Dressing to please someone was its own kind of logic. Even if Ginny privately thought the freckles were charming, she could read exactly where Tom stood on the matter. And she knew perfectly well that his tastes ran toward the kind of smooth, porcelain look that Daphne embodied without effort.
Once she'd finished applying the potion, Tom pulled her into his lap. She was soft and warm and fit neatly against him, a very satisfactory human pillow.
"Actually," Ginny said, remembering something. "Are George and Fred working for you? They were busy the entire holiday. I caught a bit of their conversation, something about a delivery."
Tom confirmed it without hesitation. "Their alchemy talent is decent. They're manufacturing one of my products."
The alchemical creatures made the twins' production output almost irrelevant to his operations at this point. But he'd made a promise, and reversing course over something that cost him nothing seemed pointless. So they continued.
Honestly, the twins had held up their end with more persistence than he'd expected. Over the past few months they'd earned themselves three hundred Galleons, which put them comfortably ahead of what Arthur Weasley brought home.
"Isn't that too much to pay them?" Ginny asked. The question surprised no one more than Ginny herself, and if the twins had heard it, the betrayal would have shattered them. "Are you losing money on this?"
"Not a chance. I've got plenty of buyers covering the costs."
The margins on what he sold were fine. Capital's only real enemy wasn't a low price point. It was having nothing to sell to.
Ginny nodded, found a more comfortable position, and was asleep within minutes. She stayed in that pleasant fog straight through to the next morning when exams began.
The returning students had learned their lesson after last term. This time, the holiday hadn't been entirely abandoned to relaxation. Most of them had held onto at least some of what they'd studied, and the placement exams reflected it.
Professor McGonagall was in good spirits. The diagnostic tests confirmed that her students had not used the break to empty their heads entirely, and while theoretical knowledge mattered, it was ultimately the wand that had to deliver. This was where the Fantasy Potion showed its value.
Hogwarts students had been building their concentration through the potion's effects for months now, sharpening the focus they brought to spellwork, and the average level across year groups was measurably higher than comparable cohorts in previous years. Dumbledore's considerable effort to secure the funding for it hadn't gone to waste.
Two days of exams left everyone wrung out. Friday was a lost cause from the first lesson: students drifted through the corridors in a collective daze, and most of the professors had the sense to ease up. Snape, naturally, treated the exhaustion as an opportunity and docked Gryffindor twenty points. Half from Harry, half from Neville.
Harry watched Snape walk away and entertained, briefly, the thought of using a Disarming Charm directly on the man's face and seeing how far he flew.
He turned to Ron. "When do you think I'll be able to beat Snape in a duel? By graduation, maybe?"
Ron blinked. He genuinely had no idea, but felt some response was required. "Probably? I mean, Snape's been angling for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for years and Dumbledore keeps saying no. That's got to mean something about his level."
Harry's eyes lit up. He hadn't looked at it from that angle before.
Between that reasoning and Sirius's long-standing habit of calling Snape a weakling who'd spent his school years getting flattened by Harry's father, Harry had arrived at a fairly settled conclusion: Snape was all bluster, a mediocre man hiding behind tenure and a teaching robe.
Just a glorified potions brewer.
Harry quietly revised his personal timeline. Two and a half years. Third year had half a year left, which meant two and a half years total, and by that point he would personally sort Snape out.
Passing through the entrance hall later, Harry noticed a crowd had gathered around the notice board. He and Ron shouldered their way through, student by student, until they reached the front.
The announcement covered the upcoming Junior Wizarding Dueling Championship. Participating schools and their selected competitors would arrive at Hogwarts on the first of March. The tournament would open the second weekend of March and run for seven weeks, finishing in May.
The competition was divided by year group. First years were excluded entirely since their spell repertoire was still too limited to make a bracket meaningful. Second through seventh years were eligible, no separation by gender.
For the first six weeks, each Saturday would belong to a single year group, working through the bracket until one competitor remained. The seventh and final week was the open tournament: no year restrictions, anyone could challenge anyone, but each competitor carried only two losses before they were eliminated.
And the prize for the overall champion: one thousand Galleons.
"One thousand Galleons?!" Ron's voice cracked. His eyes went red at the edges.
"I'm entering."
Harry looked at his best friend with quiet pity. He said nothing discouraging out loud, but the thought was already there.
With Tom in the competition, that prize money might as well already have his name engraved on it.