Hogwarts was alive with excitement at the start of the school year, and the newly added Alchemy class quickly became the center of attention.

What was interesting, though, was that when the news first broke, The Daily Prophet wasn’t exactly optimistic. In fact, they ran an article criticizing Hogwarts’ curriculum change as a mistake.

Their reasoning was simple: Alchemy wasn’t widely practiced in Britain, but was popular in France. If graduates wanted to build a career in that field, they’d have to go abroad—most likely to France.

So, some claimed Hogwarts was essentially training talent for a foreign country, and even hinted that Minerva McGonagall, the new Headmistress, was being overly eager to prove herself.

From the war against the Death Eaters to the Horcrux scandal that made headlines during Snape’s hearing, Hogwarts had been caught in the public spotlight time and again. As expected, the article stirred up a fresh round of heated discussion.

But then Hogwarts announced the name of the new professor—and suddenly The Daily Prophet reversed course completely.

Rita Skeeter furiously took up her quill, condemning her “short-sighted” colleagues as rigid-minded old fools.

She, on the other hand, heaped praise on the Alchemy course, calling it the wisest decision Hogwarts had made in the past century. In her words, Minerva McGonagall possessed “greater foresight than even Dumbledore.”

Strangely enough, the article contained no actual details about Alchemy—no data, no curriculum information, no educational philosophy—just pure, unfiltered praise.

And yet, despite its complete lack of substance, the article singlehandedly shifted public opinion. Attitudes toward the Alchemy course—and McGonagall herself—turned around almost overnight.

...

“Why do you think that happened?” In the Headmistress’s office, McGonagall stared down at the stack of newspapers on her desk, confusion and doubt written across her face.

She had braced herself for backlash and comparisons. And yet, after one glowing article... everything just blew over?

“That’s just how professionals work,” Kyle shrugged from the seat across from her. “Rita Skeeter’s a master of this stuff. She always knows exactly what will catch people’s attention.”

“Oh, I’m aware of that.” McGonagall rubbed her forehead. “But I always thought she didn’t do compliments.”

Rita Skeeter’s articles were usually filled with scandal and exposés—secrets of famous witches and wizards, sensational gossip, the kind of tabloid drama people couldn’t stop reading.

The idea that she’d praise her... McGonagall hadn’t seen that coming.

It felt like watching a Mandrake sing a lullaby—utterly baffling.

In fact, she could only remember Skeeter speaking kindly about one person before this… and that person happened to be sitting right here.

She couldn’t help glancing up at Kyle. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked,

“Did you do something?”

“Nope.” Kyle shook his head, sounding completely confident. “I’ve been spending all my time preparing for the first class. I haven’t done anything else. Haven’t even sent out a single letter.”

And he wasn’t lying. He hadn’t contacted Rita Skeeter at all—he’d only just read the article himself.

“Then it’s strange. Why would she be helping us…”

“She probably just wanted attention,” Kyle said thoughtfully. “Everyone was trashing the Alchemy class, so having someone suddenly say the opposite is the perfect way to get noticed.”

“What I’m worried about,” McGonagall said quietly, turning to look out the window, “is whether the article might mislead people. I won’t deny it—I did consider turning down Dumbledore’s proposal.

“Don’t look so surprised. Even though he made the suggestion as a member of the Board, the Headmistress still has the right to refuse.”

“But in the end, I agreed. I thought it was a bold idea, worth trying. Still, we have to be realistic about its flaws.”

“Maybe someone only chose the class because of what they read in Skeeter’s article.

“But what happens if they later find it’s nothing like they expected?”

“Then they can take a different class,” Kyle said with a shrug, blinking as if the answer were obvious. “Hogwarts isn’t Azkaban. Alchemy’s just an elective. If you don’t like it, switch.”

McGonagall paused—then suddenly realized he had a point.

“Just like Divination, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures… it’s only an elective.”

“Exactly,” Kyle said. “It’s just another skill to pick up. Taking Divination doesn’t mean you have to become a Seer. And taking Alchemy doesn’t mean you’re locked into becoming an alchemist.”

Besides…

Kyle flipped through the newspaper again. The articles were all the same—filled with “I think,” “I believe,” “I feel…”

Rita Skeeter hadn’t provided any real analysis of Alchemy, but neither had anyone else. All the pieces were based on emotion, speculation, and opinion. If anything was misleading, then they all were—equally so.

In the end, it all came down to skill.

And in that department, Rita Skeeter had no rivals.

“This... well...” McGonagall had been about to say more, but now she realized it wasn’t necessary.

She suddenly became aware of how tense she’d been lately—especially since officially becoming headmistress. Kyle had spotted something in the papers with just a glance, something she herself hadn’t noticed in two whole days.

Right. It was just an additional elective. When she really thought about it, it wasn’t that big a deal.

“So... how’s your class preparation going?” She took the initiative to change the subject.

“Almost done,” Kyle replied.

“Oh, right—almost forgot.” He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and placed it on the table. “This is my application. I hope the Headmistress will approve it.”

“Application?” McGonagall glanced at the parchment out of habit. “Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes setting up in Hogwarts—absolutely not!”

She cut him off before even reading the whole thing.

“I don’t object to students buying their joke products in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. Whether they manage to sneak them into the castle is up to them. But their shop will never open inside Hogwarts!”

“And besides, Hogwarts has never had anything like that before,” she added firmly.

“No, Headmistress, you’ve misunderstood. I’m not suggesting they open a shop at the school,” Kyle quickly explained. “What I meant is... I’d like the Alchemy class to establish a partnership with them on behalf of the school.”

“A partnership?”

“Exactly.” Kyle nodded.

That was the real reason he’d come to the office today—he just hadn’t had the chance to bring it up before the stack of newspapers derailed the conversation.

“First off, alchemy classes require materials.”

He explained patiently, “The expenses for Alchemy are actually higher than two or even three other classes combined, with costly materials making up half the budget.”

“Potions class…” McGonagall muttered under her breath.

At the moment, Potions had the largest budget at Hogwarts. Fortunately, the school greenhouses could supply some ingredients—otherwise, the few Galleons the Board of Governors provided each year wouldn’t even come close to covering it.

And Alchemy? Likely no better. If Dumbledore hadn’t backed the course with a hefty donation, she never would’ve approved it.

“I visited Hogsmeade yesterday. Fred and George agreed to supply some of the basic materials for the school.”

“Oh?” McGonagall looked up. “And in return? Don’t tell me they’re doing it for free.”

“Of course not,” Kyle said. “They want to work with the school—buy students’ assignments at a lower cost and place additional orders with upper-year students.”

Just like how students brew Hair-Raising Potion in Potions class, there are assignments in Alchemy as well. Fred and George wanted to purchase these—well, more accurately, the semi-finished products.

The biggest difference between alchemy and potions is that alchemy doesn’t have to be done all at once—it can be broken down into several stages.

The first stage typically involves building a magical runic framework, a step that’s simple but tedious.

In potion-making, the equivalent would be preparing the ingredients—grinding lionfish bones into powder, getting mouse tails, leech juice, and so on.

Not technically difficult, but very time-consuming.

In Potions class, these kinds of tasks often fell to students serving detention. Sometimes it took two students an entire afternoon in the detention room just to prep for one lesson.

After hearing Kyle’s explanation, McGonagall frowned. She didn’t give her approval, but she didn’t reject it either.

It wasn’t exactly unreasonable—Hogwarts would save money, and the Weasleys would gain a convenient supply. A win-win.

“There’s still one concern,” she said, lifting her head. “Will the content of the Alchemy course be altered to suit their needs?”

“No, definitely not,” Kyle replied without hesitation. “They only made the offer after seeing the textbook I brought. In fact, most of the items they sell fall under basic alchemy—highly applicable and well within the course scope.”

McGonagall nodded slightly.

“And what do you mean by ‘extra orders for upper-year students’?”

“Basically, an opportunity to earn some pocket money,” Kyle said. “Once students become proficient, Fred and George plan to buy a batch of finished or semi-finished products from them each year.”

“They can buy materials from the Weasleys or anywhere else—as long as they can produce the required items, Fred and George will pay.”

Now it wasn’t just McGonagall who was stunned—the portraits of former headmasters on the walls were also caught off guard.

None of them had ever imagined that Hogwarts students could earn pocket money like this.

But thinking it over, there wasn’t really an issue. No one would dare buy potions brewed by students—but alchemical semi-finished products? Those might be fine.

“How much money are we talking?” McGonagall asked.

“About three to five Galleons per order,” Kyle estimated. “Not a huge amount, but more than enough for snacks, candy, parchment, quills, and so on.”

“Not a huge amount?” McGonagall’s tone shifted.

Most students at Hogwarts got about ten Galleons in pocket money per year. Three to five Galleons per order—that was nearly half.

And she realized something else: Kyle had said per order, not in total.

She could already imagine how many students would sign up for Alchemy next year if she approved this.

After all, it would be the only class where you could start making money before you even graduated—and not a small amount, either.

McGonagall knew this was a good thing for the students in many ways. Still, deep down, she wasn’t comfortable seeing Hogwarts tied so closely to Galleons. Education, in her view, shouldn’t be connected to commerce.

Because students wouldn’t stay in school forever.

If they spent their school years focused on earning money... what would they do after they graduated? ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel•fire.net

And by then, five Galleons wouldn’t be much at all.

“Albus...” On the wall, Armando Dippet quietly slipped into the largest portrait and spoke in a low voice to Dumbledore.

“Do you think... letting that boy stay at Hogwarts was the right decision?”

“Why ask him?” Phineas muttered from nearby, curling his lip. “Don’t forget, he’s the one who insisted on keeping that little brat at Hogwarts.”

“I happen to think it was a good idea,” Dumbledore didn’t answer Dippet’s question directly.

“Gringotts exchanges aren’t exactly favorable. Most young wizards from Muggle families are tight on money every year—this could be a valuable opportunity for them.”

“What kind of reason is that?” Phineas scoffed. “I see how it is. You two are in league with each other.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dumbledore said simply.

Phineas was a Black—there were things he just couldn’t grasp.

While the portraits were still debating, the current headmistress, McGonagall, was also deep in thought.

After a long deliberation, she finally agreed to Kyle’s proposal—but with a few adjustments.

Additional orders could be issued, but only to sixth-years and above, and only during the first half of the school year.

The second half was exam season, and students couldn't afford distractions.

Kyle had no objection and readily agreed on Fred and George’s behalf.

This was already within their expectations—nothing to hesitate over. In fact, this arrangement was even better; at least sixth-years would now be eligible.

They had originally assumed only seventh-years would be allowed to take extra assignments.

After leaving the headmistress’s office, Kyle headed straight to Hogsmeade to deliver the news to Fred and George.

But their reaction wasn’t as enthusiastic as he’d imagined. In fact, they looked a little disappointed.

The issue was that the alchemy class currently only had third-year students—all beginners. If they could just break even between material costs and output, it would already be a win.

Even if the supplies were just basic Wiggentree branches, magical ink, salamander stones, or wart-hog tusks, the cost still added up quickly in large quantities.

If it weren’t for their trust in Kyle, they wouldn’t have agreed to something like this—not even if Headmistress McGonagall herself had asked.

“Let’s hope we don’t take too much of a loss,” Fred muttered as he watched Kyle leave in a hurry, lugging a large sack of materials.

He blamed himself for being too quick with his words the day before—saying, ‘If you need help, just ask, no need to be polite.’

Who would’ve thought Kyle would take that so literally?

They could only hope those third-years could manage the work—and not return with a pile of botched products.

“Have a little faith in Kyle,” George said, walking over and clapping him on the shoulder.

“If he dares send me a batch of rejects, I’ll owl him a bag of Dungbombs every single day!” Fred grumbled under his breath.

...

Back at Hogwarts, Kyle went to find Hagrid.

If Potions class had Herbology to provide materials, then Alchemy had its own counterpart—Care of Magical Creatures.

Hogwarts’ greatest advantage over Beauxbatons was the vast expanse of the Forbidden Forest.

It was home to countless magical creatures—unicorn hair, fire crab shells, hippogriff feathers, thestral mane hairs...

All of these were excellent materials for alchemy. Hagrid just needed to gather them.