Chapter 105: Expected Fortune
Chapter 105: Expected Fortune
In the late November Quidditch match, the Hufflepuff team suffered a crushing defeat in the wind and snow, leaving Gryffindor and Ravenclaw as the top contenders for the House Cup.
Determined to secure victory, Captain Charlie had been intensifying the Quidditch training, much to the chagrin of the regular team players. As substitutes, Fred and his group often found good excuses to skip the grueling sessions in the harsh weather.
"Charlie must be crazy!" Fred muttered as he gazed out at the snowy landscape.
"He's just overly eager to win the Quidditch Cup," Albert reasoned, understanding Charlie's drive as the team captain. After all, if even the captain relaxed, the Gryffindor team would likely never get a chance to hold the cup high.
"Are you guys going home for the Christmas holidays?" Lee Jordan asked, looking up from a letter he had just received from home.
"Yeah, we'll be going home," Fred replied without hesitation after a quick glance at George.
"I'll be going home for the holidays too," Albert said, turning to look at the potted plants by the window. "What should we do with the plants when we're all gone?"
"Just leave them here. I guess they'll be fine without water for a month, right?" George replied, eyeing the thriving garlic plants by the window with little conviction.
"Actually, you guys can make them when you're back home for the holidays," Albert tentatively brought up the topic.
In truth, Albert was well aware that their enthusiasm for crafting garlic amulets had waned considerably.
It was understandable; children's patience was often limited, and Albert even suspected they might have forgotten about the whole endeavor.
"Oh, that thing!" Fred and George exchanged glances, their initial enthusiasm for creating the so-called amulets seemingly faded.
They were even a bit perplexed as to why they had been so passionate about making them in the first place.
"Yeah, we can give it a try. But we're not really sure how to make the garlic amulets. Do we really have to soak the crosses in crushed garlic?" Fred asked tentatively, unsure if his mother would beat his buttocks with a broomstick for wasting garlic.
"You can crush the garlic and soak it in alcohol, then dip the crosses in that mixture," Albert suggested, though he hadn't tried it himself.
"That's a good idea. But..." Fred trailed off, as if he had forgotten what he was about to say.
"...we're not sure how to get our hands on alcohol. Ordinary beer is hard enough to come by, let alone alcohol. It's quite a challenge," George continued, finishing his brother's thought.
"What about your white willow plant? What are you planning to do with it?" Lee Jordan quickly changed the subject, his situation not being much better than the twins'.
"I'll leave it here. If it dies, then so be it!" Albert replied, referring to the other potted plant by the window, a white willow branch he had obtained from Hagrid. White willow, being a herbaceous plant, could be easily regrown by burying its branches in a soil sack and caring for it carefully.
However, white willow was sensitive to weather changes, and if it wasn't transplanted into a greenhouse or a warmer location during the winter, it would likely wither.
In all honesty, Albert wasn't very confident about keeping the plant alive through the cold season either.
...
As December arrived, the weather turned even colder.
While the Gryffindor common room was cozy with a blazing fireplace, the corridors outside, buffeted by chilly winds and snow, were frigid. The windows rattled in the bitter wind, prompting everyone to bundle up even more.
Christmas was approaching, and everyone looked forward to the upcoming break.
However, the professors seemed to have a knack for assigning heaps of homework, much to the students' dismay.
"Are they trying to ruin our Christmas holidays?" Lee Jordan exclaimed, once again tossing his quill onto the table as he surveyed the mountain of homework on his parchment.
"Oh well, you'll have to do it either way, or face detention with each professor after the holidays," Albert said as he rolled up the parchment, conceding that the amount of holiday homework was indeed substantial, even challenging for him to complete in a short time.
"Don't remind me, you're the devil incarnate," Lee Jordan grumbled, leaning back in his armchair.
Today, students from third year and above had gone to Hogsmeade, leaving the common room comfortably vacant for the younger students.
"Albert!" George's voice held a hint of tremor as he pointed to the front-page news of the Prophet, urging him to look. "Look at this, quickly!"
"What is it?" Fred asked wearily. "What's the big news in the Prophet?"
"Millicent Bagnold has decided to retire in February, and her successor has been confirmed as Cornelius Fudge," George blurted out, his breath quickening.
"Cornelius Fudge?" Fred repeated, his thoughts pausing momentarily before his voice rose in pitch, "You mean...Cornelius Fudge?"
"What's wrong with Cornelius Fudge?" Lee Jordan asked, eyeing the twins curiously before a realization struck him. "Wait, isn't Cornelius Fudge..."
The three of them turned their heads in unison, their gazes fixed on Albert with a strange glint in their eyes. As they read the article, they suddenly recalled an incident on the Hogwarts Express...
"I remember..." George began, his words slightly garbled.
"...you seemed to have bet 25 galleons..." Fred continued his unfinished sentence.
"...on Cornelius Fudge becoming the next Minister of Magic!" Lee Jordan's eyes widened in disbelief.
In that moment, the three of them gaped at Albert in shock.
"Yes, I do recall that," Albert nodded, "At the time, I even asked if you guys wanted to join the betting pool."
"My heart..." Fred placed a hand over his chest, his breath quickening as well. The thought of letting galleons slip through his fingers was agonizing, a piercing pain...
"What were the odds for Cornelius Fudge?" Lee Jordan inquired suddenly.
"I think it was 4 to 1," Albert replied.
"So, 25 galleons would be...100 galleons!" Lee Jordan's breath grew heavier, resembling a panting old cow.
"One hundred galleons," the twins murmured, their eyes glazed over.
One hundred galleons—a sum they had never even dared to contemplate.
"I told you, my luck is usually not that bad," Albert winked at the trio, "But did the Prophet mention when they'll pay out?"
"It...shouldn't be too late. I reckon the betting will end when Cornelius Fudge is officially announced as the next Minister of Magic. They'll probably tally the results and award the prizes soon after," George replied.
Albert nodded, relieved that he wouldn't have to worry about money for the time being.
To be honest, he disliked asking his family for money to buy things; the feeling of begging was unpleasant.
(End of Chapter)
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