Sunday morning, Magnus sat at the edge of the Ravenclaw table, poking his toast and bacon with his fork but not eating it yet. He had no appetite. For the whole night, he had spent it wondering about the countless possibilities that could have happened.
Would the Griffins even read his letter? And even if they did, would they take him seriously?
Now that he thought about it, the Silver Griffins might not be the best team in the league. They were not at the very top, but they were still among the teams competing in the country's elite wizarding Pokémon Battle League. That meant attention, real attention, and a fan base to match.
They probably, not probably, certainly received hundreds, if not thousands of letters. And just like Fred had said, some of them were howlers too, from rival fans, which meant they probably did not even bother reading most of them. Worse still, maybe they had someone else doing it for them.
That was the worst scenario he could imagine.
Imagine someone else opening his letter and reading the part where he claimed he had been the one to call the move from the stands. They would stare at it, think he was some lunatic fan, and toss it aside.
Or worse, burn it.
It would not even be worth forwarding to the players.
Magnus exhaled slowly. The only chance, the only real chance, was that the handler himself had read that letter.
If the handler read it, he would know. He would know he had not called that move. He would know it had been unexpected, something Gyarandos had done without prior training. He would know something about that moment had been off.
Maybe he would not believe Magnus fully. But he would hesitate. And that hesitation might be enough for him to read the rest of the letter.
Magnus watched the owls pass above their heads, swooping low and dropping letters and parcels as students reached up eagerly to catch them.
He found himself holding his breath every time one dipped lower.
None came to him.
They crisscrossed above, some dropping at the Ravenclaw table, others veering off toward Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Not one stopped in front of him.
From the Gryffindor table, he could see them watching too.
Fred, George, Ron, Harry, and Lee kept throwing glances in his direction. Every time their eyes met, they forced smiles.
Magnus was not fooled.
The twins were hoping nothing would arrive for him. That his letter had not gone through. That meant the Manticores would win, and their bets would hold.
He did not blame them.
They had said they supported him, that they could always make more money, but Magnus knew better. Fred and George needed that money badly for their Pokéball venture.
And if this failed, then Hagrid's Zweilous would go to Charlie Weasley.
From the corner of his eye, Magnus saw Fred suddenly rise and snatch a parcel midair from an owl that swooped low over the Gryffindor table.
Fred did not even sit back down.
He turned immediately and headed straight for Magnus.
"Come on, mate," Fred whispered as he reached him. "We got the tickets."
Magnus pushed his plate aside and stood. There was nothing left to wait for.
He gave one last glance at the ceiling.
No owl was coming for him.
The Griffins had not read his letter.
Which meant the Manticores were winning.
The six of them moved quickly toward the Gryffindor dormitory. By now, Magnus had been there often enough that even Percy, who had once been furious about a Ravenclaw entering their space, had stopped complaining.
As soon as they were inside the twins' dorm, Fred tore open the envelope and pulled out three slips.
"Here's yours, mate."
Magnus took his.
The number shimmered in gold.
Thirty five galleons.
The bet had gone through.
Fred and George each held their own slips, both glowing with fifty six galleons.
George let out a low whistle. "Would you look at that."
They were not even trying to hide their excitement anymore.
"You two don't seem like you were rooting for my letter to go through," Magnus said, turning the slip in his fingers.
The twins paused for a moment.
"Come on, mate," Fred said. "I told you. They probably get thousands of letters. Yours is buried somewhere at the bottom."
"And even if they read it," George added, "nobody's going to believe you called that move from the stands."
He clapped Magnus on the shoulder. "Relax. Think of it this way. If they didn't read it, it's their loss."
"You get thirty five," Fred said.
"We get fifty six each," George continued.
"That's nearly two hundred galleons total," Fred finished.
George grinned. "You said it yourself. We reinvest it, multi bets across matches…"
"We'll be stinking rich before term ends."
They were not wrong.
Magnus knew it.
Money would solve a lot of problems, especially when the school term ended. He had no home to return to. He would need enough to stay at the Leaky Cauldron, to eat, to survive.
With money, he could focus on Pokémon, on training, on understanding this world properly.
Still, the thought sat wrong in his chest.
"As for the Zweilous," Ron said, leaning against the bedpost, "he can always go to Charlie."
Magnus sighed.
He had done everything he could.
If it came to that, then so be it.
At three in the afternoon, the six of them were loitering on the seventh floor near the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy
Students kept passing through the corridor, making it impossible to access the Room of Requirement without drawing attention.
Every time someone approached, they pretended to be chatting casually. The moment the corridor cleared, they moved again, only to stop once more as footsteps echoed.
Time kept slipping.
Three twenty.
Still nothing.
"Bloody hell," George muttered. "At this rate we'll miss the start."
"Relax," Fred said, though even he sounded tense.
Finally, with careful timing and the help of Espeon, who kept watch and nudged them when the corridor was clear, they slipped in.
The door appeared and they quickly poured in.
By the time it closed behind them, it was already three twenty five.
Inside, the twins' lab was just as chaotic as ever. Half finished inventions littered the workbench. A dismantled Pokéball lay in pieces. Wires, vials, scraps of parchment, all scattered in organized chaos.
At the center sat an old, battered Wizarding Wireless.
Magnus recognized it immediately.
Fred moved toward it and held up a hand as Magnus instinctively reached out.
"Don't touch it," Fred said. "Took us ages to tune it."
He leaned down and adjusted the dial carefully.
For a moment, there was only static.
Then suddenly, a voice burst through, carried over a roar of a massive crowd.
The stadium was alive.
And just from the look on Fred's face, Magnus knew.
They had found the right channel.
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