It was Sunday, and the first official event of the Harry Potter Global Fan Club was being held in the Great Hall on the first floor.
During sign-ups, loads of people had shown interest, but today, only about twenty new members officially joined, not counting the core group.
Not bad—a solid start.
Of course, it being a lazy weekend, plenty of curious onlookers showed up too.
These were potential members.
Once next month's newsletter dropped, the club was bound to see a surge in numbers.
To reward the founding members, Leon had secured the first business deal for his and the Weasley twins' startup crew.
They'd produce a batch of enchanted Harry Potter-style glasses.
They looked like ordinary round frames with glass lenses.
But when you peered through them, the wearer's eyes appeared green, and a golden lightning scar shimmered on their forehead.
Draco Malfoy thought "Scarhead" was an insulting nickname.
Leon, though, called a scar a badge of honor for a man.
It was something to flaunt proudly.
Plus, if everyone sported a scar like that, Harry would eventually get used to it and stop being so self-conscious.
Along with the magical glasses, there was a set of exclusive club scarves and gloves.
Solid colors with a fancy HP logo in cursive.
Three color options: Gryffindor red, Ravenclaw blue, and Hufflepuff yellow.
No Slytherin green yet.
This was another order Leon had snagged for a certain family clothing shop.
The only downside to the event? Harry himself didn't show.
The kid had picked up some sneaky tricks.
During Saturday's routine Gryffindor Quidditch practice, he'd egged on training-obsessed Captain Oliver Wood to schedule extra practice on Sunday.
That gave him a perfect excuse to skip the club's debut event.
He'd also dragged along the Weasley twins (business partners) and the three Chasers (confirmed club members), leaving Hermione and Ron to deal with the awkwardness of facing familiar faces in this odd, cringe-worthy setting.
The first event was simple.
Gather everyone, introduce the group, go over club rules, member perks, newsletter details, hand out the little gifts, chat, and gossip about Harry.
Ginny, Luna, Colin, and Rolf ran the show.
Hermione and Ron insisted they were only involved with the newsletter, not club management.
The big investor and mastermind, Leon, stayed happily in the shadows.
As the event rolled on, the vibe got livelier.
Everyone was chatting freely.
One bold member piped up, saying Harry seemed a bit aloof, sticking to his small circle of friends and not branching out.
Ron couldn't help but defend his mate.
He explained that Harry had a rough childhood in a Muggle foster home, bullied terribly and nearly starved in a locked room over the summer.
All sorts of reasons made Harry less outgoing and wary of too much attention.
The fan club only got the green light because a few of his friends were strapped for cash and wanted to publish a newsletter to make ends meet.
Blah, blah, blah…
Ron got more animated as he went, feeding off the growing applause and gasps, which egged him on further.
He even started spilling Harry's everyday embarrassing moments.
Just as the gossip session hit its peak, an unexpected intruder burst in.
Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, shot into the hall like a gray lightning bolt, charging straight for Ron.
"*Mrowl!*"
With a piercing yowl, Mrs. Norris launched herself at Ron, knocking him flat.
One second, everyone was basking in the fun, carefree vibe; the next, their gossip guide was sprawled on the floor with a thud.
Shocked, everyone turned to check if Ron was hurt.
In the chaos, no one noticed what had bowled him over.
Or what zipped past them.
Screams, animal roars, footsteps, and crashes filled the air.
Leon blended into the crowd, looking concerned and pretending to help.
He nodded approvingly as Mrs. Norris chased Scabbers, Ron's rat, weaving between house tables, leaping and dodging.
Then Filch stormed in, following his cat's trail, panting with an odd excitement.
"My dear, who's breaking the rules now?"
Meanwhile, Ron was helped up, groaning and clutching his side, searching for whatever had knocked him down.
He spotted Mrs. Norris chasing a small, scampering thing zipping around the hall.
A bad feeling hit him.
"Scabbers? Scabbers! Where's my rat?!"
Ron frantically checked his robe pockets and hat, but Scabbers was gone.
Squinting, he realized the nimble little thing Mrs. Norris was after was Scabbers.
"Ron, she's chasing Scabbers!" Ginny shouted first.
Ron panicked.
Ignoring Filch, he charged forward to save his pet from those claws.
"*Squeak!*"
Scabbers' brain screamed with alarm, the lean cat hot on his tail, radiating murderous intent.
"*Mrow!*"
Mrs. Norris' eyes gleamed, locked on her prey, which reeked of irresistible catnip.
"You mangy cat! Leave Scabbers alone!"
Ron's face burned with fury as he sprinted after them, reaching for his wand.
Filch, still clueless, thought Mrs. Norris was chasing a rulebreaker.
He scanned for suspects.
A small, round blur shot out of the Great Hall.
A second later, a larger, slinky shape—Mrs. Norris—zipped after it.
Filch knew that figure well; it was his beloved companion.
Was she after a rat for a snack?
Then, a human-sized blur bolted out, yelling, "Stop, you rotten cat!" "Where're you going?" "Let Scabbers go!" "Or I'll Petrify you!"
Filch's nerves snapped.
Was this kid really going to hurt his cat?
His legs moved faster than his brain, chasing after them without hesitation.
"My cat! Don't you dare touch Mrs. Norris!"
And with that, Filch zoomed out of the hall.
The great Hogwarts castle chase was on!
Contestant #1: Ron's pet rat, Scabbers, dashed out of the hall, racing up the marble staircase, darting into tight, twisty spots, moving like he'd been injected with adrenaline.
Contestant #2: Mrs. Norris, driven wild by catnip scent, had only one thought—eat—and stuck close to the leading rat.
Contestant #3: Scabbers' owner, Ron, ran faster than when Fred chased him with a spider, wand in hand, ready to fend off Contestant #2.
Contestant #4: Mrs. Norris' owner, Filch, ran faster than when Peeves stole his mail-order letters, ready to alert a professor.
Trailing behind were Contestants #5, #6, #7, and so on—club members.
The group was so large and conspicuous, their route so parkour-like, that confused students thought it was some new entertainment.
Crowds gathered, drawn in by the thrilling chase, cheering wildly.
Some even joined the pursuit, adding to the chaos.
By the time the weekend-duty professors arrived, Hogwarts had turned into a joyous playground of scampering rats, leaping cats, and gleeful humans.
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