Brillig.

Fred, under the cover of the gas from a volley of dungbombs, quietly stole towards Umbridge's office. Inside his pocket he held the Marauders Map, showing Umbridge safely waiting in the Great Hall, no doubt taking her temper out on some unsuspecting Gryffindor (he reminded himself to pay back the poor schmuck on distraction duty later). Next to him, George's Bubble-head charm flickered unsteadily, the dull brown gas masking his face. Each held a hollow tube through which the other could hear them speak, something they hoped to turn into a product someday. A whisper.

"Where's Filch?"

Glancing down, Fred drew out his wand to tap on the Map. Come on, come on...

"Down the hallway, trying to clean up the mess. I set off around fifteen just to be sure."

"Assault mode, then." Fred nodded in silent agreement.

Dropping to a hazy crouch, the pair advanced, wands out, looking to all the world like a duo of particularly inept frogs waddling down a hallway. Thankfully, the world consisted of nobody at the moment, nobody except-

"****!"

"Language, George! What would our mother-"

"Fred! The inquisitors! They're still here!"

Sure enough, two rather unruly Slytherins, each with a lopsided, hurriedly cast Bubble-head charm, were standing stiffly on guard next to the door of Umbridge's office. The good news- the door was left open, and in the mess nobody seemed to notice. The bad news- Fred and George were very, very noticeable. Glinting in the dim, flickering light of the torches, the silver "I" badge seemed to look down upon the intruders, silently judging them for their misdeeds.

"You know what we have to do, Fred."


"So, how do you play Quidditch?" Sam asked, for perhaps the twentieth time, as Ron hurriedly tugged him towards the stands. Next to them, Hermione, who had followed along, had her head in a book as usual. Privately, Sam marvelled at how she could still read with the January sky being as grey as it was, all while leaving neat, careful footsteps in the several inch thick snow the students trudged through as they headed for the stands.

"C'mon, Sam, I've explained this to you like, twice. Look, there's a bludger, a snitch-"

"No, as in, what strategy do you use? I mean, any sane team would just spread everyone out looking for the snitch-"

"But only the Seeker can catch the snitch-"

"So there's, like, this entirely separate game of catch the golden bird- sorry, flying ball based on a bird, that's overlaid onto the magical equivalent of basketball?"

"Explain basketball to me again?"

"Nevermind. I mean, from the way you describe it, the snitch almost seems like an afterthought-"

"It was! Charlie told me the snitch started when a referee would bring this tiny bird to the stadium-"

"Silence, both of you. Such incessant chatter will not be permitted. Five points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." Snape, clearly in a bad mood, swept through the students in a manner reminiscent of the Black Death, though larger and mildly more terrifying. A mild sneer touched his lips when he came across Hermione.

"School books are not permitted on the grounds. Give that to me. Five points from Ravenclaw for violation of the school rules."

"But, sir, it's not listed in the rules-"

"The rules are as I see fit. One more point for talking back. I will not tolerate such insolence from my students."

Hermione's face turned a pale shade of pink under the cold. Saying nothing more, she hurried to catch up to Sam and Ron.

"Boy, Snape is a git, isn't he?" Ron mouthed under his breath as they found their seats in the stands.

"Ron!" Hermione was mortified- less out of respect for Snape, Sam guessed, and more because she had just lost her house six points.

"Yeah, he is." Sam replied, pulling out a white bishop piece.

"Finally lettin' me out, eh?" The bishop looked midly miffed that he had been hidden in a boy's robes for so long, but seemed to enjoy the cold air- something the humans of the crowd definitely didn't. As they waited for the match to start, warming their hands pensively, Neville appeared, or rather, tripped, into their presence. "H-hey," he sputtered, puffs of warm air wafting into the cloudy sky as he spoke. "Pretty cold, huh?" As he spoke, his head seemed to shrink into his robes, his grandmother's hand-knitted scarf mysteriously nowhere to be found.

"Neville, where's your scarf?" Sam asked.

Looking rather lost, Neville tugged blankly at his neck. "I- I must have misplaced it somewhere. Fumbling around, he pulled out a small glass ball- a Remembrall, which, as predicted, turned red. This was actually his second Remembrall, Sam thought. After his first one had been stolen by Malfoy in that disastrous flying lesson (he shuddered at the memory), his grandmother had thought to mail him another one, accompanied by a rather stern letter telling him to try not to lose it again.

"Here, you can take mine." Hermione gingerly removed her own, brown scarf, handing it to Neville, whose face turned pink. "The rules don't exactly make it clear, but I think this is fine."

Withdrawing a small glass bottle, similar to the ones from Potions (Sam's least favourite subject), she murmured a light incantation, and to their collective wonder, a small stream of blue fire sprung out, filling the bottle with a warm glow.

"It's harder than I thought, especially since none of the teachers are allowed to help us with spellwork, but I got it to function properly anyways." With a sort of narrow grin, she tucked it under her robes. By then, of course, the match had kicked off. (Sam dimly remembered it as being between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but didn't care all that much)


Creeping up to one of the Slytherin guards, Fred threw a small round ball directly at the girl's face, yelling- "Catch!"

Too late, the inquisitor managed to catch the flying dungbomb, which at her touch exploded- directly within her bubble-head charm, inches from her nose. Coughing from the sudden explosion of rather unpalatable smell that had forced its way into her nose, the inquisitor abandoned all pretence of standing guard and rushed off into the hallway. Turning to George, who had done the same to another guard, he grinned.

"Boy, sure glad we got the extra colouring in these homemade order dungbombs, aren't we?" He whispered over the tube."

"We sure are," George replied. Pushing open the door to her office, the twins crept into the pink dungeon that was the official roost for the Hogwarts High Inquisitor.


"And the Ravenclaw catcher is hit by a bat from the Slytherin Beater- accident, of course, showing their inferiority by letting in yet another quaffle." A bored, rather slow drawl came from the announcements stand, leaving no question the winner of the match.

"Why do they even hold these anymore?" Sam asked to Ron, who seemed as dejected as he was even after his professed love of the sport.

"For the Slytherins to lord themselves over us mortals, I guess. Makes me kind of sad I didn't get into Hufflepuff now."

"Why?"

"At least no one expects you to win in Hufflepuff. Sometimes... With the whole resistance thing it almost feels like everyone's counting on you to win, you know? To pull some magic sword out of a hat and just be the heroes again."

In the distance, the game continued. "Another penalty for Slytherin... Seems Slytherin is heading for the House Cup for the eleventh year in a row... Score..."

And the skies continued to darken. Eventually it began to rain, and Slytherin won 200-50, mostly because the Ravenclaw Seeker refused to catch the Snitch.


Fred saw pink. Well, to be more accurate, Fred was bombarded with pink. Everywhere he saw, kittens, fluffiness, and pink seemed to jump at him. Had he not known the true nature of Umbridge, that would have been almost cute. As it was now, he had one focus. The Hat. Next to him, George had already begun rifling through the drawers. Papers flew. Confidential letters, plans for future "Decrees", spare Inquisitor pins. These Fred took great pains to transfigure into multiple rubber rats which he placed next to the cat pictures.

"Anything, George?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Nothing. Guess we go through the wardrobes next."

And there were many. Every shade of pink was covered in a desperate effort to introduce variety to a rather one-note affair, and George managed, with great effort, to rumple every single outfit. And it was the back of the last wardrobe, next to the door to Umbridge's office, that Fred found a switch in the form of a kitten, which meowed (meowed? How did kittens speak?)

"I can only be opened by Dolores Umbridge, High Inquisitor."

"The ring, the ring!" George mumbled to Fred, who was busy checking the Marauders Map for the return of Umbridge. Grinning, Fred passed over one of Umbridge's gold rings stolen in the Sniffler raid during the Hufflepuff initiation session. Pressing the ring against the kitten, the kitten swung open to reveal a small cupboard with a few trinkets, a locket of some sort, and there- on the top shelf-

The Sorting Hat, with a pink ribbon wrapped around the scruffy, patched brim.


As they walked back to Hufflepuff tower, Sam decided to drop Neville off at dinner and head to the Room instead. When he arrived, the entire dorm was empty.