Dumbledore swooped into a Subway shop, wand aglow, granting the chain just five points on the condition they resurrect the $5 footlong. A glorious, budget-stretching sub packed with meats, cheeses, and veggies in soft bread.
Customers froze, mouths agape, as he thundered the edict, promising it would fix lunchtime woes and make meals magical for everyday folks like students pinching pennies. The place buzzed with bread aromas and spells, while staff scribbled pleas to headquarters before the headmaster’s mood soured.
Magical critics griped at the paltry score, calling it skimpy compared to lavish past handouts. Dumbledore stood firm, praising Subway’s shot at glory via cheap eats that please crowds from professors to pupils, all loving those stacked fillings on the cheap. Onlookers chuckled at the odd wizard-fast-food mashup, whispers flying amid the chaos.
In contrast, Harry Potter snagged 25 points back in the day just for breathing correctly, a lopsided boon that underscores the quirky favoritism in enchanted realms as Subway hustles for its slim reward.
