Ted's "softening shampoo" wasn't just another magical product—it had deeper meaning for Sirius Black.
You see, James Potter's ancestors actually built a fortune on their line of enchanted shampoos.
They stopped production by James's generation, but the vault at Gringotts still overflowed with gold from that old business.
That legacy? Now part of Harley's inheritance—girl's loaded.
The end of the shampoo line wasn't just about business decisions.
When James chose Lily over certain expectations, it triggered a bitter reaction from one person in particular—Severus Snape.
He despised James so much, he turned his nose up at anything remotely connected to him… including shampoo.
Snape once snapped, "Know why I don't shampoo my hair? Even a Crup wouldn't touch Potter-brand shampoo!"
So now, Ted and Sirius were teaming up to revive the Potters' old brand.
Sirius even hinted that this would be part of Harley's dowry someday.
Ted didn't care much for the business side.
He just provided the potion formula and got a 15% cut of the store's net profits.
Ron, meanwhile, was spiraling.
This year had taught him a harsh truth: a single Galleon can't match the power of a skilled wizard.
No gold? No movement. Soup without salt tastes like nothing, and people without coin feel invisible.
"When will this broke life end?" he groaned.
George, ever the realist, patted his shoulder. "That depends on how long you plan on living."
Ted chuckled. "Relax, Ron. I'll bring you in next time."
The British wizarding world is a small one.
Word of anything new spreads like fire—and the resurrection of Potter Shampoo made serious waves.
With the Black family's influence, the business exploded.
The Daily Prophet even reported that Minister Fudge himself showed up to cut the ribbon.
The man had only been in office for two years and was still juggling his image—balancing support from Dumbledore while keeping ties with the old pure-blood families.
His awkward smile in the article said it all.
Meanwhile, news got out: Ted was the genius behind the new shampoo recipe.
Potter's old formulas were way out of date—twenty-plus years since the last bottle hit the shelves.
James gave up the business after school to focus on things like the Order of the Phoenix.
Enter Lockhart.
The ever-vain and always-informed Gilderoy Lockhart caught wind of the revival.
And when he found out it was his own "protégé" Ted who invented the stuff?
Well, that stung.
Sure, in his books he rambled about world peace, but the truth?
His dream had always been to invent a world-famous shampoo.
Now his student had beaten him to it—with something the magical world actually liked.
He bought a bottle. Used it. Loved it.
Even as he talked trash about it, he couldn't stop running his fingers through his now silky locks.
He once tried making a shampoo from birdsnake egg yolk—but the eggs were rare, expensive, and dangerous to harvest.
Not exactly market-friendly.
Before Ted, he had a couple of successes—"Color-Charm Hair Dye" and "Pimple-B-Gone"—but now he was reconsidering his whole image.
Maybe Ted was the next Boy Who Lived-type figure. And if he couldn't be him... maybe he could ride his coattails.
...
Ted had no idea that Professor Lockhart was scheming to piggyback on his fame.
In Lockhart's mind, it was mentorship. Venture capital, even.
If Ted blew up in a few years, Lockhart could say he spotted the talent first.
Ted, on the other hand, was fishing.
Yep. Fishing.
He noticed some big fish splashing around Black Lake during his morning run.
It felt like a challenge.
So he transfigured a rock into a fishing rod and gave it a shot.
Just like that, Ted added another hobby to his list.
In Dumbledore's office, Lockhart stood with the energy of a child presenting his school project, handing over a neatly rolled parchment proposal.
Dumbledore peered at him over his half-moon spectacles, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement and suspicion.
"A Dueling Club? We haven't had one of those in quite a few years."
Lockhart puffed out his chest, flashing that blindingly confident grin he always wore like armor. "Precisely why I propose we bring it back, Headmaster! The students these days—they're too soft. A little magical sparring could teach them discipline, courage, and, well, style!"
Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, tapping the parchment with a long finger. "Hmm... well, if it's for the benefit of the students, very well."
By lunch, a crisp notice had been pinned to the board at the entrance of the Great Hall:
[Hogwarts Dueling Club Returns! First meeting on the second Saturday of December. Open to all years!]
Excitement bubbled among the students.
"No way! A dueling club? For real?" A sixth-year gasped.
"Blimey, the last time that happened was before we even got here! I thought it was just a legend."
"We're lucky then! About time!"
But not everyone was thrilled.
"Yeah, check who's running it," one student grumbled.
They all leaned in.
Instructor: Professor Gilderoy Lockhart
The mood dropped faster than a troll in a tutu.
"Oh, never mind..."
Still, there were plenty of students curious enough to give it a go.
Even if Lockhart was a bit of a poser, the idea of casting spells in a live duel was too tempting to ignore.
The group of six friends—including Harley, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Jerry, and Ted—gathered at the board.
"Lockhart? Seriously?" Harley groaned, arms folded. "He can barely cast a basic charm without sparkling confetti."
Ron spat, "He's a peacock with a wand. What's next, drama club?"
Jerry snorted. "He did start an acting group first, then got bored. Now this?"
Neville's face was pale.
As the go-to actor for all the magical monsters in Lockhart's little performances, he dreaded what came next.
"I swear, if he makes me dress up like a dementor again, I'm faking my own death."
Hermione sighed and turned to Ted. "How much longer do we have to put up with him?"
Ted checked an invisible calendar in the air with a flick of his wand.
"Hmm... a good six months left of the term. Better pace our suffering."
——
Ted didn't think too much about Lockhart's club—he remembered this part from the original timeline.
But something felt... off.
The very next morning, Ted had just come back from the Prefects' bath, towel draped over his shoulders, planning his daily spell drills.
To his surprise, all his roommates were already up and dressed.
Jerry was happily teasing Anzu, who promptly pecked him on the finger.
"Ow! Still worth it!" Jerry grinned. "You ready for the big match today?"
"Match?"
"Gryffindor vs Slytherin. Quidditch! Classic house showdown! It's gonna be epic."
Ted paused.
That triggered something in his memory.
In the original timeline, this was the game where Dobby cursed a Bludger, canon Harry got his arm broken, and Lockhart tried to "fix" it, accidentally removing all his bones.
Which led to a night in the infirmary, a very bitter potion, and poor Colin Creevey getting petrified.
But things were different now.
For one, Neville wasn't a quidditch player, Hell—Ted had seen enough times where poor Neville broke a broom or his own leg.
Also, Colin? That kid had been firmly taught boundaries.
Now he asked before taking photos.
Losing your front teeth once will do that.
So... who would be the unlucky one this time?