George and Fred's smiles froze. They had just remembered that Phineas was related to their mother, Molly Weasley.
In fact, Phineas was more closely related to Arthur Weasley. However, Arthur's mother had been removed from the Black family, making him Molly's relation by marriage. If one followed that connection, then technically, George and Fred ought to call Phineas "Grandpa."
Pure-blood family trees were a tangled mess. As long as your parents were old enough, your generation rank rose with them.
Phineas was a clear example. Sometimes he wondered if he was being targeted simply because most of the younger Slytherins called him "Uncle."
The twins recovered quickly. A moment later, they were back to normal. George and Fred flanked Phineas on either side.
"Let's not get into all these weird family trees. Let's talk about us," said George.
"Yeah, yeah, us," Fred echoed.
Phineas rolled his eyes but didn't push them away. Despite everything, he had a good impression of the twins. Not just because of memories from a past life, but because in this one, very few young wizards were brave enough to be openly friendly toward him.
The Weasleys, often scorned as blood-traitors, probably didn't care much about the opinion of other pure-blood families.
Their casual, fearless attitude gave Phineas an idea: perhaps he should visit the Weasley household over the holidays. Right now, he was completely on his own. Dumbledore couldn't publicly stand by him as a member of the Black family. But the Weasleys? They could, and maybe Phineas could support them in return. It was said their family lived in rather difficult conditions.
Just as Phineas was lost in thought—and George and Fred were clinging to him—
A loud bang echoed beside them. The castle corridor windows shattered. Blood-red smoke burst inside, rapidly forming into humanoid shapes.
Each of these figures wielded a wand and launched attacks at the three boys the moment they appeared.
No matter how cautious or experienced Phineas was, this was his first real combat encounter.
"Protego!" he shouted instinctively.
The Shield Charm activated just in time to block the first wave of attacks, though it dissipated quickly under pressure. Still, it was better than what happened to the two unfortunate redheads next to him.
Fortunately, the attackers were casting Stunning and Sleeping Spells rather than Unforgivables. Otherwise, none of the three would have survived.
Phineas's Shield Charm wasn't strong enough to rebound the spells, but it slowed them. And despite the chaos, Phineas's reaction was sharp. Knowing he lacked powerful offensive spells, he focused on control instead.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
His Petrifying Spell shot toward the masked attackers. The enemy didn't pause to speak or demand surrender—they simply returned fire with similar Stunning or Petrifying spells.
Phineas, outnumbered and disadvantaged, was overwhelmed and quickly immobilized.
"The target's secured—retreat!" barked the leader in red.
Another masked wizard pointed at George and Fred. "Boss, what about these two?"
"They didn't see anything," the leader replied. "Leave them. We're not ready to clash with Hogwarts directly—yet."
"Understood."
One by one, the attackers turned into streaks of blood-red smoke and vanished.
It was likely some form of high-speed flight magic. The Death Eaters of ten years ago had employed something similar. The Order of the Phoenix had mastered a white-smoke version of the same spell.
Meanwhile, back at the moment Phineas had first run into George and Fred—
On the Quidditch pitch, Slytherin's Seeker Marcus Flint had just caught the Golden Snitch, ending the game against Ravenclaw. As usual, the final would be Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
It was an expected outcome, but it still sent waves of excitement through the crowd. Quidditch was one of the few sports wizards could enjoy.
Amid the cheers of students and the focus of professors on the match, no one noticed a group of figures approaching from the Black Lake and the castle's main gates.
Blood-red smoke rolled across the field and condensed into masked wizards in black and crimson robes.
Upon landing, the dark wizards drew their wands and attacked without warning.
Caught off guard, the younger students stood no chance. Many were immediately struck by Stunning or Sleeping Spells.
But within seconds, the professors—led by Professor McGonagall—reacted swiftly. Wands came out. Spells began flying.
Flashes of color lit up the stadium as hexes and counter-curses collided. Some dark wizards fell. So did a number of students. But sixth and seventh-years, quickly rallied by prefects and student leaders, began joining the defense.
The tide began to turn. Hogwarts' side grew stronger.
But the attackers were well-prepared. They'd chosen the exact moment Dumbledore was away attending the Wizengamot session. And they'd brought plenty of expendable support—fresh waves of dark wizards surged in, replacing the fallen.
The battle reached a tense stalemate.
But everyone knew it couldn't last. If Dumbledore returned first, the dark wizards would retreat. If their reinforcements arrived before him, Hogwarts might fall into chaos.
Sensing the stakes, Professors Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall stepped forward.
Snape, with his deep knowledge of dark arts, unleashed vicious counters.
Flitwick, a former dueling champion and Ravenclaw prodigy, joined him.
And McGonagall, unmatched in Transfiguration, added her might.
Together, their combined assault began overwhelming the attackers.
Back in the castle, several red streaks shot into the sky—those who had captured Phineas. Once their job was complete, the rest of the attackers on the pitch began retreating.
"Sectmsempra!" Snape roared.
A powerful, slicing hex took down one fleeing wizard. He collapsed mid-air, unable to continue flying.
Other professors followed Snape's lead. They needed to capture some of the attackers alive. Clearly, whoever had invaded the castle had done something—and they needed to know what.
Until Dumbledore returned, their only hope of answers lay in the prisoners they could detain.