied him.
He forced his voice calm and clear. "Professor Flitwick, I heard something strange, from that direction."
Dumbledore arched an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Snape.
Snape's eyes narrowed, the smile that Coolic had coaxed from him now gone without a trace.
From outside the Great Hall came the sound of hurried footsteps—Penelope, Percy, and the other prefects were rushing back in...
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