A few days had passed since the mysterious "gift bomb" landed on Fred and George Weasley.
At first, the twins basked in the chaos of admiration. A few sly winks in the corridors, a pat on the back from Peeves (who usually only acknowledged genius), and even Professor Flitwick had been spotted chuckling quietly when Fred saluted him mid-spellwork.
But Fred and George weren't just pranksters—they were thinkers. Scheming minds hiding behind devil-may-care grins.
And something didn't add up.
"It wasn't our prank," Fred whispered one night as they sat perched on the astronomy tower. "We never touched that suit of armor."
"Nope," George said, popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "And we'd never mess with McGonagall like that. Not unless we were ready to flee the country."
They thought back. Rewound everything. Considered the timing. The subjects. The precision.
And then the pattern emerged.
A trio. Always seen together. Always whispering. One with an eerie calmness and confidence that belied his age. One with chaotic hair and too much curiosity for her own good. One who watched everything with eyes just a touch too knowing.
They'd spotted them watching from the Hufflepuff table when the gifts arrived.
And—most telling of all—they remembered the odd interaction with a pair of students who definitely didn't look like first-years the day before the gifts started. Different hair. Different posture. But the same kind of glint in the eye.
"They thought the metamorphmagus trick would throw us off," Fred said.
George grinned. "Cute."
They didn't talk about it further. They didn't need to.
A few mornings later, as the trio sat in the Hufflepuff common room, a note fluttered from the dormitory fireplace and landed softly in Hadrian's lap. There was no name. No magical seal.
Hadrian opened it carefully.
To the Hufflepuff Minds Behind the Madness, Thank you. For the chaos.
For the kindness.
For the respect. We see you. Don't worry—we're not declaring war. …Yet. With fond suspicion, F&G
Hadrian passed the note to Dora, who passed it to Iris. They all exchanged looks and tried not to laugh.
"So," Iris whispered, "we are on their radar now."
"Seems so," Hadrian murmured. "But it's not a threat. It's a promise."
Dora smirked, her hair turning a bright, giddy pink. "Well then. We'd better keep our wands sharp."
Because when the truly brilliant minds of Hogwarts find each other, it isn't rivalry.
It's the beginning of a beautiful, dangerous friendship.