Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 181

Chapter 181: Shop Opening, Lockhart’s Early Retirement?

At the Ravenclaw table, Leonardo stared at the first-year who had sprinted straight up to him and, in a flash, remembered a bit of idle chatter he’d once had with the Sorting Hat.

“Once I’ve sorted the new students into the right houses, I’ll mention your name and have them thank you…”

“Ever since you wore me, I feel like I’ve gotten a lot smarter…”

The hat’s words rang in his ears, and an unpleasant suspicion formed.

It had been a full year. That hat could not possibly still remember that, could it?

The girl’s hopeful expression left him no room to dodge. Leonardo nodded, a little stiffly.

The first-year blinked those big eyes of hers.

“Heehee, brilliant. I was worried I’d picked the wrong person. That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

“The Sorting Hat said it can sort people even more accurately now. It said it was already accurate before, of course, but it said that was all thanks to you, Senior.”

“It said it really wanted to thank you, and that I should take you as my example and learn from you. It also said you’re very easy to recognise, dark gold hair, those distinctive deep green eyes, and, um, very handsome…”

Leonardo barely heard the rest. His brain had gone numb.

So this was happening. His name was going to spread through the first-years whether he liked it or not.

A legendary speedrun to fame.

He could practically picture it. The Sorting Hat perched on a trembling first-year’s head, whispering in a conspiratorial voice, and somehow dragging Leonardo’s name into it.

Wait.

Leonardo snapped back from the shock and embarrassment, and another thought slid into place.

Wasn’t he planning to sell alchemical items and potions anyway? Design, production, sales, publicity, all at once.

If the products were sold under his name, then his reputation and his merchandise were naturally tied together. When more people recognised and praised the quality, they would also pay attention to the inventor behind them.

And if his name travelled far enough, it would become advertising all by itself.

The Sorting Hat’s behaviour was outrageous.

But… it was helping, technically.

So Leonardo reluctantly abandoned the idea of throwing the Sorting Hat into the Black Lake for a nice long wash.

The first-year bowed again and ran off to sit with the rest of the newly sorted Ravenclaws.

“Terry, who was seated beside him, nudged Leonardo with an elbow, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Oi, Leonardo. Why would the Sorting Hat mention you specifically?”

Leonardo glanced at the hat bobbing about on first-years’ heads and said, with a straight face, “I paid it an advertising fee.”

Fortunately, there were no more Ravenclaw first‑years with the same social‑butterfly energy as that girl. Nobody else came marching over to greet him or try to curry favour.

But without exception, they kept sneaking glances in his direction.

And just like that, the Sorting Ceremony ended smoothly.

Nobody spent several minutes in limbo waiting for a decision this time.

…

Gryffindor common room.

“Right, this is our common room,” Percy said, herding the new students inside. “Remember, this year’s password is ‘Honeyguide’.”

“If you have questions, come and ask me. I’m a prefect.”

After giving instructions, Percy turned to leave.

The first-years, newly introduced to the wizarding world, were buzzing with excitement. They craned their heads, scanning the room for traces of magic as if hoping to spot enchantment crawling across the walls.

Then they noticed a counter.

It was impossible to miss, mainly because of the banner hanging above it.

The letters flowed like liquid light, occasionally throwing off tiny sparks like miniature fireworks. At both ends, above the words “The Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Special),” several holographic magical projections floated in mid-air, slowly rotating to show off their charm from every angle.

The banner’s border was even more dramatic. Four animals, a lion, an eagle, a snake, and a badger, chased one another in an endless loop around the words. They ran, leapt, and occasionally cried out, as if the whole thing were alive.

At the very bottom, a line of elegant silver text streaked past like a meteor.

“The secrets of wisdom and courage are found here.”

Behind the counter stood two identical red-haired, freckled twins.

The moment they caught the first-years looking over, their eyes lit up. In perfect unison, they launched into their sales pitch.

“First-years, lads and lasses alike, come take a look!”

“You probably don’t understand just how troublesome Hogwarts staircases can be!”

“Their patterns, honestly, mm, mm…”

“You won’t remember them unless you’ve been late for years!”

“And if you’re late to class, most professors might let it slide, but Professor Snape in Potions…”

“He’ll turn you into his personal test toad!”

A good chunk of the first-years went pale.

After all, wicked wizards turning people into toads was a standard feature of children’s stories.

The twins threw their arms wide.

“But don’t panic. A certain Ravenclaw senior has already prepared the ‘clear-the-level item’ for you!”

“Ta-da!”

Fred produced an antique bronze compass from beneath the counter, its design elegant and unusual. The needle was not fixed. It spun lightly, as if it were breathing.

George immediately took over, explaining with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“It won’t show you those dizzying lines and squiggles. All you have to do is tell it, before you leave, ‘I want to go to the Potions classroom!’”

“And trust me, even if the stairs spin you in place three times, the needle will still point firmly at your destination!”

As soon as George finished, Fred snapped open a piece of parchment that looked completely blank.

He tapped it lightly with his wand. Ink-black lines spread like living veins, quickly sketching the outline of the castle. Through a maze of staircases, one path glowed blue, winding forward with unmistakable clarity.

“And for customers who value convenience and efficiency…”

“We also offer the ‘Shortcut Map’!”

“See that glowing route? It plans the most stable path for the next five minutes, so you can stroll through shifting staircases like you own the place. Elegant. Timeless.”

“Of course,” the twins concluded together, wearing matching you-know-what-this-means smiles, “we also accept pre-orders for our soon-to-be-launched ‘map’ that will provide even more information.”

“As for the price, you must understand, knowledge has weight.”

The first-years were mesmerised. The fear on their faces had already been replaced by curiosity.

A few braver students squeezed to the counter, clutching their coin pouches as if they might be snatched away at any moment.

“Um… the most basic compass, how much?”

A short boy asked timidly.

George leaned in with a radiant smile that clearly said, ‘You’re getting the bargain of your life.’

“Since you’re our first customer today, ten Knuts.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the clink of coins began to sound at the counter.

The Weasley twins shared a look, seeing the same thought reflected in each other’s eyes.

Wages, no, the fund for dreams, secured.

…

Back in the dormitory after two months away.

At the workbench, Leonardo extinguished the flame beneath his cauldron and waited for the potion to cool. After stretching, he pulled up his system panel and opened the section for the Emerald Ledger Loan.

Sales volume. Sales revenue.

Once his alchemical items and potions entered official trade, the system updated in real time. That part, at least, was convenient.

After the start-of-term feast, the growth rate had increased slightly.

So the twins had already started pushing sales in Gryffindor.

Once the Seventh Workshop truly made its presence known inside Hogwarts, and the first-years experienced the staircases’ eerie shifting for themselves, sales would climb even more.

In Leonardo’s estimation, it would not be limited to first years. A fair number of second-years and even third-years would still want items like the Stair-Step Compass and the Shortcut Map.

Hogwarts had 142 staircases, and plenty of them changed in all sorts of ways, turning, vanishing, shifting height, and more.

Their patterns were not uniform either. Some changed with time, some responded to footsteps, some reacted to specific passwords…

Only students who could memorise those patterns earned the privilege of never being late.

But when you were in a hurry, it was easy to mix up the rules and end up with a complimentary late slip.

Leonardo had once discussed the staircases with Dumbledore, pointing out that they could interfere with learning.

Dumbledore’s response had been calm, even cheerful.

“Learning to cope with accidents and change is also a form of growth. I believe once they graduate, the children will miss these moving staircases.”

Leonardo had been speechless.

If this were not the wizarding world, he might have suspected the Headmaster was embezzling funds and cutting student-friendly projects.

His old life had offered the perfect example. A headmaster who claimed to renovate the canteen, only for the students to return and find he’d merely painted one wall. He was reported and escorted straight into prison.

Leonardo suspected Dumbledore simply did not devote his true focus to Hogwarts as a school.

After Voldemort rose, Dumbledore’s attention had been on the Dark Lord. After Harry’s birth reduced Voldemort to a wraith, Dumbledore shifted to cultivating the saviour.

So, even as Headmaster, Dumbledore’s investment in the day-to-day of Hogwarts was not particularly high.

Leonardo had spoken with Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and others. They were equally frustrated by the decline in student quality over the years.

In peacetime, witches and wizards learned magic with future employment in mind. They wanted stable lives.

That was different from the era when everyone lived in fear, and students trained desperately, honing their magic because they were afraid they would be killed the moment they stepped outside the school gates.

But the long-term decline in graduate capability was a fact, and responsible educators could not ignore it.

Leonardo understood Dumbledore’s approach. The old wizard was wise and powerful, and he saw far.

Dumbledore cared about the survival of the wizarding world as a whole. He watched the Dark Lord and the saviour.

As for the growth of a few generations of students, well, Dumbledore could “set that aside for now”.

Leonardo believed school should be a place to properly learn knowledge.

He also knew he lacked the authority and ability to overhaul everything. But making a few small devices to help classmates improve efficiency was within reach.

He was inventing and selling alchemical tools and potions anyway. The process itself was practice, and practice was learning.

Three birds, one stone.

When the potion had cooled enough, Leonardo cut it into small sweets and dusted them with sugar.

He wrapped the trial batch carefully, planning to hand it to the twins tomorrow along with other samples.

A new product always needs customer feedback first.

Compared to the compass and the map, these consumables were much cheaper—most cost only a few Knuts per serving, and anything priced in Sickles already counted as expensive.

That suited children’s spending power.

The reality was simple. Aside from a handful of students who had much money to throw around? He had to rely on small profits and high volume to boost overall sales.

The compass and map also had different durations, which conveniently defined how often students would need replacements.

Of course, students would quickly realise something else.

They could pool money and share.

If funds were tight, two or three could use one together.

But even then, schedules diverged. Someone would be alone sooner or later.

At that point, either trust your own brain, pray that an older student walked past, or hope a portrait or ghost took pity on you.

Once they saved enough pocket money, they would each buy their own.

…

Great Hall.

Over lunch, Harry scooped up a spoonful of creamy mushroom soup, but did not drink it. He sighed instead.

“We haven’t even had Defence Against the Dark Arts yet, but I’m a bit worried about Professor Lockhart.”

Leonardo thought for a moment. According to the timetable, Gryffindor should have had Herbology in the morning. How had they ended up on Lockhart already?

Ron looked much better than he had the day before — no longer wilted, likely revived by a proper meal.

“Yeah,” he said, “Lockhart kept hinting he’s better at Herbology than Professor Sprout. He’s so over the top. I don’t know why Mum and the others like that peacock.”

“And that outfit — bright green robes, and a hat just as flashy. Honestly. Oh, Harry, when he pulled you aside before class, what did he say?”  

Harry set down his spoon, irritated.  

“Before class? We were already in class. Professor Sprout clearly didn’t like it, but Lockhart dragged me away anyway and rambled on about what fame feels like, the Daily Prophet front page, the Most Charming Smile Award…”

“And then he said he’d demonstrate for Professor Sprout how to treat the Whomping Willow. Does wrapping bandages really help? It looked crooked to me…”

As he spoke, Harry’s guilt surfaced. He and Ron had smashed into that tree, and it was said to be older than the two of them put together.

Leonardo understood the gist. Lockhart was doing what he always did, boasting about a wealth of experience that did not exist.

But tricking starry-eyed women was one thing. Showing off fake Herbology knowledge in front of the actual Herbology professor was another.

It was pure nonsense, only good for fooling people who did not know better. It was like waving a blade in front of a master swordsman.

Lockhart really did need to leave sooner rather than later.

Early retirement would be best.

And since Tom Riddle’s diary had ended up in Lockhart’s hands… perhaps learning the Memory Charm and replacing him with a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who actually had real skill could be dealt with in one go.