Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 642: I’m Good at Reasoning

Even though Kyle and the others hurried back to the castle, they couldn’t catch up to Fred, George, and Harry before Professor McGonagall. By the time they arrived, the door to her office was just closing.

After a brief discussion, the group decided to wait in the hallway for the trio to come out.

The corridor was unusually quiet, likely because most students were still at the Quidditch pitch or heading back to their dormitories. Only one ghost floated nearby: Nearly Headless Nick.

He poked his head out from the floor and slowly rose into the air.

“What did those students do?” he asked Kyle curiously. “I noticed Professor McGonagall’s hands shaking just now. She rarely loses her temper like that.”

“Just a little conflict between students,” Kyle replied casually.

“Really?” Nearly Headless Nick said skeptically. It didn’t seem plausible that a mere “little conflict” could make Professor McGonagall so visibly angry. Still, seeing Kyle’s reluctance to elaborate, Nick didn’t press further.

Not that he needed to. Being a ghost, he could easily slip through walls and listen in for himself. With that, he floated off toward the adjacent room.

Kyle, Cedric, and Kanna were left standing in the corridor.

A minute later, Cho appeared, hurrying toward them.

“How are things? Are Fred and George okay?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

“We don’t know yet,” Cedric replied, gesturing to McGonagall’s office door. “They just went in.”

“But I doubt Professor McGonagall will let them off lightly. There were so many witnesses, and the professor herself saw everything... I’d say at least seven days of detention is inevitable.”

“They were too impulsive,” Cho said with a frown. “Malfoy obviously provoked them because he lost the match, and they fell for it.”

“Yeah...” Kyle agreed. “That’s probably what Professor McGonagall is telling them right now.”

Cedric moved toward the window at the end of the hallway and glanced outside. “Everyone’s already heading back,” he noted.

The faint hum of chatter was growing louder as students returned to the castle.

“Look at the Slytherins,” Cedric said suddenly, pointing out the window. “They look really pleased with themselves.”

Kyle joined him. From their vantage point, they could see Malfoy and Montague standing in the castle grounds, grinning despite the day’s events.

Someone else was standing with them—Umbridge.

Kyle couldn’t make out what they were discussing, but he didn’t need to guess. It almost certainly had to do with Fred, George, and Harry.

Malfoy’s swollen, battered face and his limp should have radiated anger after the beating he’d endured. Instead, he was smiling smugly, a look of triumph plastered across his face. It was as if he were savoring the success of a carefully laid plan.

“They must be plotting something,” Cho said heatedly. “What a bunch of despicable people.”

“But Fred and George fell right into their trap,” Cedric sighed.

...

Five minutes later, Umbridge approached with a cheerful stride, her presence unmistakable. To avoid unnecessary trouble, Kyle and the others quickly slipped away, leaving the corridor via the opposite direction.

Instead of returning to the Hufflepuff common room, they headed to the eighth floor, waiting outside the portrait of the Fat Lady in hopes of catching Fred, George, or Harry.

What Kyle didn’t anticipate was just how long they’d have to wait.

The day stretched on, but none of the three returned—not even for dinner. It wasn’t until the next morning, as they gathered in the Great Hall for breakfast, that they finally saw Fred and George again. Both looked dejected, their usual lively energy extinguished.

Cedric approached cautiously, sitting down beside them at an empty spot. “What did Professor McGonagall say?” he asked tentatively. “Detention?”

“A week,” Fred replied, his voice hoarse and heavy.

“That’s not so bad,” Cho interjected, attempting to lift the mood. “A week of detention isn’t a bad price to pay for knocking some sense into Malfoy, right?”

Fred let out a bitter laugh. “If that was the case, we’d gladly take detention for a year.”

George sighed, his tone even grimmer. “We’ve been banned.”

“What?” Cedric’s disbelief was audible.

“Yes,” Fred said, stabbing half-heartedly at the bread on his plate. “Umbridge banned us—and Harry—from playing Quidditch. Ever.”

“Did you talk to Professor McGonagall?” Cedric asked, his instincts kicking in. “She loves Quidditch. There’s no way she’d let that happen.”

“It’s useless,” George said flatly. “Umbridge brought the Ministry’s 25th Educational Decree with her. It gives her full authority to discipline students however she wants. Not even Professor McGonagall—or Headmaster Dumbledore—can overrule her.”

“So your team…” Cho began hesitantly.

“It’s finished,” Fred said, feigning nonchalance but failing to mask the bitterness in his voice. “Without a Seeker or Beaters, Gryffindor’s going to be dead last this year.”

“Guess it’s up to you guys now,” George added with an exaggerated laugh that sounded nothing like him. “Make sure you teach Slytherin a good lesson.”

His expression darkened as his voice dropped. “That little Malfoy git... he insulted our parents and Harry’s mum—called them vile names. And now he gets off without so much as a slap on the wrist.”

“It’s not fair!” Fred growled. “We’ll make them pay. Both of them—Malfoy and that toad Umbridge.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Cho warned. “Umbridge has more power than ever. If you step out of line again, you could get expelled.”

“Don’t worry,” George said, his voice calm but steely. “We won’t... get expelled.”

Kyle glanced at George thoughtfully and then asked, “Is there any way you can get back into the game?”

“Yes,” Cedric said, his determination sharpening. “I’ll talk to Professor McGonagall. She’ll know what to do.”

“Don’t bother,” Fred interrupted, shaking his head.

“Umbridge told us how we could get the ban lifted,” George said, his face set in defiance. “But we’re not going to do it.”

“What does she want you to do?” Cedric asked cautiously. “Go to Azkaban? Apologize to Malfoy?”

“Neither,” Fred said after a pause, his voice bitter. “Umbridge said Lucius Malfoy was furious, and if we want to play again, we need to write and beg for his forgiveness.”

“This has Malfoy’s grubby fingerprints all over it,” George spat. “Everyone knows our family and the Malfoys have never gotten along. They couldn’t resist rubbing salt in the wound.”

“If we write that letter, they’ll never let us live it down,” Fred said firmly. “Not just us—the whole Weasley family would become a laughingstock. Dad would be mocked by Lucius forever.”

“This would be a permanent stain on our family name,” George added. “And we won’t let that happen. Not for Quidditch. Not for anything.”

Fred and George’s resolve was unshakeable, their faces set in grim determination.

Cedric opened his mouth to respond but ultimately said nothing. If he were in their shoes, he couldn’t imagine writing that letter either. Compared to protecting their family’s honor, Quidditch seemed a trivial price to pay.

The table fell silent, a heavy gloom settling over the group.

Finally, Kyle broke the silence. “It’s okay. I’ll handle it.”

“No, Kyle,” Fred said sharply. “We’re not bowing to the Malfoys. That’s not an option.”

“Just hear me out,” Kyle said, holding up a hand. “I’m not asking you to apologize. I’ll reason with him. This whole situation was Malfoy’s fault to begin with, wasn’t it? If we explain that to Lucius, I think he’ll understand.”

George let out a bark of laughter, the first genuine one in hours. “Understand us? Don’t be ridiculous. The Malfoys are rotten to the core. Even if you wrote to him, it’d be a waste of parchment.”

Cedric nodded in agreement. “Kyle, we should think of another way. Instead of writing to Lucius, let’s go to Professor McGonagall—or even Dumbledore. This is still Hogwarts, not the Ministry of Magic.”

Kyle shrugged with a small smile. “Maybe it’s a long shot, but we won’t know until we try. Remember what I said? I’m pretty good at reasoning with people.”