Outside the Ravenclaw common room.
The twins and Lucien were trading updates on the shop's early wins, practically bouncing off the walls. A few passing kids did double-takes at the wild gesturing.
They'd only been open a couple days, and Seventh Workshop had already raked in more than the twins' lifetime allowance combined!
Split the cut, add their fixed cut, and Fred and George were already dreaming of post-graduation prank-shop ownership.
Weasleys were broke, sure, but they'd never asked Mum and Dad for startup cash. They'd been hustling pocket money for years.
Lucien gave them a weird look. "So… your first custom map order was Malfoy?"
Fred: "Yup. You told us to pitch the 'exclusive, VIP' vibe to rich pure-bloods. Draco just happened to stroll up first."
George jumped in: "We improvised on the spot—hooked him with some fancy spiel. Gotta say, the script works. We're keeping it for the Slytherins."
Fred: "Annoying as he is, the kid's loaded. Dropped fifty Galleons like it was pocket change."
"Told him we'd bump his order to the front—guaranteed first custom map in Slytherin, nay, the whole school. He ate it up."
Lucien rubbed his temples. First sale to a friend—classic. But yeah, Malfoy's ego wouldn't let him be outdone by other pure-bloods flexing custom maps.
Aristocrats live for standing out. Mass-market? Please. How else do you scream "I'm special"?
"Alright, what'd he want? Family crest? Personal seal?"
George fished a note from his pocket and handed it over. "All there."
Lucien unfolded it. Even braced, he had to fight a grin. In Draco's perfect handwriting:
- Engrave Malfoy family crest: (sketch below)
- Engrave Slytherin house crest: (sketch below)
- Exclusive property of Draco Malfoy
- VIP Map No. 1
Peak Malfoy.
He pocketed the paper. "Got it. I'll knock his out first. Weekend free—you guys want a crash course in basic compass/map crafting?"
The twins hadn't learned production yet. Custom maps were trickier—only Lucien could handle them.
"Custom" meant premium materials and fuller features, but mostly sold the exclusivity.
"Oh—here." No one around, so Lucien slid them a blank parchment.
Fred tapped it with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Ink bloomed across the page, lines racing outward until—bam—a full Hogwarts map, every hallway, every secret passage.
The Marauder's Map.
Crafted back in the day by the four Marauders—including Harry's dad.
Insanely clever piece of work. Showed everyone's real-time location and how to open hidden passages.
Studying it, Lucien could see why the Marauders were legends. Fixed charms, alchemy fusion—way ahead of their peers.
James and Sirius: pure-blood prodigies, sharp and well-read.
Remus: cool-headed, Defense expert, creature savvy.
Peter… well, an Animagus.
Actually, Animagi were key. Rat-form Peter had sniffed out half the castle's secrets.
Before building his own compasses and maps, Lucien had casually mentioned to the twins that he needed better castle intel.
Predictably, they produced the Map like it was nothing.
With it as reference, he'd cranked out the first batch before term started.
After weeks of reverse-engineering, he'd cracked the principles.
Fred folded the Map with a smirk. "Nicked it from Filch's drawer. Prime real estate just gathering dust!"
George shrugged. "What else? Filch can't use magic. Oh—get this—I also saw a 'Quick-Spell Correspondence Course' in there…"
He dropped his voice. "Filch is a Squib, Lucien. You know what that means?"
Lucien nodded. Squib: born to wizard parents, zero magic.
Like a Muggle-born in reverse—but rarer.
They feel magic, see the wonder, but can never touch it.
Worse than being Muggle—they've tasted paradise and been locked out.
Most Squibs scrape by, broke and forgotten.
Lucien had scanned Filch with his Mage Sight. Shockingly, the guy did have magic circuits—thin, clogged, barely flowing.
Any spark fizzled out before reaching a wand.
Lucien had toyed with the idea: alchemical gadget to siphon a Squib's residual magic into tiny, party-trick spells.
But… niche market, zero budget. More charity than business.
Like Filch—employed, at least—most Squibs weren't.
He chatted a bit more with the twins, then headed back to the dorm to tinker.
---
Breakfast – Great Hall
Ron was venting between bites.
"Lucien, you guys haven't had Lockhart's Defense class yet, right? Whatever you do—don't get excited. He's worse than Quirrell last year!"
"At least Quirrell didn't have Cornish pixies chewing my robes. I saw one steal Lockhart's wand. Is this guy even legit?"
Harry, still scarred from Defense teachers, swallowed his pumpkin porridge and nodded.
"His stories are wild, sure, but the man himself…"
"We ended up catching the pixies ourselves. If you hadn't taught us those spells, Lucien, we'd have been screwed."
Hermione opened her mouth—maybe to defend it as "practical experience"—but Lucien was already grinning.
"What, you guys want a new Defense professor?"
Yeah… time to check on Lockhart and that diary.