5 April 1994
The hushed silence of a calm spring night lingered thickly in the air. The pale moonlight glowing feebly through the large bay windows and the dim afterglow of the solitary fireplace in the Gryffindor common room radiated just enough light to distinguish the huddle of five settled, barely awake, in the middle of the threshold.
They sat in a carelessly untidy fashion. Legs were flung across laps, arms were around shoulders, and batches of various pamphlets, leaflets, and notices littered the floor upon which the group was seated. They were an indistinct entanglement of limbs, parchment, and exhaustion.
"Well, I know what I'm not going to be after leaving Hogwarts," Angelina Johnson said firmly, tossing a pamphlet onto the pile in front of her.
"What's that?" Alicia Spinnet asked tiredly.
She gingerly picked up the pamphlet that Angelina had discarded and smoothed it out.
"St. Mungo's Guide to Doctoring Dreams," Alicia read aloud. "We require that each Healer-applicant has at least an 'E' at N.E.W.T.-level in Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts—blimey, are they joking?"
"I don't reckon so," Lee Jordan said seriously, leaning his head against the wall behind him. "It's a very skilled job, isn't it?"
"The main reason why you'd never make it into the healing business, Lee," Fred Weasley smirked.
"I'm skilled," Lee spluttered indignantly. "Even McGonagall thinks so. Every time she hands back an assignment, she says, 'Jordan, you seem to have great aptitude for failing every Transfiguration essay you write.'"
The group burst into laughter. Lee grinned.
"How about this, Ange?" George Weasley asked the girl to his right. He passed her a leaflet.
"The Department of Magical Games and Sports," Angelina recited. She considered the leaflet thoughtfully. "You know, if I don't make a Quidditch team, this isn't a bad fallback. All I need is an 'E' or above in Charms and Transfiguration, and some sort of previous gaming experience."
"And you'll have five years of Quidditch to your credit by the time you graduate," Fred supplied. "It sounds like your kind of job, Angel."
"Don't call me that," Angelina snapped distractedly, eyes still glued to the leaflet she was flipping through.
"Dear friends, I believe I've found my true calling at last," Lee said solemnly. Everyone looked up.
Slowly, he held up a notice which had an appallingly grotesque face stamped across the front. It was titled, 'Have You Got What It Takes To Train Security Trolls?'
"Perfect," George deadpanned, while the others chuckled.
"Hey, wait a minute—how come you two haven't looked through any of these, Fred, George?" Alicia demanded, raising an eyebrow as she gestured to the pile of brochures that were strewn across the maroon-carpeted floor.
There was a pause, as Angelina and Lee also looked up to stare curiously at Fred and George.
"We—er—we don't need these," Fred said hesitantly with a half-glance at his brother.
Angelina, Alicia, and Lee all stared, nonplussed, at Fred and George.
"What are you talking about?" Angelina asked, at last; Alicia nodded incredulously. "Of course you need them! How else are you going to choose jobs?"
Fred opened his mouth to answer, but Angelina interrupted.
"Do not tell me that you and George plan to stay unemployed for the rest of your lives, Fred Weasley," Angelina said sharply. "I'm not letting you two kip at my house for that long."
Alicia snorted.
"No, we're not going to be unemployed," George said, smiling. "What Fred meant is that…what we're planning on doing out of Hogwarts isn't really in these pamphlets."
"I knew it!" Lee exclaimed loudly, bolting upright. His four friends jumped violently in their seats, shooting him dirty looks. "You two are going to be the most notorious con men the Wizarding world will have ever seen, aren't you?"
Angelina narrowed her eyes threateningly at Fred and George. "I will jinx your mouths shut."
"That's not it," said Fred hastily, and Lee retired back into his leaning position with a dismayed look upon his face. Angelina now looked somewhat appeased.
"Then, what are you two talking about?" Alicia persisted.
Fred chanced a fleeting look at his brother. "Should we tell them?" he murmured.
George bit his lip, glancing at Angelina. Then, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
Angelina raised her eyebrows, regarding her redheaded friends with an expression of mingled uncertainty and suspicion. "What—?"
"George and I are planning on starting our own business," Fred revealed.
Angelina's and Alicia's jaws dropped. The pin drop silence was interrupted only by Lee bellowing, "Wicked!"
He was met with two simultaneous blows to the head from Angelina and Alicia.
"Shut up, you prat," Angelina hissed furiously.
"How on Earth are you going to pass your O.W.L.s, Lee," Alicia wondered aloud, shaking her head in disbelief, "when you don't even have the sense to stay quiet at—" she glanced at her wristwatch, "—one-thirty in the morning?"
"Merlin, is it really that late?" Angelina asked, startled. "We'd better head up to bed, or Wood's going to—" she broke off, eyes widening. The distinct sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs of the nearby boys' dormitories could be heard.
Alicia swore under her breath as the burly form of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, appeared at the foot of the staircase. His brown hair was tousled in a way that made the five friends quite certain that he'd spent the entire night tossing and turning with anxiety about the upcoming Quidditch final.
And it was evident—from the look on his face—that he was not the least bit pleased to find the majority of his team still awake in the Gryffindor common room.
"Way to go, Lee," Alicia muttered, her mouth set in a grim line.
"TEAM!" Oliver growled. "Bed, now!"
Not even Fred and George dared to defy his orders.
"What time are we supposed to be at McGonagall's office again?" George yawned, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He'd barely gotten three hours of sleep; Oliver had roused the team at five o'clock for an early Quidditch practice.
Fred glanced down at his schedule. "Half past two." He hesitated for a moment. Then— "George, what d'you reckon we should tell McGonagall we've decided on for a career?"
George sighed, massaging his temples. "I don't know. Maybe we should just…be honest. Merlin knows she won't believe us if we tell her that we want to be Ministry nuts like Percy does."
Fred looked briefly worried, but he nodded.
And so, two hours later found two uncharacteristically nervous twins seated in identical wooden chairs opposite Professor McGonagall.
"This meeting is to negotiate any career ideas you might currently have, and to help you determine which subjects you should continue into during your sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts," explained Professor McGonagall curtly, observing Fred and George shrewdly over her square-spectacles. "Traditionally, these meetings take place one-on-one, but as the two of you insisted that your consultation be done together, I must ask—have you two had any serious thoughts about what you might like to do after leaving Hogwarts? Or is this joint-meeting simply a ploy to distract me while Mr. Jordan wreaks havoc elsewhere in the castle?"
Fred and George exchanged a half-glance.
"Actually, Professor, we've known our ideal careers for…a while now," Fred confessed.
"Is that so?" McGonagall looked momentarily taken aback. "And may I be made aware of these plans without being required to give you both a lifetime's worth of detention?"
The twins grinned identically.
"We want to start our own business," Fred said.
"A joke shop," George specified.
If she was even the least bit shocked by this revelation, McGonagall made no indication of showing it. She merely gazed sternly from Fred to George, making them both feel immeasurably uncomfortable.
But when she spoke, there was an affectionate quality in her voice that left the twins stunned. "I can't think of a more suitable profession."
The sudden change in temperament was only temporary; a second later, she had returned to her usual, no-nonsense self. "Now, have you two started inventing merchandise for this shop?"
"We have," George said proudly. "Each summer, we manage to invent at least one more item. Mum's got no clue—she stopped cleaning our room ages ago."
McGonagall's lips twitched. "I can't imagine Molly would be too thrilled about this development," she said dryly.
"Well, it's what we want that matters, isn't it?" Fred asked defensively.
"Absolutely," McGonagall agreed at once. "When it comes to things like this, you should always…follow your instincts," her voice faltered ever-so-slightly on the last word, and Fred and George exchanged a startled glance.
"Are you all right, Professor?" George asked gently.
"Quite," said McGonagall briskly. "Now, as much as I support your career choice, I must stress to you the realities of starting your own business."
Fred and George stared at her.
"First of all, you'll need some sort of start-up fund," McGonagall continued. "You'll need money to purchase premises and your initial round of supplies."
The twins' faces fell in unison.
"We've got no chance," Fred said miserably.
"There's no way we're ever going to be able to save up enough money for all that."
"Now, don't say that," McGonagall instructed, frowning at them. "In time, an opportunity will come along—it always does. And when it does, by all means—take it!"
Fred and George looked disbelieving.
"Listen to me," McGonagall said firmly, climbing to her feet and leaning over her desk towards them. "I happen to know you both very well. With drive like yours, you will have a joke shop to call your own in two years' time. I'd swear by it."
2 July 1996
Minerva McGonagall gazed, dumbfounded, at the gigantic purple poster emblazoned across the front window of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
"U-No-Poo," she whispered in disbelief. The nerve of it all.
Still feeling rather stunned, she drifted into the shop. In an instant, she was completely surrounded by people. The place was crawling with customers. She stared around at her surroundings, impressed. Boxes of colorful products were piled high to the ceiling. At the very front of the store, Minerva caught sight of the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had put so much effort into perfecting during their final year of Hogwarts.
She noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was the most popular—the only one that didn't make you feel ill while taking it, she realized. Well, woe betide anybody who acquired a sudden nosebleed in Transfiguration, she thought dryly.
Continuing on through the store, she came across bins and bins of trick wands, the cheapest of which merely turned into rubber animals when waved, and the most expensive of which hammered the unsuspecting user around the head and neck. And there were cartons and cartons of quills…Self-Inking…Spell-Checking…Smart-Answer…
Finally, a space cleared in the crowd, and Minerva pushed her way towards the center of the shop.
"Professor?"
Minerva turned around, coming face-to-face with a beaming Fred and George, both of whom were sporting crisp, magenta robes.
"Hello, boys," she greeted them. "You've done brilliantly." She gestured around at the swarm of delighted little boys and girls, running up and down the store in excitement. "I'm betting you could buy over Zonko's in a month or two."
"Thanks for your advice, Professor," Fred said sincerely.
"You believed in us when we didn't," George added, bowing his head in gratitude.
"So if you'd like to purchase anything," Fred continued with a sly grin, pointing at the various displays around him, "We would be more than happy to give you a generous discount."
"Oh, don't be silly," Minerva rolled her eyes, smiling slightly nonetheless. "I'm far too old for these things."
Two hours later, Minerva McGonagall apparated back to Hogsmeade, her arms piled high with fourteen boxes—each of which was marked 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.'
Author's Note:
So I was reading OotP yesterday and I came to that chapter called 'Career Advice.' It got me wondering how the career meetings of some of our other favorite characters went. Fred and George had me especially intrigued! XD This is a little tribute to their brilliance. And of course, to my dearest Professor McGonagall, whom I adore with all my heart.
Ari