Gryffindor Common Room
The Fat Lady lounged in her portrait frame, cradling a fluffy white cat and wearing an extravagant pink-and-white gown. One hand propped up her chin, eyelids half-dropped; she barely glanced at the kids gathering in front of the entrance.
"Password?"
"Fairy Lights."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione crawled through the hole one after another. Ron was half-asleep on his feet, and Harry still looked shell-shocked. They'd been following Hermione on autopilot the whole way back from class; neither of them could remember the walk.
Hermione pulled them into a corner and dropped her voice. "Harry, did you hear what Professor Levent said? You might actually get to see your parents again; if we figure out the real truth about what happened in Godric's Hollow."
Harry felt like the entire castle was sitting on his chest. Ever since that first Hogwarts letter, people had been feeding him stories about how brave and good James and Lily Potter were. He'd finally accepted that they were gone forever.
Even after he beat Voldemort (technically twice now), even with ghosts floating around the school, the idea of actually reuniting with his parents had never crossed his mind.
And now Professor Levent just… casually drops that it might be possible?
"What exactly did he mean?" Harry whispered, wanting so badly to believe it but knowing it was impossible. "Dead people don't come back."
Silence fell again until Hermione spoke, barely audible. "What if… your parents aren't actually dead?"
Harry's heart actually skipped. "I wish. But Dumbledore and Voldemort both saw it happen. There's no way they both got that wrong." His voice cracked. "Mum died protecting me; that's the whole reason the ancient magic worked and I lived. Whatever the professor meant by 'see them again,' it has to be… something else."
"Is there some kind of summoning spell?" Hermione asked, thinking of Muggle ghost stories.
"No way!" Ron finally snapped out of his drowsiness. "There's no spell like that. I've never heard of one, and I grew up in this world. Portraits are just echoes, ghosts are just stuck here; living people and dead people do not meet. Ever."
The common room suddenly felt way too loud; younger kids laughing on the weekend felt like sandpaper on their nerves.
Hermione's fingers brushed the golden necklace around her throat as a thought hit her. "Unless… it's not necromancy. It's time travel. The wizarding world has time magic. Maybe the professor can send you back, or bring them forward; just long enough to say hi."
Harry's eyes lit up for the first time all night.
Ron threw cold water on it immediately. "Hold on! You really think Levent would dangle something that huge in front of Harry just to give him pretty memories in a Pensieve? The guy literally founded the Mirror Club. He could just show you a projection and call it a day."
Hermione shook her head. "That's not his style. If he couldn't actually deliver, he'd find another way to help Harry. You know how he is; he always keeps his promises, even when he plays dirty to do it."
They all thought back to how Professor Levent had rebuilt Neville's confidence, taken Malfoy down a thousand pegs, and even helped Marietta after everything. The man did not make empty offers.
Hermione lowered her voice even more. "The real key is finding out the truth. Everything we know about that night is already crystal clear… except apparently it isn't. The professor wouldn't have said that unless there's something huge we're missing."
Ron scratched his messy hair, trying to think through the fog of exhaustion. "Why don't we just ask Dumbledore?"
"If Dumbledore never told Harry before, either he doesn't know, or he thinks Harry shouldn't know. Asking him now won't help." Hermione's brain was already racing. "We need a new angle… Professor Lupin!"
Ron perked up instantly. "Oh sweet, are we doing another secret mission this term? Last half of the year was boring as; just classes and homework. Lame."
Harry stayed quiet, fingers brushing the lightning scar; Voldemort's mark and his parents' protection all in one.
…
After dinner
The castle had gone quiet. A few main lamps glowed in the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. Melvin Levent sat behind his desk, staring at a plain black ring in a small box. The Resurrection Stone's symbol glinted faintly on the onyx surface under the light.
Ancient, mysterious alchemy. Enough to make you wonder if gods were actually real.
Knock knock knock.
"Come in."
George and Fred poked their heads through the door like a pair of red-headed ghosts, matching mischievous grins.
"You wanted to see us, Professor?"
"Trying to talk us into Muggle Studies?"
They honestly couldn't figure out why they'd been summoned. Two weeks into term and they hadn't even managed a single night-time adventure yet. They were pretty sure they hadn't broken any rules; at least, none they'd been caught for.
And Professor Levent wasn't exactly the "rules-are-rules" type anyway.
Melvin put the Gaunt ring away, pulled out a tea set, and poured two steaming mugs of pumpkin juice. "How's the joke shop coming along? Think you'll actually open after graduation?"
"Products are in development," George said casually, accepting the mug. "We scout Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade on weekends and holidays. Main obstacle right now is Mum."
"She wants us in nice, safe Ministry jobs close to home with good pay…" Fred shrugged dramatically.
They both grinned. "We haven't exactly broken the joke-shop news to her yet."
Melvin smiled. "Moms worry. Doesn't mean she'll stand in the way of your dreams forever."
George glanced around the office. "We'll deal with parental approval after graduation. She was still yelling about summer homework the night before term started. Give it two more years; once we've got twelve OWLs and NEWTs between us, she'll come around."
"Twelve?" Melvin raised an eyebrow.
"Six each," Fred clarified, flashing a huge smile.
That was the twins in a nutshell; always laughing, never stressing about tomorrow.
Melvin shook his head, amused. "Opening a shop takes startup money."
"We're saving," they said in unison.
"I could loan you the money… or invest," Melvin offered.
The twins froze.
Melvin continued, tone light. "Friday night dueling showcase; I saw you two running bets in the stands. Word is you also take bets on every Quidditch match, even ones that don't involve Gryffindor."
He tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Your odds look pretty random. Ever worry about an upset wiping you out?"
George scratched his head. "Ever since they started broadcasting matches on the Mirror Network, half the school follows the games. People place bets with us, we owl the money to the Three Broomsticks bookies; we're basically middlemen. We never lose."
Melvin blinked. "…So it's a rigged game."
The twins suddenly looked like they were waiting for detention slips.
Melvin waved it off. "Gambling's a bad look; knock it off. But back to the investment; I'm very bullish on your joke shop. I can front enough money for R&D, small-batch testing while you're still in school, and then rent or buy a storefront after graduation."
Fred's eyes lit up. "So we wouldn't have to sell exam answers, write essays for Lee, or give night-tour guides anymore?"
"Or charge for 'how to survive detention' consultations!" George added.
Melvin let them dream out loud for a minute, smiling quietly. When they finally calmed down, he said, "There is one thing I need from you in return."
"Name it."
"I have some… special business around the castle this term. I'd like to borrow your Marauder's Map."
The twins inhaled so hard they nearly choked.
"How in Merlin's name do you know we have the Map?!"
Melvin just smiled. "Why wouldn't I?"
They exchanged a look, then launched into the dramatic retelling like it was stand-up:
"Because this beauty came into our possession in our first year; innocent little firsties that we were,"
"During our very first detention with Filch; for setting off a Dungbomb in the corridor,"
"When he went to hang us up by our thumbs; and gut us like fish,"
"We noticed a drawer labeled 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous,'"
"So George heroically lobbed another Dungbomb; while Filch was hopping mad and cursing, Fred yanked open the drawer and grabbed this."
Fred pulled out the ratty old parchment and spread it on the desk like a trophy.
Melvin had to fight back laughter. He tapped it with his wand and solemnly intoned, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink blossomed across the page, corridors and rooms spreading like spiderwebs, until the familiar castle appeared. At the top, in loopy green handwriting:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
The twins stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"We knew it!" George hissed. "From the day you showed up, we knew you were one of us!"
"You get mischief on a spiritual level!"
Melvin raised a hand. "Calm down. I just happen to know two of the creators personally. That's how I know about the Map."
Their eyes somehow got even brighter.
Melvin cut them off before they could ask. "No, I'm not introducing you. Not yet."
George read the names again and sighed dramatically. "We owe these guys so much."
Fred put a hand over his heart. "Noble men. Working tirelessly so the next generation can break rules in peace."
They both looked straight into Melvin's dark eyes. "The legacy has been passed to you, Professor. When you're done, make sure it goes to the right troublemakers."
Melvin tapped the parchment where a simple budget table was now sketched. "Your job is to go write a proper business plan and decide if you want a loan or an investor."
The twins nodded enthusiastically, drained the rest of the pumpkin juice, and practically skipped out. They didn't feel cheated at all; they'd memorized half the Map years ago, and night-time adventures didn't require it anymore.
Plus, the professor already knew the creators and could've just confiscated it. Trading the Map for startup capital? Massive win.
As the door closed behind them, George and Fred were grinning like they'd just pulled off the prank of the century.
Melvin didn't mind them seeing it as a trade; everything's a negotiation. Besides, in a way he really was using the Map for mischief. The twins would approve if they knew the full story.
He left the Map open and watched the little labeled ink dots moving around the castle in real time.
Dumbledore pacing in his office. Filch and Mrs. Norris prowling the third floor. Moaning Myrtle sulking in the prefects' bathroom. Peeves bouncing around the trophy room.
Melvin's eyes moved to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.
And there it was; the reason no one had ever noticed Peter Pettigrew was still alive.
One slightly thicker dot: Peter Pettigrew perfectly overlapping with Ronald Bilius Weasley, the two names smudged into one unreadable blob.
Scabbers wasn't just a rat.
He never had been.