~Smile, You're on Weasley Camera!~
A/N: Mel: Hello, you poor, deluded fools.
Sharon: This is a particularly distressing outburst of coauthored "creativity".
Mel: Well, that's another thing to call it. That's my next line.
Sharon: You know, you don't have to tell me to write it, I'm scribing whatever you say anyway.
Mel: ah.
Sharon: …
Mel: Now what are you typing?
Sharon: Hold on—there.
Mel: Um, not to interrupt you, but you're going to have to print this out for me to read tomorrow. The 'Find' button is temporarily out of order.
Sharon: Hold on. Anyone ever tell you that I'm a slow scriber?
Mel: You're not supposed to be scribing that! It's an aside, nothing to do with the fic at all!
Sharon: I know. Shut up! I'm scribing everything, even that.
Mel: Oh, well, tell me when I can speak again.
Sharon: 'K. *Mad typing ensues*
*Other phone is picked up*
Sharon: I'm on the phone.
*Other phone is put down*
*Sharon makes a typing error* Bloody…
Mel: What?
Sharon: Nothing. Shut up.
*two sets of snickering*
Sharon: All right. Talk.
Mel: … I own everything—MINE! You do realize you need to tell me what you're saying?
Sharon: I know.
*Other phone is picked up*
I'm on the phone!
*OP is put down, then picked up again*
John: I need the phone like, really soon.
Sharon: 'K. Mel, you took a…
*OP picked up*
Sharon: I got it!
… long time to think that up, you know? And no, you DON'T own everything. Snape's mine.
Mel: No, It's not!
*OP*
John: I don't need the phone for long! You can call back.
Sharon: Fine.
Mel: Bye.
Sharon: Bye.
***Start new phone convo***
Sharon: Hi, is Mel there?
Mel: This is me. Let me switch phones…Ok, thank you mom… OH NO!
Sharon: *laughs* Ok, speak—wait! My answer: Snape's not an 'It'.
Mel: Huh?
Sharon: Before, you know that 'It isn't mine', you know. Snape's not an It.
Mel: Alright, fine, It's Rowlings.
Sharon: Snape's not an It at all. It's got nothing to do with this.
Mel: Before you start –that-, we should start with the fic.
Sharon: Oops, nearly put down f---- instead of 'fic'. Fine, on to the fic!
Mel: Good.
***
The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Banquet was well underway. The Great Hall was bright with the light of many candles, and resounded with the noise of chattering friends (and the odd enemy or two).
There was conspicuously less noise then usual from the Gryffindor 7th years, as Professor Severus Snape noted with narrowed eyes. Perhaps they were reflecting the mood set Dumbledore, whose opening speech had been less jubilant than in previous years, due to the death of that Hufflepuff at the end of last year, the return of the Dark Lord, and the mysterious (no, don't worry, they're not Mary Sues, despite that over-used and much-abused adjective, "mysterious") holes that had appeared in every last pair of Dumbledore's socks. Snape's eyebrow twitched slightly at the thought of those bloody socks; Dumbledore's primary concern when Snape reported after every Death Eaters' meeting was whether he had discovered the Dark Lord' dire plot against his socks. Something or other about "Killing the foe by killing his heart", Snape mused.
The students began to file out of the Hall, heading toward their respective dormitories. Students who had been to the School previously requested the password of their prefects, before dashing off at their own pace. The first years walked tightly bunched together, following their prefects in almost absolute silence. It had been this way since anyone could remember, so it was a significant difference to see that a pair of identical Gryff 7ths were the last to leave the Great Hall. They dragged their feet slowly across the floor.
"I can't believe it! Out last year had finally come."
"Hmm," the second twin agreed, "And hardly anything to show for it, too."
George Weasley stopped and looked at his twin, dumbstruck. "What d'you mean? We have load to show for it! Remember the passageways? The Dungbombs? The Canary Creams?"
Fred shook his head sadly. "Those were all right, I suppose, but they're not enough. D'you really think that fifty years from now, Students will be talking about us, longing to follow in our famed footsteps, just because we turned someone into a bird for a few seconds?"
"Maybe you're right," George replied, as an unaccustomed frown creased his brow, "We need to go out with a bang. We're going to have to do something that Hogwarts will never forget."
***
Very late that night, long after all the others had gone to sleep, the voices of Fred and George Weasley could still be heard in the Gryffindor Common Room.
"Are you bloody mental?" George hissed sharply, "We want something that they'll remember us for, not expel us!"
"They won't expel us," said Fred calmly.
"Really?" George raised his brows. "I'm sure you'd like to explain the logic underlying that conclusion."
Fred grinned toothily. "Because, my dear Foerge, by the time it's pulled off, we'll be graduates. Untouchable!"
Grin matched grin. "So how do we do it, my beloved Gred?"
"Simple," Fred put a hand into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of tiny, black buttons. "These are a bunch of Muggle security cameras, called 'buggers', I think."
"Weird, Muggles, eh?" commented George.
"Yeah," Fred shook his head. "Anyhow, I found 'em in Dad's shed. We can recreate moments from real peoples' lives, just by switching them on properly. We set these on the right people, and we'll be set!"
"Right," said George, "Erm… How does it—uh how does work?"
Fred looked uncertain for almost nearly half a second, and gestured (not rudely, I assure you. Completely PG.) to the book set up between their chairs. "The book says it takes 48 hours for the spell to take affect. Between what's left of tonight, and all of tomorrow and tomorrow night, we should be able to make them follow whoever we want." He could see another question forming on George's face, and anticipated the question before it was asked. "And yeah, I borrowed the Map from Harry, we don't have to worry about Filch or the thing he calls a cat."
"Wicked," grinned George. Fred mirrored the look, and for a moment, the twins looked very, very devilish indeed.
George grabbed the book and scanned the page. "It says we don't need anything, not even our wands. Are you ready?"
Fred grinned again, a reckless and mischievous glint in his eye. "Have I ever not been, brother mine?"
"Right," breathed George, and the two began the incantation printed on the page. The air around them was heavy with ancient magic of the most horrific kind.
"Mé kaln, mé kaln,
"Kil na moln amár itish mé;
"Itish kat ta ouaind morina kaln,
"A del grotho, itish kat dé!"
An eerie silence hung for a moment in the air as they finished.
"Is that it?" George asked in a hushed whisper. His twin nodded in awe.
"That be it. Now, let's go and hang some of these 'buggers' before we have to be at breakfast."
"This is going to be great!"
***
All eyes were turned toward the Head Table as Albus Dumbledore, (Greatest-Headmaster-Hogwarts-Had-Ever-Seen, World Renowned lemon drop connoisseur, All-Around-Nice-Guy, and who always scrupulously ate his five servings of fruit and vegetables) rose to make his End-of-Term speech. The school year had literally whizzed by, (seeing as it was mostly full of meaningless drivelly nonsense that was both uninteresting and completely unprintable) and most students were quite eager to be going home.
Harry Potter was rather conspicuously –not- at the Feast, due to a particularly distressing (though rather laughable, if you weren't Gryffindor, and therefore completely addicted to Potter's well-being) event. Voldemort had been very quiet all year, and Harry had been able to get through the year without once being sent to the much-hated Hospital Wing. Indeed, he had been so jubilant over the fact that the school year hadn't ended in a hospital bed, that he had twirled and danced his way down to the Feast—until, that is, his foot had snagged on a railing (silly boy shouldn't have been doing the cancan without the proper dress and kick line, anyhow!) and promptly sent him tumbling down three flights of hard stone stairs.
He currently resided in the Hospital Wing.
"Another year finished," Dumbledore began. "This year, as it has been for the past—" he paused momentarily to count on his fingers, "Three, four… well, since Harry Potter got here, at any rate, the House Cup is awarded to Gryffindor House!" Dumbledore paused as the large majority of the Great Hall erupted into cheers and applause. "Also, the Quidditch Cup is awarded to Slytherin House for their superb—and rather shocking—show of skill and sportsmanship." The Hall echoed with their half-hearted and rather uncertain applause. "I would like to announce that—"
Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence with an undignified "Huh?" as a silvery, gossamer screen dropped down in front of him. A squeak was heard, followed by a loud thud. The screen had knocked Professor Flitwick off of his stack of books. Professor Snape also felt a heavy blow on his head. Strange thing was, he was nowhere near the screen. He sent a suspicious glare at the teacher to his left, but Lupin was the picture of innocence.
The twins stood up at the very end of Gryffindor Table.
"If we could have everyone's attention?" George called, and waited for silence, which came almost immediately. "You are likely wondering about this screen you see before you."
"We decided that we needed to go out with a bang, and do something that Hogwarts would never forget!" Fred announced, and the students and teachers closest to the screen suddenly looked apprehensive, as if expecting the screen to blow up at any moment. Soon, some in the crowd would find that it would have been preferential. "Don't worry, no one here is going to get physically hurt… Er, sorry, Professor Flitwick."
"Throughout the year, my twin and I have found evidence of some semi-regular—occurrences which we believe should be brought to full public attention." George resumed, "Professors, if you would move your chairs to the front so that you have a clear view of the screen?"
Most of the teachers moved at once, some grinning happily (Lupin had the largest grin of all, followed by Dumbledore). Snape held out stubbornly for almost a full minute before his curiosity got the best of him. Everyone stared up with extreme curiosity and excitement.
Fred and George released a hand-full of black 'buggers' into the air, and one floated above the rest. A bluish cyclone spun out of it, and settled onto the screen, until the entire thing was blue. A picture came into sparkling clarity on the screen, and the show began.
***
A/N Sharon: Right. That was total drivel.
Mel: … Of course. We wrote it!
Sharon: Point and checkmate. End game. Review, please!
Statement: We apologize –reluctantly- for the incredibly long Authors' Note at the beginning. It was taken directly(ish… well, actually, somewhat indirectly. I suck at scribing) from a phone call between Aindel and myself. Apologies once again, now please put away that wand.