Oh, The Whims!
"Its a wonder Dumbledore gets anything done with this thing getting caught into everything." George grumbles pulling on his long white beard, dressed as Dumbledore in silk robes as he moves smoothly forwards.
"Well, I am sure he does not use old cocroach clusters to stick his whiskers on his face," replied Fred, in a high pitched whisper and a haughty expression trailing a line along his hat, in a perfect imitation of McGonagall.
"You know, I reckon, I am allergic to this," George says for the umpteenth time after sniffing his-Dumbledore's- beard.
"Yeah, well stop snogging it then," Fred nudges him with his wand. "Or you will be late for your own birthday."
"It's not a surprise after you tell me that you know."
"Oh, Dumbledore!" Fred, on his ever dramatic whims, snickers then gushes, fluttering his eyelashes in a very un-McGonagall-ish way. "If it makes you feel better, you don't know what I am going to get you afterwards." Winking, he pulls a little on his dark green robes.
"Oh-ho-ho,"George coughs Dumbledore-ishly. He then peers at Fred dressed as McGonagall over his fake half moon glasses with the slightest and subtlest of smirks visible between the thick white whiskers. "I don't think that's proper for a-as they say- teacher to teacher chit chat."
Fred laughs girlishly and nudges George with his bum,"oh, Dumbles. You speak as if you care."
"As a matter of fact, I really don't,"said a amused voice, coming from behind them. Fred Weasley and George Weasley turn around to find Dumbledore wearing a fancy purple robe with a dark purple bonnet and before the fear consumes them throughoutly, George nudges Fred to look right and pinches his ear subtly.
Fred looks sideways to find McGonagall on Dumbledore's arm as if escorting him somewhere. But she was also glaring at him at full speed while taking on his whole look which was of hers. He also took in George's-ear-tug which meant: Don't do anything stupid.
Fred wrinkles his nose: what more could we do?
George tugs at the hem of his robes: Don't, Fred.
Fred scratches his nose: the deed is done.
George draws his hands together (who get lost in his long long whiskers but he manages to take them out with dignity): well...how many firewhisky's should we sneak in after this?
Fred bites his lower lip: better make it Butterbear.
And so Fred flicks his hair and with the most flattering, glassy eyed look he could muster: Showtime. "Professor McGonagall, Indeed, I never thought the night has any beauty to it but then you stepped in. How or in what manner shall I be of service to you?"
McGonagall raises a perfectly arched eyebrow but the slight snort she leaves destroys the look ruthlessly. "Mr. Weasley–"
"Oh, how you say it! Say my name! More do, say yes for me Professor or I shall die admiring you from afar, sending you gifts and stealing your clothes–"
"But I thought, I never had your attention for more than a minute!"
"Oh, McGonagall. If I ever-on my honor- do not pay attention to you," Fred steps in close. "It only means that I am dreaming of us frolicking in the meadows under the dim sunset."
"That's absolutely romantic, Minevra." Dumbledore innocently tells her. Always innocent under the faint smell of lemon drops. "It's like you are being propositioned by your own doppleganger."
McGonagall shoots him a glare," I don't see yours making any effort, as if it doesn't even cares."
George's whips his head from side to side. "How can I-Oh Minerva- How can I disturb this astounding Romantic gesture put on for my lovely deputy?" George inclines his head towards Dumbledore, slightly tugging on his whiskers asking for permission. Dumbledore's shoulders are shaking slightly giving him more and more confidence and with a subtle nod Dumbledore seals the agreement. "I shall choke upon on my own beard if I was to do so."
Dumbledore makes a choking noise by pulling on whiskers.
"Quite right!" exclaims Fred. "Interfering is so very painful while trying to win affection of a women who doesn't give thy the time of a minute."
"Utterly painful." Dumbledore says, smoothly. With a very light shake of his head towards Minerva who was trying to slowly inch towards her wand.
"Oh, Right you are, Albus." George nod, his eyes twinkle over his half moon spectacles.
"Quite you, Dumbles,"Fred giggles. And the on a whim, he grabs McGonagall' both hands."If you don't accept me today Minerva, I shall die pining for you and live stealing your clothes and all that rot."
"Mr. Weasley–"
Fred fumbles with his words. George glares at him as if to say: to hell with it, just run! And Fred nods. On another of his whims, he pulls McGonagall forward roughly
"I couldn't control anymore, my love." He says a split second before capturing her lips, their spectacles smash into each other. The hats fly from the sudden impacts and Fred curses heavens for a age difference before leaving her there shocked and making a run for his life with George.
"TEN THOUSAND POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"