A/N: I swear these chapters keep getting longer and longer every time! XD Thanks for putting up with them guys. And sorry I haven't got back to everyone who has reviewed yet. I've just had a crazy week, but I will reply to everyone asap. I love you all, fantabulous reviewers and favers - I grovel at your feet, thank you!!

This chapter is dedicated to The-Gwyllion on deviantart. She's doing a commission for me of Fred, George and Nox (I just got the lineart and I'm so excited to see the finished art!). If you're a twins fan and you haven't seen her work before, for goodness sake, what are you waiting for?! Anyway, to say thanks I gave a Gwyllion (welsh faeries) a small cameo in this chapter

P.s. Caith, what would I do without you mate?


Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

The Mire

oOo

The Hanging Dog Inn had emptied its very last patron onto the streets of Aber Duafe. The young man was staggering along the sea wall, his hand wrapped stubbornly around his pint glass while he bellowed bits and pieces of songs he had heard from bygone years, into the night.

"Rhiannon rings like a bell throu' the night! Takes to the sky like a bird in flight!" he hollered, leaping onto the sea wall. Beneath him the water lapped lazily against the base of the slimy concrete. The night was cold and clear, and silent, all except for the drunk man dancing along to the tune of his song.

"And who'd be her lover! eh -" He paused, wobbling a bit on the sea wall and squinted into the night. He had heard something through the darkness sloshing across the lamp lit street behind him. It had sounded like wet cloth dragging across the stone. After a minute he shrugged his shoulders and threw himself into a new tuneless song, jumping from the wall with a half trip and swaying into the village's empty market place. There was only one light here: a tall old lantern. Its gas fixture had been replaced years ago with a white bulb that cast a ghostly glow across the square.

There was a sudden clatter up ahead. He stopped; there was that indefinable slithering again, dragging itself across the pavement behind him. He spun around, spilling the contents of his pint glass everywhere. There was nothing but the sea wall behind him now and, further on, the rhythmic bright flash of the lighthouse.

"What the bleeding…" he launched into a stream of colourful invectives then carried across the marketplace, grumbling, when his boot crunched on something hard. He looked down: a wax doll in a pretty red dress stared blankly up at him. The man laughed loudly. "Who's left you out in the night, little girlie?" he picked up the doll and smirked -

- and lifted his head almost as abruptly. The sound of the wet swishing of heavy cloth was growing louder, closer. It was a horrible, sobering sound. Somehow he knew not to turn around again, but his body wasn't listening to his brain: there she stood, just a few feet behind him, dripping wet and smiling gravely. She reached her glistening arms, impossibly long, towards him. Water flooded the marketplace, a roaring, growling torrent that surged towards him.

A heart piercing cry split the night.

oOo

The weather outside had worsened, if that was possible. June always had been a popular month for thunderstorms of the 'jump out your socks and wet yourself' kind, and this year had been no exception. Nox thought back to the storm at Rosewood the night the apple tree had appeared at her window in that monstrous form, and shuddered at the memory.

She was by no means a brave person. Fred was brave. George was brave. Somehow Nox had known this instinctively, even before any of the events that had occurred at Rosewood. Oh she would stand her ground well enough and she did not suffer fools gladly, but given the choice between battling a werewolf and sitting curled up by the fire at home with a good book, Nox would undoubtedly choose the latter. It wasn't that she did not want to go recklessly exploring the world like the twins appeared to do, but she could not envision herself as one of those strong, beautiful heroines in all the fantasy adventure novels she'd poured over as a child. Adventure seemed to spin itself around her regardless, so she supposed it didn't really matter if she was a bit of a coward.

Nox leaned back into her chair and tucked her thumbs underneath her braces. "So I'm a little too cautious," she casually conversed with herself, then added a bit guiltily; "Alright, a lot too cautious. But there's a stack things I could be that are a hell of a lot worse. I think…"

She checked her reflection in a weather beaten mirror hanging on the wall behind her desk, half expecting to find grey hairs growing out the top of her head. She could do with a new shirt or pair of boots (her toes were almost poking through the soles of her lace-ups). Life had always been a struggle money-wise. After her parents messy divorce, Nox had opted to stay with her whimsical father, (who hadn't the foggiest notion of how to juggle finances), patiently trudging after him across the country from one city to another every time a change of scenery took his fancy:

"I'd quite enjoy the pleasure of a nice sea view, what do you say Old Sport?" or, "I'd quite relish the rigorous air of the city, what say you Old Fellow?" or, "I'd quite like to pack the old lungs with a nice filling of good old fashioned country air, ay Old Sausage? Nothing quite like it, don't-choo know!"

Living arrangements with her father had always chopped and changed, but they had become even more erratic in the year coming up to his disappearance. Nox sometimes had to wonder if there wasn't any truth to the rumours the tabloids had spread about her father. Looking at it objectively, she could see why some people had gossiped in the papers that they had been on the run.

Nox pushed her shirt collar back off her shoulder so that she could see the tip of a long, pink scar reflected in the dirty mirror. "1998," she chuckled to herself, recalling the accident. "Not our finest year."

She slid back around in her chair and faced the pewter framed photograph sitting on her desktop. In the picture her portly father had thrown his stubby arms around her shoulders in a vice grip, looking very excited in his maroon waistcoat and poke-a-dot bowtie, and was flashing a peace sign at the camera. Towering over them both stood the figure of Caithion Sidhe, tall, dark and solemn, a habitual cigarette clasped between two long fingers.

She thought back to what the twins had told her about her father being a well-known Squib in their community. What a Squib was, Nox wasn't at all positive, but she did know one thing for certain:

"You were keeping secrets from me" she mused, steepling her fingers. "Sodding old goat."

"I beg your pardon?" said Fred's voice as he floated through the door with George. "Hope you weren't referring to me again."

"You chit-chat with yourself more than you talk to us, and that's saying something considering your lovely trap is rarely shut," said George as he thrust a piece of yellowing, torn parchment on top of her desk. Nox raised her clear eyes to George's smirking ones. "We're ready to leave the moment you sign our little contract."

Behind him Fred's pearly-white ghost was juggling four pieces of mouldy looking fruit. "Yeah, so hurry your arse along, if you please. We're grabbing the post van up there, seeing as you refuse to Apparate and all."

Nox read the neatly scrawled handwriting on the piece of parchment signed by one Kingsley R. Shacklebolt. A long, empty line at the bottom of the paper awaited her signature.

She turned a wary eye on the twins. "I have to sign now? Can't I wait and have another think about it while we're in Wales?"

"Ah, bless her little heart."

"Not unless you fancy camping outside old Batty Hati's house," answered George.

"Who is Batty Hati?" Nox stammered.

"Well, she's a witch, isn't she? Ah – bugger!" Fred cursed as he lost his concentration and the pieces of fruit dropped through his hands, landing with a splat on the floor.

She leaned her head on her hand and smiled wryly at the ghost. "Maybe that was a bad omen."

"Nope, no sign – just sign," said Fred pointing at the contract while George rolled his eyes.

"You're ruddy obsessed with omens, you are. Next I expect you'll be running through the streets holding a massive sign and screaming 'the end is nigh!'"

Warily, Nox obeyed, picking up the offered quill from George, and signed her name along the empty line. One day she would listen to that little warning voice at the back of her head over the twin's snappy remarks and jeering comments.

One day – just not today.

oOo

"Oh ay."

The post van driver slammed down the cover on the smoking engine and wiped his greasy fingers down the front of his navy jacket.

"That's it packed up and make no mistake," he grumbled and pulled a mobile phone the size of a small brick from his pocket. "I'll call for a pick up. It should only be about an hour. You two aren't in a rush, I hope?" he asked George and Nox who were sitting on a large grey boulder by the side of the road. He could not see the figure of the pearly-white ghost leaning over them.

George shrugged his shoulders absently. "Nah, no rush, but we'll walk from here anyway. I don't think it's much further. We'll cut across the country and round the mire."

The postman looked at him doubtfully. "You're a couple of those townies who like to walk for fun, aren't you?" He shook his head and tutted. "Well whatever floats your log. You don't want to be walking near the fens past dark, mind. You're in Welsh country now, lad, and there's old Jenny Greenteeth in those swamps." His eyes glittered in amusement.

George only grinned and said, "We'll be fine."

"Who's Jenny Greenteeth?" Nox asked him when they were a little ways down the beaten road. The morning post van was now just a red dot behind them.

"She's a famous swamp hag around these parts," answered Fred. "But don't worry your nutty head – she only snarfs down ickle children. Course, you do have the body of a twelve year old, so you might want to keep as far away from the edge as possible."

Nox bit her lip. She hated when Fred toyed with her cowardice.

But the twins had apparently caught the look of apprehension on her face because they each slung an arm around her shoulders. The little hairs on the back of her neck stung at the icy contact of Fred's non-corporeal arm. He felt like pins and needles, and ice cold water.

"Tut-tut! Wipe that look off your face, Noxy."

"Don't worry your Mugglesome head!"

"There's no need to wet your pants at every shadow."

"Remember, you're in a wizard's company," George told her shrewdly. "And now that you've signed that pesky contract, I'm free to perform any magic I want in front of you."

"So don't get worked up about hags and vamps, and the like," said Fred airily.

Nox pulled a face. "As long as you don't blow me up in the meantime."

"You're too serious, you are!" said Fred. "Comes of reading all those grim and important books. One day they'll just swallow you up, you know, and all that'll be left is a pair of abnormally sized boots."

"Oh shut up." Nox kicked up the leaves at the side of the road. "It's my responsibility to worry. If I didn't and you two were left to your own devices, God only knows what would become of you."

The twins snorted indignantly.

"Well I never!"

"How disrespectful!"

"And she calls us cheeky."

"I don't know how we ever managed to cope twenty five years before your giant feet kicked down our door," said Fred. "Thank you for reminding us to bask in your glorious presence."

"Oh I'm sorry," Nox snapped at him. "I didn't realise becoming a ghost was what you called 'coping'."

Fred opened his mouth to reply then stopped, looking cross, and mumbled under his breath, "Better than being a boring Muggle on a fanciful ego-trip."

They scowled furiously at each other.

George glanced between his twin and Nox, and cleared his throat noisily. "Right... well… If you're quite finished …" Fred only grunted in reply, looking deeply irritated, while Nox muttered a scathing comment about the flippancy of ghosts.

They had cut off the road to follow a high mountain path, which George claimed to be a shortcut. As they walked through the Welsh countryside, the land around them swept up into high rolling hills and green pastures dotted with boulders and strange pointed menhirs. Nox knew this was King Arthur's land. There was Arthur's stone near Cefn Bryn in the Gower Peninsula and the legendary wizard Merlin was rumoured to be buried somewhere nearby in a deep rocky tomb. A thought suddenly struck her: if the twins were the wizards they claimed to be, and creatures like werewolves and hags were as real as cats and dogs, then could it be possible that Arthur had once ridden across these fields with loyal Merlin at his side? Nox cast a glance at Fred and remembered they weren't talking. She'd ask George later then.

Her brief glance had caught Fred's attention and they locked gazes for an uncomfortable moment. He turned his head quickly, still looking stubborn. Nox felt guilty. She knew she shouldn't have gone off like that, but she couldn't bring herself to apologise either.

George must have felt the need to break the tension, because he'd been babbling almost non-stop since their argument. "Dad was saying this is real old country out here. The rural land's rife with imps and water spirits, and a few really lethal hags. And I brought along some Doxycide just in case. Course, none of that matters because I'm talking to myself here. I could probably say anything I like, like the pair of you are in the possession of enormous fat heads which could easily house a family of giants, including distant relatives and their forty second cousins twice removed."

"I heard that," said Fred glaring.

"Can I ask something?" Nox enquired, deciding to take advantage of Fred's break in silence. "Who gives you permission to use magic in front of Muggles? Some sort of wizarding council?"

"The Ministry of Magic does," said George. "It's a bit like your government and just as messed up, I reckon. Or at least it was. Good old Kingsley Shacklebolt is clearing all the dim-wits and Umbridges out, and Hermione's doing her bit too."

"Sticking her brilliant nose in where it doesn't belong, as usual," said Fred looking amused. "A bit like you, Noxy."

"Don't start," she warned, but felt happier now that he was talking to her again. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. His name was on that contract. Is he a wizard too?"

"Is he a wizard?" Fred repeated, laughing. "Course he is! One of the best."

"Hermione too – a witch, I mean," said George. "There's loads of us, you know."

"I didn't know," said Nox in amazement. "I mean you've mentioned this Ministry before, but I never imagined it was so big; more like a bunch of grizzly old farts in a dank little dungeon, sitting round a table and debating cauldron thickness, and wand length."

"Blimey," Fred whispered in George's ear. "She's not half wrong."

"It's incredible," Nox continued, "that all this can go on right under people's noses. You'd think that something would slip past the Ministry and … what the devil? …" Nox had suddenly stopped deadly still. The twins paused beside her, following her bewildered gaze, curiously to the large faeries sitting on either side of their path.

Lithe and greenish-grey in colour, Nox first mistook them for part of the rocks, then later as two young children. But now that she really looked she could see that they were definitely neither. Disturbingly quiet, they sat on two small boulders at opposite sides of the mountain path, perched perfectly still and staring keenly at the passing travellers.

"What are they?" Nox asked eagerly.

"They're faerie folk," answered Fred.

"Gwyllion, I think." George added, stroking his chin. "Never seen one myself, mind."

Nox crept closer to the one on her left-hand side, smiling tentatively. "Erm, hello there… nice day, isn't it?"

The Gwyllion narrowed their eyes at her and then, with a sudden spine-unhinging hiss, both faeries sprang from their rocks and disappeared into the dark trees ahead. Nox stood there looking frazzled while the twins guffawed loudly.

"That was classic!"

"You're a right old exemplar of heroism, Nox!"

They followed the Gwyllion's lead down a narrow lane that ran deep into a wood. A warm wind was gusting down the path to greet them, whipping up leaves and the dank earthy smell of old trees and damp undergrowth.

Nox sighed dejectedly. "There's no point in me telling you not to go in there, I suppose."

"None whatsoever," the twins replied vaguely and carried on into the wood. Nox followed suite at a doleful pace. She kept her eyes on the branches as they walked, remembering the apple tree back at Rosewood Estate. The sun was bright above them and broke through the crooked canopy at irregular intervals, but the leaves on the trees were glossy and shining with dew. Nox couldn't be sure if it had been raining that morning or whether the wood was always so soggy.

"What else lives in the woods around here?" She called to the twins who were leaping from the tall dirt banks on either side of the path, and swinging from branch to branch like freckled Tarzans.

"Foxes… "

"Birds… "

"Squirrels… "

"Rabbits… "

"Deer…"

"Yes, yes, but what lives here that's, you know… magic?" Nox asked quietly, as if she might scare off anything that happened to be loping nearby.

George skidded down a fallen log and jumped down beside her. "What, like that unicorn?" He turned her head around with his hand. There was a brilliant flash of white as something large and lissom like a deer, sped away into the deep green gloom.

Nox could only point and mouth wordlessly.

Smiling, George patted her head then dragged her stumbling from her spot. The path through the wood was getting deeper and the ground boggier. The tops of the trees loomed so close overhead that the golden sunlight, which had previously slanted through the leaves, could no longer penetrate the wood.

"So Hermione was a witch," said Nox after a while, trying to take her mind off the trees. "I never would have imagined. I grew up thinking all witches had crooked noses, pointy hats and warts on their fingers."

"Wait 'til you see our host for our stay then," said Fred.

"You won't be disappointed," added George. He picked his wand from his pocket and held it in front of him with a muttered, "Lumos." A beam of light shone from the tip of his wand, lighting the murky wood in front of them. "It's pretty dark down here. What's the time?"

Nox pulled a heavy chained pocket-watch from her coat pocket and read, "Half six. How far is this witch's house?"

"Not much further. Look, there's the mire. It's just round that." George motioned with his head to where their spindly path seemed to fritter out onto a large green pasture. If she hadn't known it was a swamp, Nox would have kept on walking straight into it. A layer of bright green algae covered the stinking marsh, which sank deep, deep down past the roots of the very tallest trees.

"The mire's ancient," George explained. "Older than any tree that's taken root around it and a hundred times as bloody lethal." He put the tip of his lit wand under his chin so that his face took on a grotesque and haunted appearance. "You know… they say the mire takes at least one human life a year…"

Nox could believe that. There was a terrible stench coming from the marsh so vile that soon she and George had to cover their nostrils with their sleeves as they approached it. It smelt of rotten meat and old fruit.

"Don't know about old Jenny Greenteeth, but there'll be Grindylows down there alright," said Fred, peering at the slick surface of the mire as they skirted the treacherously narrow path. "Oi, George? Remember that time when we were up here visiting Hati over summer and Mum caught us ready to jump in there?"

George laughed. "Yeah, she had us de-gnoming the garden for two months after that. Bloody nightmare!"

Nox smirked. "You don't fancy taking a swim now, eh?"

George sent her a sinful grin. "Not unless you make it worth my while."

Nox paused right at the edge of the mire and peered in. "I wonder if the police ever find anyone who drowns down there. I don't suppose they would. It looks impossible to swim in." She kicked a stone into the swamp and watched the mire swallowed it up without a trace. "By the way, how do you know Hati?"

"Batty Hati? She's a friend of Mum's," said Fred, looking up at the tree tops. The warm wind was gusting again, pushing against the top of the canopy and whistling through the wet black leaves. He frowned.

"Wacky, batty, half-handed Hati," George recited. "A good old sort, but we hated her as kids. She used to make us eat bat-wing broth and liver spuds. Bet you fifty Galleons this swamp water tastes better than her cooking." He paused then added as an afterthought, "Actually, I reckon she cooks everything in this stuff. Hey Fred? Think Hati's forgiven us for that time we put snakes in her –" A skeletal hand suddenly shot out of the mire to catch George by the ankle, dragging him down amongst the slick green marsh. For a moment Nox saw the hag's face, wet and pallid, rows of sharp green teeth in its open mouth as it bit down hard on his shoulder. George flung out his arms and tried to hit the hag with a curse, but the mire was already filling his mouth. His wand went flying onto the path as he disappeared from sight.

"Hell!" Fred dived in after him, the mire swallowing his ghostly form whole like a great maw.

Nox watched frantically over the lip of the swamp, but the green algae had covered both twins like a curtain over a stage set. There was no sign that George had fallen in at all. Muttering a swearword, Nox tore her long coat off and dived headfirst into the swampy water.

It was so cold and dark that Nox almost lost sense of where she was, and wondered if she would ever find the way up again as she kicked further down into the murk. Fred suddenly appeared at her side, glowing pearly white against the green gloom, shouting and pointing at George who was putting up a fierce struggle against the iron grip of the monstrous Jenny Greenteeth. The hag's evil green eyes shot towards Nox and in a flash its white face was inches in front of her own. A stiff, cold hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed, choking the air out of her lungs. Nox kicked and struggled wildly, pulling at the clawed hands which held she and George beneath the water, drowning them slowly.

Nox began to panic. George had stopped moving. She tried to call out to him when the blackness began to fill her own eyes…

A distant flash of blue light darted past her failing vision and the stiff fingers around her neck loosened at once. George and Nox began to rise up through the swamp, as if heaved by invisible hands. They came up at the edge of the bank, vomiting marsh water and taking long, greedy gulps of air.

"Heavens to Betsy, look at you two!" an old woman was saying with an added click of her tongue. "Never send a wizard to do a witch's job, that's what I always say," Nox raised her throbbing head to look at their saviour. A short plump witch – she must have been a witch for she couldn't be anything but – in a long black cloak and a pointed hat, stood on the mire's path, shaking her head and looking down her crooked nose at them. Fred was crouched in front of her, his face stricken as he bent closer to his twin.

George rolled onto his back, grinning and breathing deeply. "Hello Hati," he said. "We were just chatting about you."

oOo

Luna didn't mind the rain. She did, however, prefer a torrential downpour to the uncomfortable drizzling mist that was currently soaking every piece of clothing on her body, despite her brightly coloured plastic overalls. It couldn't be helped, she thought, while sitting on the step outside Weasley Manor. Fred and George were after all very important businessmen, and it had been kind of them to offer any time to her at all.

Course, she had been sitting on the doorstep for five hours now. She had tried reading the latest issue of the Quibbler, but it had quickly disintegrated in the weather. Luna tugged her knees to her chest and gazed distantly up at the sky. Suddenly there was a click of the door opening and a tall, pale-faced man in black stepped lithely into the rain. He pulled a silver lighter from his pocket and had lit the cigarette between his lips before he finally noticed her.

Luna stared silently up at him.

"Can I help you?" He asked in a heavy Irish accent, giving her an appraising sort of look.

"I do hope so." Luna stood to her feet ignoring the feeling of numbness in her arms and legs. "I had an appointment with Fred and George today, but I'm afraid I must have missed them. I guess I must have got the wrong time."

"I guess you must have." The man inhaled deeply from the stick in his mouth. "Did you knock earlier? I didn't hear you."

Luna nodded.

"It's a big house. Always knock three times." He exhaled a dark cloud of grey smoke. "I can't tell you where Fred is, but George Weasley is out tonight. I'm his secretary," he held out one long slender hand to hers, "Caithion."

"Luna Lovegood," she replied vaguely, her large protuberant eyes ranging over him carefully. "Could you tell me when George might be back? Only it's rather urgent that I talk with him."

"No." A smirk was beginning to form over the Irishman's face. "But I can take you to him."

oOo

Hati lived alone in a small cottage on the edge of the wood. It was quite isolated; only a little overgrown track led down a steep hill to join the road which ran into the shipping village. Despite its isolation, the view from the cottage was breathtaking and encompassed the whole of Aber Duafe and Bracelet Bay.

On the far left were the rising Fort Hills, a rich green carpet of beech, elder and oak covering their rolling tops. In the middle was the curving horseshoe of Bracelet Bay where dozens of shipping boats bobbed like huge white gulls on the glassy water. A few pubs and inn houses sat along the sea wall – people were already milling about the pier, downing beer and Guinness, and enjoying the last warm rays of the setting sun. At the right hand horn of the bay there was a rocky alcove where the tall white tower of the lighthouse was stationed, its bulb already flashing rhythmically.

Hags aside, Nox thought Aber Duafe must have been a very pleasant place to live.

Hati raised the latch and hurried them through the door. Nox stumbled a few times under George's weight as she helped him inside. He was heavier than he looked. The wound on his shoulder was growing angry and red, and his ankle was swelling fast.

"Does it hurt?" she asked once they were washed and sitting around the fire with thick blankets.

George nodded. "Like hell." He hissed as Hati began spreading thick green gloop that looked like guacamole across his wound.

"Blimey, George, you're really having a tough time of it mate," Fred was saying in a half-joking tone while Hati began bandaging his twin up. "Werewolves, hags… Nox."

Hati was shaking her head miserably. "Honestly boys, if your mother knew what you get up to sometimes! Well, anyway, that should draw out the poison, Georgie. Hags poison is a weak one, but it can keep a wound open for weeks if you don't treat it quick," said Hati grimly, wiping the green residue on the tales of her cloak. "I'm afraid your clothes won't be ready for a bit. Marsh water needs more than a good cleaning spell to scrub off. I'll try and find something for you to wear later."

"Sooner rather than later if you don't mind," said George. "I'd rather not sit here all night in my starkers, thanks."

"I'll second that." Fred leaned against the mantelpiece above him. "Another wonderful start to a case though, George – executed good and proper, I should think," he said with a pointed glance at his twin. George promptly ignored him.

Nox was huddled numbly on a squashy couch beside the fire. She could still taste the marsh water at the back of her throat. "I feel like I've just swallowed a pint of turps."

"What have you got to drink around here Hati?" asked George. "Swamp water leaves a terrible aftertaste you know."

Hati's watery yellow eyes gleamed. "I'll fetch the firewhiskey. That'll burn the marsh off your throat nice and well!" She shuffled away into an adjoining room, leaving looking Nox wide-eyed.

"I don't think I want it burned off …" She sneezed and wriggled her numb toes. "I can just about feel my feet again. Funny sort of place this, isn't it?" she said, looking around.

"Not half," Fred quipped.

Hati's cottage only had three rooms: a bedroom, a small toilet and the main room which tripled as a kitchen, dining and sitting area. Cluttered with knick-knacks and jars of varying coloured gunge, it was a mathematician's dream come true. Every piece of furniture in the cottage was exactly halved, like some mad genius had come wielding a knife of varying shape and size. The table stood dejectedly on two legs instead of four, the sofa bearing a cheerful grin of white foam. The halved clock chimed the hour (though it only had six to spare) while half a teapot bubbled on half a stove, near a halved cauldron, which defied the laws of physics entirely because not a drop of the liquid contents was spilling onto the floor.

Nox shook her head, hard.

"How clever of me," she muttered to herself. "I've found myself another rabbit hole."

"More like a Hati hole," Fred laughed, floating over to the halved sofa. "Come on, Noxy, budge up. There's room for one more!"

"I'll never get used to magic." Nox reluctantly shifted along the couch. "At least I know now why everyone calls her half-handed Hati." She eyed George's gloop covered wound with concern. "Look, George, you and Fred can head back home if you like. I'm pretty sure I can handle this case on my own."

The twins looked appalled at the suggestion.

Fred snorted. "Well done then. We'll just pack our bags and leave you to it."

"Chicken out!" George scoffed. "As if! You're having a lark, aren't you?"

"It's just a little bite, dear, nothing to worry your head about," said Hati who had re-entered the room, balancing a tray of steaming hot cups of tea and firewhiskey. "Drink up! This stuff will heat your bones all right."

George and Nox eagerly took the offered mugs.

Hati fell stiffly onto an armchair by the fire. "Hooks and fishtails! I don't know what you think you were doing around the mire. At this time of year, too! You boys should know better than that. Oh my word, Molly's going to go round the bend."

"Why? What happens round this time of year?" George enquired curiously.

"Well it gets hotter, doesn't it?"

George blinked. "Yes…"

Hati took a sip of her tea and rocked precariously on her half-chair. "The swamp gets warmer and water hags hate warm water. They prefer the cold and the damp, and they hate humidity. So when the weather heats up, the mire's the last place you want to be because a hag with a temper – one that's worse than its usual foul mindedness – is a dangerous thing indeed. Still, it is curious that she attacked so many adults at once… Wizards, too…"

"Yeah, I thought old green-gums only went after the kiddies." Fred folded his arms across his chest and nodded at Nox. "Guess she must have mistaken you for one after all, Noxy." He grinned.

"Very funny." Nox wrapped the cloak that Hati had given her tighter around her shoulders. "I wonder if Jenny Greenteeth has anything to do with the sightings in the village."

"Not likely." Fred shook his head. "Hags don't often leave the swamps they inhabit. Even when they do, they don't go far. They need the marsh to survive, see."

"So that's why you're here," said Hati suddenly, smiling. "You're investigating our little water spirit at the shore. I didn't think you twins were just coming to relive old summer days gone by – ooh, sorry Fred."

Fred shook his head, chuckling while George nodded sagely: "Yeah, afraid we're here on business Batty, er, Hati…"

Nox nodded. "We got a phone call yesterday asking us to come down and check the shore out. There have been a few disturbances and sightings along there, though nobody could tell me of what exactly."

Hati put down her mug with a heavy sigh. "That's because most people that see her don't live to tell the tale. I must have written dozens of letters to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but have I had one owl back? I think not! Of course, it's been all hands on deck for the past five years since the end of You-Know-Who, so an old witch like me can hardly complain," she said dolefully. "But the attacks are getting worse. Young Sammy Jessops just up an' disappeared in the wink of an eye the other week. Dragged his body out of the water not two miles down coast. And last month little Jemima Gobsbottom was swept away on a night just like this, where the sea was as calm as a pond."

The twins exchanged a glance with Nox, who then said, "But it's not just these attacks, is it?"

Hati locked gazes with Nox for a moment, then replied, "I s'pose you'll be meaning Flaversham Potts, then?"

Nox pulled her little red book from her coat pocket and flicked through the pages. "He's the village toymaker, right?"

"There's been complaints that the big beastie of Aber Duafe has been nicking all of Flaversham's toys," said Fred in mock creepy tone.

George stretched in front of the fire. "Instead of ending up on the shelves, they're washing in with the tide. That about right?"

"Flaversham hasn't complained in person yet," Fred added. "So we thought we'd see if you knew anything first, Batty, er, Hati."

There was a thoughtful silence. "Ay," said Hati slowly. "It's something like that."

Fred stroked his chin thoughtfully and grinned. "Interesting case. What do you think, Noxy? Fancy a few more twists and surprises?"

Nox shook her head stubbornly. "The last thing I need is another surprise."

"EEEEYYAAAAAHHH!"

The terrible high-pitched scream was followed by an even more terrible shriek as Nox dived off her place on the half-couch, clutching her pounding heart and breathing fast. She spun around to look at the awful thing that had jumped out from behind the couch to scare her witless. The twins were howling with laughter.

Standing on the couch was a small ghost boy with a silvery-white ghost dog running round and round his ankles with the occasional 'yip!' The boy looked like a younger version of Fred, only his eyes were narrowed and scowling at Nox.

"What's a MUGGLE doing here, 'ati?" he demanded crossly. "And why can it see me?"

"Ran!" Hati hissed. "You know better than to scare our guests. And don't say Muggle in such a derisive tone! Not all Muggles are daft as brushes."

The ghost boy - Ran - climbed down from the couch and peered closely at Nox. "This one doesn't look that smart. It looks a bit like a carp with all that marsh weed in its hair." He stuck a cold finger in her face and smirked. "I bet it doesn't even know how to talk."

Nox bristled with anger. "Of course I know how to talk!"

The ghost boy looked thoroughly unimpressed. "It's a GIRL too!"

Fred was still laughing and wiping non-existent tears from his eyes. "Merlin, Hati, where'd you pick this one up? He's brilliant!"

"Does he come pocket-sized for our travelling convenience?" asked George keenly.

Hati stood up and moved towards Ran and his little yapping ghost dog, her warty hand hovering above his glowing head affectionately. "Fred, George, Nox; I'd like you to meet Ran and Fo." She smiled at them grimly. "They also happened upon an encounter with Jenny."

Fred, George and Nox peered closer at the two ghosts: sure enough, they could see the fleshy bits of skin on Ran's shimmering body, peeling or nibbled away by whatever lived in the darkest depths of the mire. There were bruises around Ran's neck and ankles where Jenny Greenteeth had once wrapped her deadly fingers and hauled him down in to the swamp.

"Ran haunts the old church yard here," Hati explained, "but he was getting a bit out of hand so the Ministry asked me to keep an eye on him. Poor old sausage was dragged and drowned in '53, and Fo here followed him – loyal dog to the end." The excitable ghost dog yipped and wheezed beside her.

"Why do they call you Ran?" Nox asked him.

"I don't talk to nosey girls," the boy grumbled resentfully. "And stop staring at me. It's rude to stare. Especially when you have a face that looks like a carp, Muggle-blood!"

"Oi, oi," said Fred, waving his hands in the air. "We know Nox isn't the most pleasant thing in the world to look at, but she doesn't look like a carp."

"Thank you, Fred," she said, shocked that he had stood up for her.

"She resembles a flat fish much more," Fred pointed out; ignoring the fiery looks he was now receiving from Nox.

Ran suddenly froze, switching to look between Fred and George with a keen look in his eye. "I don't believe it," he said breathlessly, barely able to contain his excitement. "You can't be! Blimey – you are!You're Fred and George Weasley, aren't you? I know all about you! You're my heroes – Hogwarts greatest pranksters!" He leaned eagerly towards Fred. "Hati told me all about Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, and how you drove Umbridge off her trolley, and how you died at the Hogwarts battle, and how you even helped Harry Potter defeat You-Know-Who!"

Fred and George exchanged a smile then nodded at Ran.

"No point in denying it," said Fred with a shrug.

"Yes, I'm afraid we're just that marvellous," George admitted, modestly.

Fred put on a formal pretentious voice, "Truly, it is an honour and a burden being the geniuses that we are." He leaned back and crossed his hands behind his head, a smug look on his face. "But study hard and maybe one day you'll be as magnificent as us."

Ran nodded his head furiously. "I will! And I'll make a great apprentice too; you watch!"

Fred nearly fell off his seat on the half-couch. "W-what?"

"You'll take me on, right? As your apprentice?"

Hati groaned. "Fred, don't you start encouraging him. I've only just got him to stop playing pranks on poor Mrs Harper and her cats," the old witch said crossly and waved a soupy ladle menacingly in Fred's silver face. Her half-a-cauldron was beginning to bubble over with something that smelled like sweaty socks and cabbage. "Now, dinner's nearly ready, dears. I expect you'll want to go down to the village tonight and have a look around after you get something to eat?"

"That's about the sum of it." George nodded, but Hati shook her head and glowered.

"Oh not you, George Weasley. You're staying put tonight," she raised the ladle again before he could protest. "Not unless you want me to let something slip to your mother about strolls around the mire with a Muggle in your charge. I'm sure Molly would be very interested to hear that not only did you put your life in danger, you put Nox in harms way too."

George rolled his eyes. "Always were a master of laying on the guilt trip, Hati."

"Don't worry, George, I've got it covered," said Fred and patted his fellow ghostling on the head. "My new apprentice in mischief and mayhem can show me about. Right, Ran?" Ran looked ecstatic and nodded his head eagerly.

The half-a-cauldron was beginning to boil over. Nox eyed its malodorous contents and abruptly stood up. "Good, that's sorted then. Only, why don't we leave now while it's still light?"

Fred grinned at her knowingly. "There's no rush, Nox. It doesn't get dark until tennish. We can wait 'til you've eaten."

"I'm not taking her anywhere!" protested Ran, hotly. "Fleshies are nothing but trouble, 'specially when they're girls. Fred, do we really have to take her?"

Fred's eyes gleamed. "Two words, little novice: live bait."

"I think it would be better if we headed off now," said Nox in an innocent, casual sort of voice. "Early bird gets the worm and all that."

"Right you are then, I'll get you some clothes to wear, Nox love. You can't very well go strutting into town wearing sodden clothes. Imagine the embarassment!" said Hati, leaving the ladle in the bubbling stew, which quickly dissolved the wooden appliance. "I suggest you go into the Hanging Dog Inn down by the sea wall," Hati was saying from the adjoining bedroom. "There's a bunch of good sorts there and I'd wager that every piece of gossip and information in this town passes through that pub sooner or later."

Nox smiled gratefully as the old woman returned with a bundle of clothes. "Thanks Hati. That's our starting point then."

"Good, good: Now try these on and see how they fit."

She took the pile of clothes from the old woman, letting a long, brightly-coloured velvet cloak fall to the floor. The outfit looked like it belonged on a sales rack in a vintage sixties hippie shop. Nox forced another smile at Hati and thanked her for her kindness. Ran and the twins broke into identical wicked grins.

"Why Nox, they're just your colours, too. Every single one of them!" Fred exclaimed, in a happily surprised tone. "Can't wait to see what the local Muggles think of you in this. Oh look, George! Boots to match!"

"Happy days, Fred!"

Nox felt her smile begin to crack.

oOo


A/N: Bah, I hate swamp hags. Jenny Greenteeth is actually a Yorkshire myth, but I thought she fitted in here quite well. Look up some pics of her on google, she's bloody terrifying! Anyways, to those looking for more Fred x Nox romantic stuff, you'll find it in the next chapter (grin) - and of course, Luna is going to descend on them too... poor Looney, they completely forgot about her : (

Edit: I just found out that Dumbledore was gay! Damn, you old hound! He kept that one quiet LOL x