Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

Although he didn't possess exceptional wisdom, being invulnerable to blades and spells wasn't a bad deal either.

On the other side, the two Weasleys were thinking along these lines as they crawled one after another, backsides sticking out, through the hole in the wall. Initially, they had hoped Victor would allow them to exit with dignity, but their request was firmly rejected, leaving them no choice but to crawl back the way they came.

As George's backside moved out of sight, the afternoon sunlight spilled onto Fred's face, illuminating the tiny flowers and grass surrounding the shed.

Years of neglect had endowed the place with a disordered yet vibrant charm.

Fred picked himself up off the ground and dusted off his robe.

Lee Jordan, who had been loitering outside, rushed over immediately. "Are you guys okay? The professor didn't give you too hard a time, did he?"

"Nothing serious. Professor Victor isn't as strict as Professor McGonagall. You see, he..."

Fred's voice trailed off as he instinctively glanced back at the Shrieking Shack, curious to see where Victor would emerge. To his surprise, when his gaze swept past the window, the interior was completely empty.

The only thing left behind was a stark dividing line between the dust-covered and the spotless areas.

Victor had already departed.

"When did the professor leave?" George asked, astonished.

"Just as you guys were crawling out," Lee Jordan replied. "His boots glinted for a second, and then he vanished. I've got to say, those are the coolest shoes I've ever seen! If they hit Diagon Alley, they'd sell like hotcakes."

"By the way, I heard you guys mention something about a 'blessing.' What's that all about? Your voices got too quiet afterward, so I couldn't catch it."

"To be honest, I don't fully understand it either," George chimed in. "All I know is that it's supposed to be useful. The professor said Fred would always win duels and wouldn't be hit by spells anymore!"

"Really?" Lee Jordan's eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at Fred. "Can it really be that effective? Even most protective charms can't do that."

"Who knows," Fred replied nonchalantly, rubbing his hands together with excitement. "The professor said I wouldn't lose, so I might as well find someone to test it on. I've been itching to teach those Slytherins a lesson!"

"Exactly!" Lee Jordan added enthusiastically. "Let's test it out right now!"

"I saw those two idiots, Derrick and Bole, earlier. They cheated their way to victory in last year's Quidditch finals. Now's the perfect time to settle the score."

"Let's do it!"

"Yeah, let's go!"

The trio grew increasingly animated. Fred, in particular, felt a surge of confidence like never before. His performance in Charms had always been lackluster, and he often lost to the underhanded tactics of the Slytherins. Getting hit by a nasty curse wasn't uncommon, either.

So, naturally, he resorted to flinging Dungbombs instead.

Sure, he lost house points, but the results were immediate. Slytherins hadn't dared approach them recklessly in ages.

But psychological victories weren't enough. Now that he had this supposed blessing of invulnerability and needed to test it anyway, targeting a couple of despicable Slytherins seemed like the perfect plan.

Under the sunlight, with his resolve renewed, Fred strode confidently toward the sharp-roofed houses of Hogsmeade Village.

However, after just one step—

"Ouch!"

Thud!

"Fred!"

As Lee Jordan and George moved forward, Fred stumbled on his very first step, landing face-first on the grassy ground with a loud thud. A few blades of grass even stuck to his head from the impact.

Grimacing, Fred got back up. "I'm fine. Just tripped over a branch. It must've been right underfoot. Knee's a bit sore, though. Strange… shouldn't I be immune to injuries now?"

George glanced at Fred skeptically before muttering, "I suddenly have a bad feeling about this."

Derrick and Bole were the Beaters for the Slytherin Quidditch team, occupying positions that directly opposed the Weasley brothers on the field.

The root of their enmity lay in last year's Quidditch Cup, where Derrick and Bole had resorted to underhanded tactics.

Before the match, the two had each concealed a pouch of live spiders in their pockets, waiting for the perfect moment to release them above the Weasley twins' heads. While the Slytherins also ended up covered in spiders, the Weasleys' formation was disrupted for several minutes, allowing the Slytherin team to score multiple goals and ultimately win the match.

Fred and George had been itching to get even ever since, but only now did they have the chance.

They finally cornered the two Slytherins behind the Three Broomsticks pub. Derrick and Bole, tall and burly from years of Quidditch, loomed like walls.

When they saw Fred approaching, they sneered coldly.

"What do you want? Looking for a fight?"

"You've got it wrong—what we're after is justice," Fred drawled. "You haven't forgotten the little stunt you pulled at last year's Quidditch Cup, have you?"

Derrick scoffed. "A stunt? It wasn't a stunt. Madam Hooch didn't call foul or stop the game, which means our methods were perfectly within the rules! Face it, you lost because you weren't good enough."

"Hah! Since when is dumping spiders considered a legitimate tactic?" Fred retorted.

Still, he didn't press the point further. After all, accusing Slytherins of resorting to dirty tricks was more a compliment than an insult.

Fred finally said, "So, let's settle this the fair way: a wizard's duel. You two against us. Pick your seconds, and we'll start right now."

"Now?"

"What's the matter, scared?"

"Hmph, hardly."

Without hesitation, Derrick and Bole conferred briefly before deciding who would go first through a quick game of rock-paper-scissors.

Wizard duels, once a historical means of settling disputes, had long since lost their legal standing. In the past, they could overturn court rulings, often ending with one party dead. Nowadays, duels were less lethal, especially among students like Fred, who barely knew a handful of spells.

Bole stepped forward to face Fred, both exchanging perfunctory bows while George and Derrick stood as witnesses.

"Excellent," Fred said with mock grandeur. "According to the rules of dueling, the match only ends when one party is injured or incapacitated and sent to the infirmary."

"That'll be you," Bole sneered.

The two eyed each other warily. Bole wasn't much for words, so after trading a few threats, he gripped his wand tightly, ready to attack.

Fred shouted, "According to the rules, we first turn our backs."

Both turned around.

"Next, we'll take three steps forward. On the count of three, we cast our spells."

Bole smirked silently, already plotting to whip around on "two" and ambush Fred with a well-aimed curse.

But before he could act—

"Three!"

Bole: "?"

Derrick: "?"

Lee Jordan and George: "!!"

Fred blurted "three" all at once, spun around without missing a beat, and fired off a curse with a wicked grin.

A flash of red light hit Bole squarely.

"Rictusempra!"

Bole instantly doubled over in uncontrollable laughter, clutching his stomach in pain and gasping, "You... scoundrel...!"

"Thanks for the compliment," Fred said smugly. "And you, Bole—calling yourself a Slytherin, yet being less devious than me? You're a disgrace to your house."

Gasping for breath, Bole tried to retaliate. Blue light shot from his wand, aiming for Fred's face. Confident in his blessing, Fred stood his ground, eager to test its limits.

To his shock, the curse hit him directly. A moment later, his limbs began jerking wildly, moving like a marionette in an awkward tap dance.

Fred: "?"

"What the—?!"

Inwardly, he screamed, Professor Victor, you've betrayed me!

Meanwhile, in the Three Broomsticks, Victor sipped his cocktail, observing the chaos with a distant gaze.

"Not my fault," he muttered. "It's just... close enough. Precision's overrated anyway."

After all, if his blessings were truly perfect, he wouldn't be giving them out for free.

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