There was one thing the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry knew within the first week of attendance. It was the Golden Rule of the school, though it was never spoken by student, or teacher. It was a shadow that passed over their faces whenever they heard the laughter, the loud explosions in the empty classrooms, whenever they saw the potion ingredients depleting faster than normal, or whenever they caught a whiff of dung-bombs. The sheer panic that crossed the residents of the school could have sent Voldemort running for his mother like a puppy with his tail between his legs.
If the Weasley twins were in the mood to have fun, you make yourself scarce. Fast.
Some kids locked themselves in their dorms. Others choked down the twins own Puking Pasties for the security of the Hospital Wing. Out of the way, that's all they needed to be. Someplace where Fred and George would not have booby trapped, or where they wouldn't be caught in a lifetime. The girls of the school had a slight advantage with the staircase. They would claim stomach pains and bask in the glory of a Weasley free afternoon, at which the boy cursed and brooded over. It was quite unfair, really. It was as if the headmasters didn't trust them. The daily pop of the staircase turning to a slide only added to the mistrust.
As it happens, the month of May was dying off, and April was rearing its ugly head to take place. There was a shock wave of owls going out the night before, children begging their parents, Please, please! Let me come home, just for one day! However, they were received with declines and chiding.
So, on the first of April, all but two boys begrudgingly rolled out of bed. They went about the normal routine of dress and last minute homework assignments, knowing it would be futile to try anywhere in public. They skittered down the halls to the Great Hall, nervous and twitchy like mice. Some of them dared to look around a corner in hopes to anticipate The Attack. None prevailed. It was quiet and almost peaceful. No. Not peaceful. Eerie.
The students and faculty piled in the hall, mumbling to each other. Some tried to read, pulling the old tale 'If I can't see it, it's not there.' Others were barely seated, as if to spring for the door at first sight of anything gone askew. As the last straggling first years wavered in the door, the room had a wave of relief. The tricks always had always been set on the doors, or portraits of the common rooms, as a way to stall. So the twins could have the most food of course.
The plates appeared with wonders and treats for high energy, and the hall soon was soon filled with laughter and gossip. For a solid ten minutes the kids and teacher had nearly forgotten the date, much more content in catching up on the latest news, the who's who and the dating grapevines.
When the owls flew in, no one gave them a second glance. They merely went about wrestling their packages away from the birds, some handing over treats or letters to be sent home. That was the problem. The owls did not move. The creatures shuffled and hopped, but they did not take flight. Instead they seemed to form a line down the middle of the tables, and the plates hauled over by invisible hands to make room. Chatter dimmed back the nervous buzzing, and silverware clattered to porcelain. The room filled to the brim with tension waiting for the inevitable drop of whatever the twins cooked up this time.
The owls opened their beaks and hooted in a rhythmic beat, and within a few bars of music the tune played out to familiar ears.
Something wicked this way comes…
The last note in the melody chirped and the birds once again grew silent and fidgety. The students and teacher were momentarily stunned with fear and anticipation, as such they never saw the two redheads in a dark corner wave their wands again. The owls seemed to shimmer for a split second and that was all it took for complete chaos to erupt. Feathers flew everywhere as the owls grasped random plates and bowls of food, and took flight. Food was dropped and dive-bombed from the sky, releasing everyone from confusion into panic. Older students scrambled under the tables, cursing anyone who tempted to shove them out of the way for cover. Slytherin ran screaming as a dozen or so syrup jugs were lifted, as if on a string, and flung around dousing them in a sticky mess. Shouts of dismay could be heard from the Hufflepuff table.
"No!"
"Not the syrup!"
The rest of the food on the tables snapped to attention like soldiers and started in on the attack, spoons flinging bits of porridge, whole chickens skittering around barking orders, and the pies. Oh, the pies. They had pieced together a small catapult and with help from the platoon of bacon, they flew across the room. The pies took out most of the younger students, so much that they resorted to huddling in small masses behind turkey platters.
In the midst of the commotion a small pop sounded out as the clouds on the hall ceiling rearranged themselves, fuzzy at first but, cleared into a message.
"April Fools!"
No one knew where the pumpkin juice started flying from, nor did they care. All they saw was a spray of it arc and, as if in slow motion, completely soak the unsuspecting head of one Albus Dumbledore.
Everything froze. Students stopped mid-scream and teachers stared with hands to their mouths in a stifled gasp. With a steady hand the Headmaster slowly swiped down his face, clearing his eyes so he could see just enough to peer across the hall, searching for the tell-tale sign of two redheads.
"Mr. Fred and George Weasley, please report to my office."
They were in for it now.
The twins didn't seem to mind, though. They were too much involved in their side-splitting laughter to care about anything.