11 days til Halloween
It was official, Hogwarts had too many spires and too many trusses; well, not officially, but it was the general consensus reached by the sleep-fogged minds of Fred and George Weasley as sunlight blazed into the 5th years' room at the ungodly hour of 8 o'clock on Wednesday morning. The position of Gryffindor tower and the way it towered over the rest of the castle, meant that it had been rendered vulnerable to the daily, glaring annoyance that was the sun's rays reflecting off of the many slanted roofs and directly into the windows of the Gryffindor dorms. More annoying still was the realisation that the Ravenclaws – who should've had the same issue – didn't even have to put up with it; purple curtains apparently do a splendid job of keeping a room pleasantly dark, unlike the Lions' red and yellow which seemed to only amplify the problem.
Usually, the twins – and most of the other dorm residents – would simply groan up a storm upon awakening , attempt to hide from the infuriating brightness, and upon failing to do so, heave themselves from their beds, get dressed, and curse Godric Gryffindor for not realising the design flaw on the way to breakfast. This morning, however, only partially followed this routine.
"Rise and shine!" came the shrill voice of Lee Jordan as he pulled open the curtains on each of the twin's four-poster beds.
He got a response in the form of two muffled moans.
"I've just been informed by our good friend Kenneth Towler that there's pancakes in breakfast again! If we hurry, we might actually get some this time," he went on, fixing the two with an indicative look regardless of the fact that they had their heads buried into their pillows and thus couldn't see it.
Fred sat up with a grumble and a cough. "Wasn't our fault last time, just slept in a bit is all."
"Whoa, you don't sound good, mate," said Lee, now deciding to keep his distance from the bed just in case there was the slightest possibility that pathogens could jump. "I see you still haven't shifted whatever you've got."
"It's probably just a cold, it'll disappear soon enough," Fred went on with another cough, noticeably rougher and deeper than the last.
Lee winced. "That sounds nasty, maybe you should just see Pomfrey, you two've been getting worse and worse ever since we got back from the pub on Sunday."
When the three had gotten back to the castle that night, Lee had insisted they go ahead with his prank and plant a Fanged Frisbee in one of the suits of armor; a few stink pellets dropped in the corridor as bait and Filch had come running with his mop, ready to disembowel the guilty just as planned. The trio were hiding around a corner when George had launched into a sneezing fit which had almost gotten them caught; well they would've gotten caught if Lee hadn't charmed the frisbee to fly out from its hiding place at full speed and make directly for the face of Mrs Norris, distracting the caretaker beautifully; she'd needed a haircut anyway.
"And have her fuss over us and probably make us stay in the hospital wing for the rest of October? No thanks," said the paler than usual redhead.
A groan in the bed beside Fred's told Lee that George had just entered the land of the living.
"This must've been the lergy Ros was on about," he rasped, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"
Lee looked at his watch. "Almost quarter past eight. We'll have to go now if we want anything decent for breakfast."
"Uhh, it better be good this morning," George wheezed, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and standing up, soon followed by Fred.
Lee turned to look at him. "There's pancakes! Well, there probably won't be any more judging by the time…"
Breakfast started promptly every morning at half past 7, finishing shortly before the first bell at 9 o'clock. Food came on a first come first serve basis, so if one slept in even a little bit, you could bet your bottom dollar that any speciality items such as waffles, full Englishes or pancakes - that only got served once in a blue moon – were probably already massacred by the rest of the school by the time you got there.
This seemed to perk up the bleary twin as he started to look for his uniform. "Guess we better get a move on then."
"The elves hardly ever make them either, I'm not missing them again. If you two don't start getting better by tomorrow you promise you'll see Pomfrey?" asked the commentator with a fixing look, arms akimbo.
"Yes mum," came the double reply, before a pillow thrown at each of their faces effectively concluded the dorm conversation for the morning.
The rest of the day seemed to go by in a haze of light, sound, and queries as to whether Fred and George were feeling alright. The twosome, in exasperation, ended up drawing a crude tally chart on a bit of parchment that showcased the amount of times their health had been brought up. 'You should go and see Pomfrey' currently had three marks, 'That's a nasty cough' had four and 'Bloody hell you two are quiet' ranked the highest with nine. It wasn't long, however, until Lunchtime finally rolled around and the pair could avoid the cosseting glances by hiding amongst other students at the lunch table. The duo and Lee entered the Great Hall, spotted a few places at the Gryffindor table and claimed them in preparation for dinner.
Had the twins not been feeling like death, and nobody had felt the need to keep reminding them how much they resembled it, they probably would've found this particular day to've been profusely more enjoyable than usual; the amount of chaotic circumstances that had occurred was quite atypical for one thing.
During their double first period, Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid had acquired a pack of crups for the class to study. They were small and playful, resembling Jack Russell terriers with forked tails, and were just as energetic. One way to keep a crup stationary long enough for you to draw and make notes on the little blighter, was to leave a small pile of treats on the ground, and pray to Merlin that it didn't make the connection between the forever replenishing pile and the small bag of the snacks hanging from your side, otherwise you'd basically end up like Lee had: pushed down to all fours by a swarm of them with the youngsters frantically trying to get at the food, whilst some of the older males, ahem, mistook the poor youth for an advertising bitch.
Defence Against the Dark Arts later that morning was almost as wayward. Professor Lupin had entrusted the group with Flamma Securus the flame-freezing charm; roughly translating as 'To make safe the flame'. When cast correctly, the charm will render any nearby fire harmless, simply causing the individual to feel a mild tickling sensation when engulfed in it. It was infamously used by the medieval witch Wendelin the Weird who, enjoying the sensation so much, allowed herself to be caught and burned at the stake 47 times using a variety of disguises.
Lupin had instructed the group to fire small flames from the ends of their wands towards their partner whose job it was to perform the charm and thus protect themselves. It wasn't a particularly difficult spell to perform, however it was an example of one of those times in which pronunciation of the incantation was absolutely vital; Lee, upon firing said small flame at Fred, learned this the hard way when Fred, speaking the incantation with a sore throat, mispronounced 'Securus' instead saying 'Securis' which unfortunately means 'hatchet' in Latin; in the commentator's defence, not even the greatest witches or wizards probably would've been able to save their eyebrows when suddenly face to face with a flaming battle-axe either.
"It'll make you feel better."
Lee looked at George bitterly - well this is the expression that George assumed he was trying to convey - whilst pushing away the bowl that had been offered to him back across the Gryffindor lunch table. "The day only started 5 hours ago, and in that time I've been manipulated by one of my own dorm mates, mounted by a pack of horny dogs and almost MELTED by a fire spell. Jelly isn't going to make me feel better," he said tightly.
George quickly swallowed his mirth – with much difficulty - before shrugging his shoulders and pulling the bowl closer to himself. "Suit yourself, more for me."
"Yeah," rasped Fred, the pain in his chest preventing him from laughing shamelessly. "I still can't believe Kenneth told you there was pancakes when there wasn't, so we'd rush down to breakfast and he could help himself to your supply of dung bombs; bang out of order."
"I think we're starting to rub off on people," said Lee grumpily.
"Well, if we don't, the bulbadox powder waiting in his pyjamas surely will," Fred smirked.
"You know, it's times like these I'm ecstatic I didn't end up dorm-mates with you three," came a voice from beside the table.
The three swivelled their heads round to face the person that'd just addressed them; they needn't have, however, as the voice held the unmistakable Scottish burr that belonged to Oliver Wood the 7th year Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. His eyes swept over the twins before it landed on Lee, causing his expression to slowly contort from calm and collected to one of mild inquisitiveness.
"Wh-"
"-DON'T ask," Lee interrupted.
"Err, right," Wood said gingerly. He decided not to press, and turned to the duo beside him instead. "I just came over to tell you two of some changes I've made to the Quidditch practise timetable. Instead of the usual Tuesday and Friday we're now going to do a Monday and Thursday because there's a clash with 3rd and 5th year Astronomy classes in the evening; it's all got to do with Mars…exploding or something which Professor Sinistra has deemed so important it warrants a timetable change; can't be helped."
Fred and George nodded.
"Practise will start at 7 o'clock, and I must warn you, the Bludgers haven't taken too kindly to being locked up all summer; they're particularly vexed this year so keep that in mind when you're out there on the pitch."
The twins once again lackadaisically dipped their heads in confirmation, bleary-eyed and appearing only to be half listening.
"Bloody hell you two are quiet, feeling ok?" inquired the Captain.
Upon hearing these words the pair immediately, not before marking down a new tally mark upon the parchment, snapped to attention. When it came to Quidditch, you couldn't get more of a competitive soul than Oliver Wood. Although he was he strict, determined, and driven he also had the annoying tendency to turn into the twins' mother at the drop of a hat; unfortunately for the duo, this meant that if the Keeper noticed any sort of illness or malady within a player which could jeopardise Gryffindor's chances of winning a match, they'd be quickly scolded and frogmarched to the hospital wing before they could say 'Firebolt'. This was out of the question.
Fred cleared his throat and began speaking a lot clearer and louder in an attempt to appear healthy. "Wha-? Us? Oh yeah we're fine, minor cold but it's on its way out. Just a bit tired, nothing though, stayed up a bit late last night, didn't we George?"
George caught on and began improvising. "Yeah we got a bit hungry round midnight and nipped to the kitchens, almost got caught by Filch, had to leg it round the castle for a bit in order to lose him; nightmare! Didn't get back to the common room for ages! Ready to collapse, we were."
The twins finished their tale by looking up at Wood with the same overly innocent expressions that they used on their mum all the time.
Wood looked over Fred and George with a mildly sceptical demeanour, eyebrow raised and arms crossed. "…You're looking rather pale."
Fred feigned instant shock. "Pale? Us? A couple of Weasleys, PALE? Why this is outlandish!"
"Absolutely scandalous!" continued a dramatic George. "What dark sorcery is taking place in our midst to make US, a pair of redheads, PALE?"
"I've never heard the like!"
"I may never look in the mirror the same way ever again!"
"VOODOO, I tell you-"
"-ALRIGHT, enough already," interrupted the Captain, not bothering to hide his exasperation. When the twins began speaking in tandem like that you were hard-pressed to stop them, the only shot you had was to get in early before they acquired momentum, and even then your chances were low.
"Forget I said anything-"
"-Always do," muttered Lee.
"–and just be at the pitch for 7 o'clock tomorrow night."
"As you wish, oh esteemed Cap'n. A rapturous event it shall be!" came one overly jolly reply.
"Positively CORKING!" followed the other.
Oliver let out a large lungful of air and turned away from the threesome to head back the way he'd come from, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.
Lee thought he heard '…contact Magical Environmental Regulation Committee,' 'radon gas seepage levels' and 'craziness' but he ignored it and swivelled back to the twins.
Lee put his elbows on the table, threaded his fingers together and began staring off into space as if considering something. "Hmm let's see...8 out of 10 for improvisation, 4 out of 10 for delivery, and 7 out of 10 for believability."
"Thankyou Judge Jordan, but I think you'd best stick to commentating," remarked George.
Lee narrowed his eyes at the two, but they quickly widened again when he noticed the time on his wristwatch. "Ooh blimey, lunch is almost over we'd better get to History of Magic before Binns notices; well, not that Binns would notice if we didn't turn up, but McGonagall has ways of finding these things out," grumbled the commentator.
The twins groaned. The realisation that the next 90 minutes were going to be utterly, soul-destroyingly boring was nearly as bad as having to sit through the class in the first place; History of Magic was - along with Divination and Astronomy – one of the more pointless and uninteresting subjects that OWL students had to suffer through, according to Fred and George anyway. Professor Binns' droning voice and the way in which it could easily serve as a substitute for Dreamless Sleep Potion meant that most students did badly in this subject; the fact that anyone passed at all was a miracle in itself.
The bell suddenly chimed, marking the end of lunch and bringing the brothers out of their reverie. The hall full of students suddenly rose from their benches, raising the volume in the process, and began chatting animatedly to their friends as they made their way out into the corridor. The twins swung their legs over the bench and stood up behind the table, but instead of following the crowd, they turned towards Lee, lowered their heads slightly and fixed the youth with what appeared to be genuine looks of utter sadness; Fred took a handkerchief from out of his pocket and began wiping at his eyes melodramatically.
"Wha-"
"We just want you to know Lee, old chum, that we're going to really miss you," said George, cutting off the confused commentator.
"Why-"
"We know we've never really said it, but you've been one of the best mates we've ever had," continued Fred, sniffling loudly and handing the hanky over to George.
"Bu-"
"We've had some excellent times, they will be greatly missed."
"Will you-"
"Brilliant adventures which we're sure you'll agree have been second to none."
"Stop-"
"And we say from the bottoms of our hearts, that we are so proud that we got to be best friends with the only man ever to make Argus Filch physically foam at the mouth upon seeing his cat turn from a Maine Coon breed into a hairless Sphynx."
"SILENCIO!"
Fred and George suddenly found themselves unable to make a sound; they looked quizzically at Lee who was slowly lowering his wand.
"Now, I'm going to lift the spell in a second, when I do, you two are going to slowly and calmly tell me what the bloody hell you're waffling on about, ok?"
The duo nodded.
He raised his wand again. "Finite."
Fred cleared his throat and, again, wiped his eyes slightly for dramatic effect. "It's just that, you got done-in by Kenneth this morning, attacked by those crups in Care of Magical Creatures and nearly blown up in DADA…"
"Every lesson has been worse than the last, you're obviously going to die in History of Magic, probably by fatal boredom or lethal paper cut, there's no denying it. So we just wanted to say goodbye, you know," reasoned George.
"Ask you what you wanted to be buried with-"
"-see if you had any last requests-"
" -aaand ask if we could have the rest of your dung bombs once you snuff it," they finished in unison, raising their eyebrows hopefully and giggling slightly as they dodged the half-finished bowl of jelly that had been flung from the grasp of a very unimpressed Lee; well, that's the expression that they assumed he was trying to convey anyway.
Suffice to say that Lee didn't die in History of Magic that afternoon, however it was a close call; Professor Binns had decided that the class would benefit from a long and arduous lecture on Vampire legislation, meaning that the levels of boredom within the class had almost reached lethal levels. It was so bad, even some of the nerds had been reduced to transfiguring their parchment into paper brooms and having races around the room behind the ghost's head in an attempt to remain conscious.
When the bell had finally chimed, Fred, George and Lee - almost crying with relief - had bolted from room and made straight for the Gryffindor common room; Wednesdays were the trio's 'early finish' day. The three friends climbed their way up Gryffindor tower, spoke the password ('Fortuna Major') to the Fat Lady and entered the plush room, claiming the sofas in front of the fireplace with a series of flops.
"I honestly don't know if I can be bothered to go ahead with tonight and all," groaned Lee. "Feels like my soul has just been sucked out through my ears."
Fred coughed deeply before chuckling slightly. "Yeah, that bloke could suck the soul out of a dementor with that voice."
"Too right," piped up a raspy George, his flaming hair illuminated by the fire light. "To think, all these pointless measures in place to capture Sirius Black; the Ministry are wasting their time. All they have to do is get Binns to lecture him on medieval witch hunts and the bloke would keel over in seconds. Cart him off to Azkaban. Job done."
"If only it was that simple," yawned Fred, wincing awfully. "And as for tonight, well, if you want a decent costume for the party you're going to have to be bothered, Lee old mate."
It had been decided yesterday evening that, as the trio finished early today, it would be the perfect time to have a mosey round Hogwarts and collect materials for their Halloween costumes. It had taken many brainstorms, changed minds and chocolate frogs, but the three had finally come to a decision about what they were going to be.
"Yeah," huffed the dreadlocked boy. "I guess so. I just wish we could round up everything we need by magic; I'm quite comfy now."
"Now where's the fun in that?" smiled Fred, stiffly getting to his feet and pointing his wand to the ceiling where the dorm would roughly be. "Accio list of costume materials."
Within seconds, a few shouts of surprise were heard coming from the boys dorms above along with the distinctive thumps of people diving for cover. Sure enough moments later, a shabby, creased and ripped piece of parchment came flying down the stairs at full speed; Fred quickly caught it with an outstretched hand, before the inky content of the document could imprint itself onto his face, and sat down once more.
George rose from his chair, walked up behind his brother and peered over his shoulder to read off the scroll; Lee reluctantly did the same.
"…What on Earth were we thinking when we wrote this," said the commentator disbelievingly after a few minutes.
"It's doable," said George with slight uncertainty.
"Doable? Look at number two! And number seven! And, oh sweet Merlin, number nine."
Fred turned to Lee, scandalized. "Where's your Hallowe'en spirit, Jordan?"
The brunet deflated, visibly. "Down in Hell, next to the icecube that represents our chances of pulling this off."
"Hmm," began George, looking pointedly at Lee. "It appears to me brother dearest, that we have a chicken in our midst. We'd best get down to the kitchens right away and tell the house elves before it starts laying eggs all over the place."
The twins proceeded to cluck and craw around the boy, flapping their arms and scratching the ground. A few 1st year Gryffindors chose that moment to come through the portrait, but upon laying eyes on the scene, they exchanged a worried look, thought better, and swiftly left again.
"I'm not a chicke-"
"BAK bakbakbak."
"I just think that-"
"BAK BAK BAAAK bak."
"Would you just-"
"COCK A DOODLE DOOOOO!"
"OH ALRIGHT!" bellowed Lee in exasperation.
A twin suddenly appeared at each side of the commentator and linked arms with him preventing him from escaping.
"We knew you'd warm up to us eventually," grinned Fred as they began marching Lee towards the hatch.
"Excellent. Now operation: Gather-And-Zealously-Expand-Backlogs-Of-Eccentric-Supplies is now in effect!" proclaimed George.
Fred looked over at him after a few seconds. "…Operation: Gazeboes?"
George nodded enthusiastically.
"It's the best we have so far I suppose," Fred conceded, nodding with a 'Not bad' type of expression. "And no-one will know what we're up to."
"Exactly," agreed the other redhead.
"Liked my acronym better," mumbled Lee under his breath as the trio exited the common room through The Fat Lady and started on their quest.
Item number 1: Minnie's hair clip
A/N: