Sitting at the Ravenclaw table, Lucien watched a first-year girl bounce up to him. He instantly flashed back to a random chat he'd had with the Sorting Hat last year:
"Once I've sorted the newbies into their houses, I'll drop your na—make sure they thank you…"
"After being worn by you, I swear I got smarter…"
The Hat's words echoed in Lucien's ears, and a sinking feeling hit him.
It's been a whole year—there's no way that thing still rembers, right?!
The girl's eyes were sparkling with hope. Lucien gave a stiff nod.
She blinked up at him, grinning. "Sweet! I didn't get the wrong guy—that would've been so awkward."
"The Sorting Hat says it can sort even more accurately now—though it was always pretty spot-on—and that it's all thanks to you, big bro!"
"It told us to thank you properly, to look up to you as a role model. Said you're super easy to spot: dark-golden hair, those striking erald-green eyes, and, uh… really handso…"
Lucien pretty much tuned out after that. His whole body went numb.
His na was officially about to blow up among the first-years.
Fastest legend in Hogwarts history, here we go.
He could already picture the Sorting Hat whispering in their heads.
Wait—hold up.
Snapping out of his shock and embarrassnt, a new thought hit him.
Wasn't his original plan for selling alchemical gadgets and potions to handle design, production, sales, and marketing all at once?
Since everything was under his own na, the products and his rep were totally tied together.
The more people raved about the quality, the more they'd notice the guy who invented them.
And the more his na spread, the better it'd advertise the stuff.
Sure, the Sorting Hat's stunt was wild…
…but it was kinda helping?
So Lucien shelved the idea of yeeting the Hat into the Black Lake for a bath.
The girl gave him another quick bow, then scampered off to sit with the other first-years.
"Hey, Lucien—why'd the Sorting Hat single you out?"
His roommate Terry nudged him, eyes wide with curiosity.
Lucien glanced at the Hat bobbing over a kid's head. "I gave it a software update."
Lucky for him, there weren't any more super-outgoing Ravenclaw first-years rushing over to say hi. But every single one of them kept sneaking glances his way.
And just like that, this year's Sorting Ceremony wrapped up without a hitch—no kid stuck under the Hat for minutes like last year.
---
Gryffindor Common Room
"Alright, this is our common room. Password this year is 'Honeyduke.' Any questions, co find —I'm your prefect."
Percy herded the first-years inside, gave the rundown, and headed out.
The newbies, still buzzing from their first taste of the wizarding world, were poking around the cozy scarlet-and-gold space, hunting for magical clues.
Then they spotted the counter.
Hard to miss—there was a banner so flashy it practically scread for attention.
The letters shimred and flowed, sparking tiny fireworks with every shift.
On either end, above the words Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Branch), holographic projections of gadgets spun slowly, showing off every angle.
The border wasn't static either—four animals (lion, eagle, snake, badger) chased each other around the text, roaring and hissing as they went.
At the bottom, a streak of silver cursive zipped by like a shooting star:
"The secret to wisdom and courage lies here—"
Behind the counter stood identical redheaded, freckled twins. The second the first-years looked over, their eyes lit up in perfect sync.
"First-years! Boys, girls—co on over, take a peek!"
"You probably don't know yet how annoying Hogwarts stairs are!"
"Their patterns? Tch-tch."
"You won't morize 'em without being late for years!"
"And if you're late for class—most teachers are fine, but Potions with Professor Snape?"
"He'll turn you into his personal potion-tasting toad!"
Most of the kids went pale. Turning into a toad was straight out of grim fairy tales.
The twins waved grandly. "But don't worry—a certain Ravenclaw upperclassman's got your back with cheat codes!"
Ta-da!
Fred whipped out an ornate bronze compass from under the counter. Its needle spun freely, light as a feather.
"Introducing—for every lost little lion—the Stair Compass!"
George jumped in, voice dripping with drama: "No confusing lines or maps! Just tell it before you leave—'Take to Potions!'—and even if the stairs spin you in three circles, that needle'll point straight to your classroom!"
Right on cue, Fred snapped open what looked like a blank parchnt. One tap of his wand, and inky lines crawled across it like living vines, sketching the castle. A glowing blue path snaked through the stair maze.
"And for the efficiency kings and queens—"
"Shortcut Map!"
"See that glowing line? It plans the steadiest route for the next five minutes! Glide through moving stairs like a pro—elegant, tiless!"
"Of course," they chorused with matching smirks, "we're taking pre-orders for the upgraded version with even more info!"
"As for price… knowledge has weight, you know."
The demo left the kids dazzled—fear replaced by pure curiosity.
A few bold ones crowded the counter, clutching their coin pouches.
"Uh… how much for the basic compass?"
George leaned down with a grin that scread you're getting a steal. "Since you're our first custor today—just ten Sickles!"
After a beat, coins clinked onto the counter.
The Weasley twins locked eyes—paycheck… er, dream fund acquired!
---
Back in the Dorm
Lucien killed the fla under his cauldron and waited for the potion to cool.
Stretching, he pulled up his system panel and checked the Erald Ledger loan tab—sales numbers and totals.
Ever since his alchemical gadgets and potions went live, the system updated in real ti. Super handy.
Post-Welco Feast, the numbers had ticked up a bit faster.
Looks like the twins were already testing the waters in Gryffindor.
Once the Seventh Workshop popped up officially at Hogwarts—and the first-years got a real taste of the stair chaos—sales would spike.
Lucien figured not just first-years, but plenty of second- and third-years would want Stair Compasses and Shortcut Maps too.
Hogwarts had 142 staircases. Tons of them moved—vanished, spun, rose, dropped…
So changed on a tir, so reacted to footsteps, so needed passwords…
Only kids who morized all the patterns stood a chance of never being late.
But panic tight schedule = brain fart = instant detention.
Lucien had actually asked Dumbledore about it once—didn't the chaos ss with learning?
Dumbledore's take: "Learning to handle surprises and change is growth too. They'll miss these stairs after graduation."
Lucien had been speechless. If this weren't the wizarding world, he'd swear the headmaster skimd the budget and skipped student-friendly upgrades.
His old Muggle high school principal got busted for "renovating" the cafeteria—just a fresh coat of paint, then jail ti.
Lucien figured Dumbledore's heart just wasn't in Hogwarts anymore. Ever since Voldemort rose, his focus had been the Dark Lord. Then Harry showed up, turned Voldemort into a ghost, and Dumbledore shifted to grooming the Chosen One.
Sure, he was headmaster—but his real investnt in the school? Minimal.
Lucien had talked to Flitwick, McGonagall, and others. They were frustrated too—student quality had been sliding for years.
Peace ti ant kids studied magic for jobs, not survival. No more "learn or die" urgency.
Grad skills were dropping. Responsible teachers couldn't ignore it.
Lucien got Dumbledore's big-picture view—wizarding world safety, Dark Lord, Chosen One. A few generations of kids? He could "set that aside."
But Lucien believed school should be about learning. He didn't have the power to fix everything, but cranking out gadgets to boost efficiency? Totally doable.
Plus, inventing and selling stuff leveled up his alchemy and potions skills. Win-win-win.
The potion cooled. He sliced it into candy chunks, dusted them with sugar frosting, and packaged the sample with the others for the twins tomorrow.
New product = need custor feedback.
Compared to compasses and maps, these were dirt cheap—a few Knuts each, Sickles for the pricier ones. Perfect for kids' budgets.
Thin margins, high volu—rush those sales numbers.
Compasses and maps had built-in expiration too, forcing repurchases.
But kids would figure out: group buy!
Tight on cash? Split one with friends.
Of course, you can't always stick with your buddies. Sotis you're on your own—trust your brain, pray a portrait or ghost helps, or hope a kind upperclassman points the way.
Once pocket money piled up? Everyone gets their own.
---
Great Hall – Lunch
Harry scooped so cream of mushroom soup but didn't drink—just sighed.
"I haven't even had Defense Against the Dark Arts yet, but I'm already worried about Professor Lockhart."
Lucien blinked. Gryffindor had Herbology this morning—how'd they end up on Lockhart?
Ron, in slightly better spirits thanks to good food, chid in: "Yeah, the guy casually implied he's better at Herbology than Professor Sprout? Total peacock. No clue why Mum and her friends are obsessed with him."
"And that outfit—li-green robes, matching hat, ugh. Hey Harry, what'd he pull you aside for before class?"
Harry dropped his spoon, grumpy. "Before class? We were in class! Sprout didn't even want to let him, but he yanked out anyway, blabbing about fa, front-page headlines, Most Charming Smile Award…"
"And showing Sprout how to 'treat' the Whomping Willow… bandaging it? It was crooked…"
Harry's guilt kicked in—he and Ron had totaled that ancient tree. Older than both of them combined!
Lucien pieced it together: classic Lockhart flexing fake credentials.
Sure, con clueless housewives all you want—but bragging fake plant knowledge to a real Herbology professor? That's dancing with a broadsword in front of Guan Yu.
Yeah… Lockhart needed to go. Early retirent sounded perfect.
And hey—Tom's diary was in Lucien's hands now. Maybe teaching the Forgetfulness Charm and swapping in a competent Defense professor could be a two-for-one deal…
ilham20
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