Harry Potter: Bring fairytales to Hogwarts

Harry and Ron hurried out of the Great Hall, eager to find a secluded spot to unwrap the package and test out the broomstick before their first class. However, as they crossed the entrance hall, their way upstairs was blocked by Crabbe and Goyle.

At the front of the group stood Malfoy, glaring at them. His sharp eyes immediately noticed the way Ron was clutching the package and deduced it contained a broomstick.

"You're in for detention, Potter. First-years aren't allowed to have those," Malfoy sneered, his tone tinged with jealousy and resentment—clear even to Harry.

It was obvious Malfoy was still holding a grudge over their earlier encounter.

On the train at the start of the term, Malfoy had fainted after Harry's "Wriggling Wands" spell sent him flying into the door. The incident was already embarrassing enough, but after being exaggerated and embellished by other students, it became downright humiliating.

Even Marcus Flint had openly mocked Malfoy, saying he was no better than "those Mudbloods."

Malfoy had been stewing ever since, constantly scheming to make Harry's life difficult. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't succeeded even once.

First, Harry wasn't afraid of him at all.

Second, Harry had learned a few effective jinxes over the summer that gave him the upper hand.

Although Malfoy had managed to lure Harry into sneaking out at night for a duel a few days ago, Filch hadn't caught them, leaving Malfoy still at a disadvantage.

"Move along, Malfoy," Harry said. "Unless you're planning to faint again and blame me for it?"

"I don't need to lift a finger. That junky broom of yours will—"

"Oh, Malfoy, don't you know?" Ron couldn't help interrupting. "That's not just any broomstick—it's a Nimbus 2000. Remind me, what do you have at home? A Comet 260?"

"Comets are decent, sure, but they're not even in the same league as a Nimbus."

"How would you know, Weasley? You can't even afford half a broomstick!" Malfoy shot back viciously. "I bet you and your brothers have to cobble one together out of twigs."

Before Ron could reply, Fred and George suddenly appeared behind Malfoy.

Sauntering down the hallway with their third-year Charms textbooks in hand, they flanked Malfoy and loomed over him menacingly.

"Is there a problem here?" Fred asked casually.

Malfoy, now trapped between the twins, reluctantly fell silent.

Fred then turned to Harry, putting on an exaggeratedly cheerful tone. "Ah, if it isn't our newest team member! Harry, is that the broomstick Professor McGonagall got for you?"

"Of course, only the best for our Gryffindor Seeker," George added with a grin. "Youngest Seeker in a century, isn't it?"

"Tell us, Harry," Fred chimed in, "how did you manage to get it? Was it McGonagall's idea?"

Harry, stifling a laugh, kept his expression neutral and replied, "Nothing much to say. I owe it all to Mr. Malfoy here. If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall, Professor McGonagall wouldn't have noticed… my talents."

The trio's banter left Malfoy speechless, his face cycling through shades of red before settling on a dark, angry flush.

"Don't get too smug, Potter," Malfoy hissed, wrenching himself free from Fred's grip. "My father's a school governor—he'll make sure this gets overturned!"

With that, he stormed off, dragging Crabbe and Goyle along. The gust of wind they stirred up even made nearby candles flicker.

The Gryffindors watched them retreat before Fred muttered disdainfully, "Malfoy and his cronies—always looking for trouble."

Harry nodded in agreement, clutching the book From Bloodlines to Curses tightly. Once he mastered some of the spells in it, he planned to ensure Malfoy apologized to every Gryffindor for an entire day. Maybe then Malfoy would think twice about causing trouble.

However, as Harry turned back to the group, he noticed something odd about Fred. He was standing in a strange posture, favoring his right leg while his left hovered slightly off the ground.

Fred's face bore a small bruise, adding a comical touch to his otherwise pained expression.

"What happened to you?" Ron asked, frowning. "You were fine when we left the common room this morning."

"Don't get me started," Fred groaned. "I miscounted the vanishing steps by the Great Hall, stepped wrong, and slipped on a puddle. Lost my balance and went tumbling down the stairs…"

As he spoke, Fred winced and sucked in a sharp breath. "Merlin's beard, that smarts! Hopefully Madam Pomfrey can fix me up before class."

Ron squinted at him. "Wait, weren't you in the hospital wing yesterday? I think I saw you… and the day before that too."

"Oh, the day before was just a bump on the carriage ride back to school. Yesterday was from a scuffle with Flint and his lot. They tried to take our Quidditch pitch, so I challenged them. Guess what? Their whole team couldn't beat me!" Fred laughed, then winced again.

As Fred stumbled, George caught him just in time. "Careful now," George said, steadying him.

Harry raised an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into his expression.

"Isn't this a bit too unlucky?" he murmured.

"And since when was Fred such a good fighter?" Ron wondered aloud.

"Don't worry about it," George said quickly, helping Fred limp toward the hospital wing. "Let's just say… we've got our ways."

As they walked away, their voices trailed off faintly:

"Next time, don't overdo it. I told you there'd be side effects…"

"Relax! It's not that bad. If it gets worse, we'll talk to Professor Victor about toning it down…"

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing.

"Something's not right," Ron said firmly.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had retreated to the dungeons near the Potions classroom, his mood as dark as the corridor around him.

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