Disclaimer: Still not mine, pass along.

A/N: A big thank you to all that helped me to find these two quotes. I tend to get a little obsessive over details and you saved me from buying the books in English to get rid of my frustration.

I would also like to apologise for the delay it took to write this chapter and apologise in advance for the delay it will take to write the next chapters. End of term is looming at the horizon and that means exams, which means studying. Well, I just want to say I am not giving up on that fic even if it is not updated till the end of June at the worst.

Chapter Three: Evening at Hogwarts

In a room of the North Tower of Hogwarts, Harry yawned.

Divination was the last class of the week and Professor Trelawney had decided to take a closer look at Harry's fate. Predictably, he was going to die. Violently. Again.

"My poor boy," the professor murmured with her ethereal voice. "A setting red sun over a small island is a bad omen. It is an ill dream, truly. My Sight tells me heat will be involved in your death. You will be caught amid hot, so hot flames, my child."

Beside Harry, Ron tried to muffle a snicker behind his hand. Trelawney had a point. Harry did tend to find himself in 'hot' situations.

With a smirk, The-Boy-Who-Lived whispered to his friend, "Here goes my fast and merciful death. The only hope left to me is that my robes will not catch fire during Potions. Dying with Snape's face and voice as last memories is simply too horrible for words."

That set off Ron again and earned him a harsh glare from Professor Trelawney. This year, the Fates had told her it was time for her students to learn to interpret prophetic dreams. By adding a healthy dose of doom and gloom, of course. To give them an example of signs to pay attention to, she had asked Harry to talk of his latest dream.

He did not think his scar-induced visions were dreams so he had told about a nice dream he had had earlier this week. It had been pretty normal and peaceful. In it, he had been relaxing alone on the beach of a deserted island, spending all day working on his tan. That Professor Trelawney could find omens of death in such a setting was ridiculous. In Harry's mind, the most you could say about this dream was that he wanted some peace and calm, a nice change from all the extraordinary events that had surrounded his life since coming to Hogwarts. And perhaps, just perhaps he also wanted the whole world and Voldemort to forget about him and leave him alone.

Unfortunately, Harry knew that was wistful thinking. Sirius had been blunt when Harry had asked his opinion. "For the world to be able to leave you alone, you would have to be alive. Right now, you are the living proof Voldemort is not invincible. He has to kill you sooner or later to prove his superiority to the world." 

This was why the security at the Burrow had been strengthened before Harry's arrival. Thankfully, the additional wards had not been put to test and the proximity warnings had allowed Sirius to spend a few days with Harry in his true form without risks of being seen and caught by Aurors. Remus Lupin and Snuffles had showed up one morning to add wards that could recognize an Animagus' presence and Molly Weasley had invited them to stay over as long as they would like. At Harry's disappointment, four days was all they could spare from their work for the Order of the Phoenix, a group Dumbledore had founded to fight Voldemort. Nevertheless, he took full advantage of that time. It was the first time Harry and his godfather had been able to talk face to face without an emergency. He got to know Sirius better and to know Remus as a friend of his parents and as a surrogate uncle and not as a professor. ("Former Professor, Remus had rectified. Nothing stops you from calling me by my first name, now."). It was also the last time he had heard from either of them. For security reasons, they had asked him not to try to enter into contact with them and not to expect news from them at least until he arrived at Hogwarts.

Harry had still not heard from them and now, he would give anything to see a Grim. He sighed loudly.

"Harry!" Ron whispered.

The dark-haired boy whipped his head up and groaned mentally. He was daydreaming again in Divination. Most students were looking at him with amusement and some were even hiding smirks while Parvati and Lavander were scowling at him. By day, the Hogwarts' population as a whole could do an admirable job at denying there was a war brewing beyond the school's walls and all acted normally. The Gryffindors could do an even better job at forgetting Harry's strange crisis when other people were around. But at Harry's surprise, he realised Professor Trelawney was not looking at him with disappointment but with compassion.

"I know a terrible fate await you, my child," she said, her mysterious voice marked by a touch of sadness, "but do try to pay attention. Your death is no more difficult for you to accept than it has been for me to announce it. At least, now you understand the plight knowing the future is."

Harry was flabbergasted. The old crow thought he had sighed because he was considering his death as she had described it? As Hermione would have said, "Honestly!" Still, he did not try to correct the woman. Class was already almost ending and she had not given them any homework. Harry preferred to keep it that way.

"So, how did Divination go?" Hermione asked at the entrance of the Great Hall. She had had Arithmancy this afternoon with Professor Vector and had been fascinated by today's course. Not that she had not already learned it by heart, but she liked to be thorough and listened intently to teachers. At the boys' intense disgust and unlike them, she was constantly preparing herself for the O.W.L.s.

"As usual. I'm going to die," Harry answered dryly.

"Ah ah," Ron protested, waving his finger right in front of Harry's face. The other boy wondered if he could bit it off. "But she never talked about heat before." He leered, "You will be caught in the flames of passion, my boy. Do you have a hot date you forgot to men…" Harry was saved from his best friend's wild suggestions by two bodies colliding into them.

"Did you hear?" Fred - or was it George? – asked with an excited voice.

"Dumbledore is going to bring Muggles to Hogwarts tonight!" the other twin continued.

"What?" Ron, Hermione and Harry exclaimed with one voice.

"An owl from the Headmaster arrived just after Transfigurations. He asked Professor McGonagall to prepare rooms for seven people. Some of them are wizards who have never studied magic but the others are Muggles!" Now that their tangled bodies were separated, Harry recognised the speaker as George.

"Professor McGonagall would never let such news go around without first explaining the situation to all the students," Hermione reasoned. "Or, at least, the other prefects, Ron and me," she frowned, suspicious.

"Hermione is right. How did you hear of this?" Ron asked. "McGonagall would never have told you."

"We're hurt," Fred sniffed. "Do you think us so incompetent we wouldn't be able to organise a simple…"

"The merest, truly," George cut in timely.

"Diversion to keep our dear Head of Gryffindor busy long enough to read the letter?" Both the twins shook their heads. "Shame on you, brother. You have no trust in us."

"We are cut to the heart."

"A devastating blow. Hey, there's Jordan. We're going to tell him the news. Bye. Harry, don't forget the Quidditch try outs tomorrow, we will need our new great and unequalled captain's opinion," They sauntered off to their friend Jordan Lee and quickly drew him in another direction.

"Honestly!" Hermione exclaimed, watching their departing backs with exasperation.

"I bet they invented that story," Ron said, shaking his head. "Professor Dumbledore has no reasons to bring Muggles to Hogwarts. What could they do here anyway? "

"Exactly," added Hermione. "Let's go. We have O.W.L.s to study for, after dinner. How do Fred and George expect to pass their N.E.W.T.s if they do not work, I will not even try to imagine." She advanced towards the Gryffindor table, followed by Ron but they both stopped when they realised Harry had not moved.

"Harry?" Ron asked, concerned. His friend seemed lost in thought. At his call, Harry focused his green eyes on him.

"It could be the men from my vision. They were seven too."

"Harry, Ron is right," Hermione replied. "Dumbledore is mad enough to bring untrained wizards to Hogwarts but Muggles? What could Muggles do in the Wizarding world? Their inventions do not work at Hogwarts. They wouldn't be able to do anything and they would be bored out of their minds. And that's if they don't get killed."

Hermione had raised an important issue and Harry conceded it. Wizards relied so much on magic that they did not have the simplest security measures. Any magical place was a danger zone for the magically blind. Even if the Muggles did not meet any dark creature, dangerous animal or lethal plant against which they would be without efficient magical protection, they would have to be wary of bewitched objects. Panicking on Hogwarts' moving staircases could only lead to an accident. Still, Hermione had forgotten a point.

"They would be protected from Voldemort."

To this argument, Ron and Hermione had nothing to reply. Dinner was a silent affair.

####

Later that evening.

"Ouch! Watch your feet!"

"Sorry."

"No harm done."

"I've finished. Let me down."

"Your wish is my command, O remarkable genius."

"You're not bad either, O wonderful co-conspirator."

"Of course not. We do share the same blood, after all."

A pause.

After a loud intake of breath, the second speaker struck a pompous pose to state a profound truth.

"Sometimes, I am simply amazed by my sheer deviousness."

The actions were mirrored by the other boy.

"Sometimes, I am simply amazed by your sheer weight."

A shared smile as they returned to their silent contemplation of a work well-done. A moment later, a frown appeared on the first boy's face.

"Highly esteemed brother?"

"Yes, sublimely prestigious twin?"

"If we are doing this Muggle way, how are we going to get out of the room?"

Silence.

"Damn."

"Yeah."

####

"… a grasp of the basics," Professor Minerva McGonagall finished her sentence. The Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmistress was the picture of efficiency, guiding her new charges throughout the castle at a brisk pace and giving them information on the coming days while Albus followed, eyes twinkling.

"We'll assign a few students to help you. It is perhaps for the best Professor Snape refused outright to ask for his students' collaboration. Slytherins are not known for their tolerance for anything associated with Muggles. But I am sure we can find someone in each of the three other houses. Professor Flitwick, Sprout and I will see to it tomorrow, once you have rested and been introduced formally to the students. Thank Merlin tomorrow is Saturday, or we wouldn't have been able to hold the students' attention on the classes. I already have an idea on who will be your tutors. Hermione Gran…," McGonagall's voice continued but Merry wasn't listening anymore.

The formerly Big People, namely Strider, Boromir and Gimli were still attentive and Frodo and Sam nodded politely from time to time. But Pippin had given in before Merry and was even now watching around him with hard-repressed curiosity. Their mostly newly acquired possessions were floating in the air, trailing after them to their rooms.

After having exchanged Muggle money for wizard currency, the Fellowship had bought all the materials needed under Albus' guidance. Well, actually, they did their shopping once they were done freaking about trusting goblins. With their money or trusting them period. On the good side, once that shock was past, the strange clothing, the structurally unsound buildings that should be – by all physics laws – collapsed on the ground, the random manifestations of magic, in short the magical quality of Diagon Alley was easy to accept. But then, they already knew magic existed. This was just another kind of magic than the one they were used to in their former lives.

So they had bought wands for the hobbits, robes, books and all sorts of utensils to prepare this year among the wizards. The only thing they – or rather the hobbits - did on pure whim was to buy an owl. A beautiful grey owl with a white star on his breast. They had been drawn to him at first sight but it was his nametag that convinced them Frodo had to buy him. A joke on the Fates, of sorts. Strider, Boromir and Gimli had appreciated the irony once they got used to the idea but at first, they had looked ready to throttle Frodo and roast the owl. Personally, Merry was glad they had chosen to let the bird live. He liked Frodo's new Precious.

"You are lucky. The staircases are unusually cooperative tonight," Professor McGonagall noted, drawing Merry from his musings.

Indeed, a staircase was moving to close the gap in front of the company. Cool. As soon it stopped, Professor McGonagall climbed the steps, announcing, "Your rooms are in this aisle. I have had four guests rooms prepared but I fear this part of the castle is mostly unused. Usually, we host the one or two occasional visitors within the staff section but you are too many for this. Here we … Fred and George Weasley! What, pray tell, are you doing here?"

After taking a turn into a corridor, Professor McGonagall's voice had turned first surprised then immediately stern and slightly dreadful when she asked, no, demanded an answer. That piqued Merry's interest. The Deputy Headmistress was a no-nonsense woman that seemed very hard to ruffle. From their first encounter at the entrance of the castle to the present time, passing by the introduction to the teaching staff, McGonagall had been nothing but collected and very professional, except to throw a look at Albus that promised a lengthy discussion. And Albus had confessed he sometimes threw curves at her just to see how she would get out of the situation. "It is very hard to pull one over her, you see," he had explained, the twinkle in his eyes brighter than ever.

Coming from a man who had already proved in their short association he could be as unpredictable – but thankfully not as temperamental - as Gandalf himself at his best ("Worst," Pippin had argued), and whom most of his peers considered as half-mad, this compliment was very impressive. This was why Merry hurried his pace to see whom she was addressing. He found two identical red-haired boys wearing innocent expressions.

"Good evening to you too, Professor McGonagall. We're looking for Sir Cadogan," the one on the left answered.

"He is not in his painting and nobody else has seen him," the second one continued. He sighed with dejection. "It is very important we talk to him, you see. Professor Binns gave us homework about…"

"And as you can see, there is no painting in this corridor," Professor McGonagall interrupted, still looking suspiciously at the twins.

"We can see that now so…oh! Good evening, Professor Dumbledore. Did you hear that new joke about a troll and two harpies in a dragon's lair?"

"The one about the relative size? Yes, yes, I did just this morning at the Ministry. Highly inventive. Did you hear the one…"

Professor McGonagall coughed slightly, glaring pointedly at Albus. Pippin giggled before hiding his amusement behind a cough. And once again, Albus goes off on a tangent and proves you can be old, powerful and absolutely silly. He had already done so dozen of times this afternoon. The memorable first time had occurred when Boromir had enquired about their host's sanity.

Well, to be accurate, he had said "Forgive me my bluntness, Sir, but ARE YOU COMPLETELY NUTS?" in the middle of Diagon alley, between an apothecary and a café, causing a hovering desk to fall down a couple of meters and earning the group fierce scowls from both the wand-waving wizard on the ground and the beak-nosed witch at the heptagonal window on the third floor and also a little attention from all the passers-by within hearing range. But those were details. Albus had answered that yes, quite probably, though the Daily Prophet often used the term obsolete dingbat. And later, he had added on a confidential tone, "Personally, I have a preference for barmy old codger." Personally, Merry thought madness suited the old man. But neither he nor the rest of the Fellowship would follow his example and trust goblins. Even tidied goblins that were world widely renowned as excellent bankers and accountants.

The twins were now looking expectantly from the Fellowship to Professor McGonagall. She sighed eventually.

"You have heard the rumours, have you?" she asked.

The boys shared a mysterious look and nodded simultaneously.

"Well it's not as if a real way to keep a secret inside these walls existed," the Transfiguration teacher muttered. "Never mind. Gentlemen, meet Fred and George Weasley, two of my seventh-year Gryffindors and the main trouble-makers at the school."

"Professor!" the first boy protested, "slander is a punishable crime in most countries. How can you say this?"

"It's not slander if it's true, George. You …"

"I'm Fred."

"My apologies, Fred. But you and George are to my inexpressible regrets the worst pranksters of your generation."

"Only our generation? We are not the greatest pranksters Hogwarts has ever known?" They seemed truly horrified by this possibility. Someone snorted behind Merry. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw only Aragorn with a carefully blank expression.

"I am not touching that question," McGonagall said with a tone of finality. At the redheads' immediate look of protest, she changed subjects. "Please do show a minimum of civility and allow me to introduce our guests. Meet Ar…Adam Dawson, Sean Davies, Bruce Ward, Frank Peterson, Gregory Morrison and Philip and Matthew Carter."

The twins had eyed each other at McGonagall's hesitation and Merry saw mischief flash through their eyes. "Pleased to meet you, Mr Aradam Dawson," they chorused politely. Merry had to admit their nerve was impressive. Apparently, Strider too thought so.

"It's Aragorn, Adam or Mister Dawson but never Aradam," he replied, an amused smile fleeting on his lips as he glanced at an open door beside the twins. "Albus, these are your students and this is mainly your idea. You can explain to them what we will be doing at Hogwarts, which is, I suspect, only one of the reasons of their presence."

"Really," Fred drawled. "George and I are not that easy to read. Unless you can read minds?"

"Cheeky and challenging. I like them."

Merry snorted at Boromir's comment. Strider and he seemed fine with the idea of staying in the corridor but hobbits like him appreciated their comfort. He eyed with longing the open door. "If we have to go through the explanations again, I want to be more comfortable than in a corridor. Professor McGonagall, I suppose the open door leads to one of our…"

SPLASH!

"Well, Minerva, I guess this answers our question on what the boys were doing here."

Albus sounded mildly amused. Merry could also hear familiar muffled giggles and unstoppable false coughs. Traitors! And they dare to call themselves friends! He turned around slowly, deliberately making his wet shoes squish. He looked first at the twins who seemed absolutely bewildered by the present situation. A little too bewildered. I'll deal with them later. Resuming his turn, he encountered Albus' mischievous eyes but continued his movement. There. His supposed 'friends' were trying to suppress their laughs but most of them had streaming eyes and were holding their stomachs. Eyes narrowing, he stared first Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli down. The Big People have learned nicely to fear a Hobbit's wrath, he remarked with satisfaction. Next were Frodo and Sam. These two had already mostly controlled their giggles and waved him past them with an apologetic shrug. Pippin was the only one giggling openly and Merry sighed. He could never be angry with his cousin. But there were other ways to deal with him. With a simple imploring look, Pippin made efforts to stop giggling.

"You…you…" McGonagall spluttered. Merry turned towards the last person in the company and saw her face red from rage. She took a deep breath to recover her voice. "How dare you play a prank on guests! And people who can't use magic, furthermore! Your father would be ashamed. He works so hard against Muggles' ill treatment by wizards! Twenty-five points from Gryffindor! Each!"

"But we didn't use magic!" "But that's the totality of our points!" the twins protested.

"Do not interrupt me, Messrs Weasley. You also have detention with Filch tomorrow!"

"It's really not such a big deal, Professor McGonagall," Merry intervened, seeing the distressed faces of the two pranksters and taking pity on them. "It was only water after all."

"Perhaps," Albus said calmly. "But it is still poor manners to greet guests so. Misters Weasley, you should at least apologise and help Meriadoc dry himself."

"The drying would be welcome but no apologies, Albus," Merry said. He stood still while one of the subdued twins cast a spell that helped him dry in an instant. He then met the boy's eyes and smiled wickedly, "Give me a clear conscience at payback time." He continued on this track, "So, just a bucket of water? No dye? No paint? No tar and chicken feathers? That's rather tame."

The boys' eyes had widened at Merry's first sentence and he saw their surprise transform into delight.  "It was the only thing we could find without magic on such a short notice," they confessed.

"Why was it so important you did this without magic?" Strider questioned them. Oddly, he sounded more thoughtful than curious. Merry gave him an interrogative look but the man ignored him, reporting his not so inconsiderable attention to the two boys. They shrugged once but Strider didn't take that for an answer and kept watching silently until they were squirming increasingly uncomfortably under his steady gaze. I wonder how they would react if Strider really stopped toning down his presence. King Elessar had been known to make troublemakers cower with a mere look. Merry recognized today's behaviour as Strider's, the Ranger from the North, someone who tended to fade in the background when there was no danger around but who commanded attention when he intervened.

"Minerva, what is this about points?" the Ranger changed subjects abruptly, without looking from the twins.

The teacher looked surprised and hesitated but at Albus' prompting, she replied, "Each student is sorted in one of the four Houses of Hogwarts at the start of their first year. They can then win – or lose - points for their house. At the end of the term, the House which counts the most points wins the House Cup."

Strider nodded in understanding. "Albus, as a Professor, I will be able to distribute points, won't I?" He resumed after the Headmaster's acknowledgment, "Could you give them ten points on my account if they answer my question?"

Albus chuckled good-naturally and agreed, "Of course." He seemed to find the scene highly informative. The boys, on the other hand, were not so amused. But eventually, George stopped inspecting his shoes and met Strider's eyes.

"You probably would have been hysteric if feathers started to grow out of your skin. And besides," he muttered and lowered his eyes again, "it seemed … fairer, somehow."

"Fairer?" Boromir repeated dubiously. "How can a surprise attack be fairer? You do not seem to be idiots."

"We are NOT idiots!" they protested loudly. Eyes flashing, they finally lifted their heads.

"I didn't say you were," Boromir held their gazes until the boys had the grace to look embarrassed. "And as one of your future Professors of Physical Defence and Basic Survival Tips, here is my first advice." He waited until he had their complete attention. "War is a dirty business. Ensure your survival first and worry about showing fairness to your enemies later."

"We are not at wa… you are not enemies," Fred said tentatively.

"Glad to hear you realise this. I don't suffer fools easily." Gimli's words were rather harsh but the smile he gave was warm to help the twins relax. "So, you didn't use magic because it seemed fairer?"

The two boys nodded with conviction.

Boromir sighed heavily. "Albus? Give them Aragorn's ten points. And double them on my account."

Fred and George's eyes widened. Grinning, Merry whispered in their ear, "These three are suckers for honourable actions. You're doing just fine."

"Any chances to win back more points?" George whispered back.

"Actually, Mr Weasley," Albus cut in. "You and you brother won't lose any more points for being out of your dorm after hours. And instead of detention with Mr Filch, you will serve as guides for this group until they are familiar with the castle. In fact, Minerva and I will leave them in your capable hands as of now. We have a little speech to prepare for tomorrow but I expect you to be back in your beds in one hour. Understood?"

They nodded reluctantly under the Headmaster's firm gaze but still looked as if they wanted to argue.

"Oh, and what do these rumours say exactly?" McGonagall asked. "I want to know how many stupidities I will have to correct tomorrow."

"Just that three Muggles and four non-trained wizards would be brought by the Headmaster tonight."

"Well, it is correct at the exception of one point," Albus commented tranquilly. "Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli appear to be Squibs and not Muggles."

With these words, he drew the attention on him but the reactions were a little different according to the people. The twins looked surprised, Merry and the other hobbits were intrigued and the three interested looked both curious and wary.

"Something you were going to mention but slipped your mind, I suppose?" Gimli didn't seem to know whether he should be amused or annoyed. "Why ever did I think I was getting a break from excessive flightiness?" he muttered.

"What are Squibs?" Boromir asked curtly.

"Well, Misters Weasley. I believe you wished to win back more points tonight?" McGonagall said.

"Squibs," started George, "are people from wizarding families who have no magical abilities, like Muggles. Wait, no!" he backtracked. "Filch is a Squib. He can't cast the simplest spell but he can use some bewitched objects."

"He can also see magical things a Muggle wouldn't have and Muggle Repelling Charms do not work on him. Squibs are …oddities. Here, the first years are convinced Filch has a telepathic connection with Miss Norris, his cat," Fred finished, rolling his eyes.

"Five points for a thorough answer. You are not entirely hopeless yet," granted McGonagall. "There are not a lot of things written on Squibs and you mentioned some points that are not commonly known among wizards. Squibs are extremely rare wizards whose potential seems to be blocked. They cannot actively use their powers. But they do possess magic and it generally manifests itself in other subtler ways. Mr Filch does have a kind of connection with Miss Norris. That's how he knows when she has found a student where they shouldn't be."

"And how do you know we're Squibs?" asked Aragorn.

"Hogwarts is charmed to look like old ruins for Muggles' eyes. You saw the castle as it was really," Albus replied simply.

"Do you know what their powers are?" Pippin wondered.

"It varies from person to person," answered McGonagall. "There are reports of Squibs never finding the outlet of their powers."

"So you don't know," Pippin insisted.

"We do not know," Albus admitted.

Pippin frowned at this answer and gazed intently at Strider, Boromir and Gimli. Sam, Frodo and Merry joined him quickly in their examination. But the three older men didn't show any hint of unusual or magical abilities. Nothing about them was odd. Well, nothing except their growing irritation, but people subjected to that kind of scrutiny tended to grow irritated.

"Until five minutes ago, I ignored I was a Squib. If I can wait to see what I can do, so can you," Gimli announced firmly, the dire threats the hobbits' physical well being if they didn't stop their perusal *NOW* unsaid but clearly conveyed in his glare.

"Excellent decision," Albus chuckled. "And meantime, I bid you a good night. One hour, Messrs Weasley. Now, Minerva, let's see what are we going to announce to our students."

He waved to reply to the hastily said goodnight and walked away, already discussing different manners to present the situation with the Deputy Headmistress. The Fellowship and the twins watched them for a while before Merry turned towards the boys.

"Let's start again. Hi, I'm Merry and these are Frodo, Sam and Pippin. We will be students here this year. The three old ones over here are Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli. They will be the teachers for Hogwarts' new class, How to Duck, Scream like a Girl and Run like Hell. Questions?"

####

"You aren't."

"We are."

"You aren't."

"We are."

"Prove it, then."

Silence.

"Okay, you got me. Help, anyone?"

"We can't prove it undeniably."

"Thank you, Strider, I always knew we could count on you." Sarcasm and frustration were rolling in waves from Merry's tongue.

Fred and George watched in fascination. The young man had managed to roll on his back without disturbing his friends overmuch. Considering the four younger men had piled themselves in a heap on the bed, this action was quite a feat. They had done so as soon they had entered the guestroom, leaving the others watching in bemusement. The twins had then appropriated the only other bed of the room, Boromir and Gimli had snagged the two chairs and Aragorn had chosen to sit on the floor, leaning on his friends' bed to look at the twins.

Now, the older man was rolling his eyes but he too was frustrated by the situation. He tried to give yet another shot at it. "Albus believed us, you know."

"Professor Dumbledore is a genius but he is a little mad, you know. And he tends to trust people nobody else would," replied George.

"You said you two were Muggle cops and that Gimli is former military. So, we are willing to believe you can teach us to defend ourselves physically. But we absolutely refuse to believe you are reincarnated souls without proof," Fred stated.

Aragorn rolled his eyes again and muttered something in gibberish.

"I beg your pardon?"

"'I can't convince children I'm saying the truth and I have to convince Aurors of that tomorrow.'" Gimli said.

"Oh. That's … problematic for you but I was asking what he said," Fred insisted.

"That's what Strider said," Sam sounded puzzled.

"It didn't sound anything like that."

"No, I guess it didn't," Aragorn stated detachedly. "That was Westron, or Common Speech. And there are no traces of that language ever being spoken in what I know of History."

"I'm a student in History and I know there are no traces of anything from our age," stressed Frodo.

This news seemed to depress the seven men. Fred and George looked at each other and shrugged. If this story was a scam, it was a very well performed one. But these people had nothing to gain from elaborating a false story. So, it was either the truth or a very deep, collective delusion. Well, it wasn't that unusual in the wizarding world.

"We can't be certain you are not reincarnated people without proof either," commented George after a moment. It was an offer to close the subject for now and Pippin took it gracefully.

"So, what do our guides suggest for tomorrow's program?"

"Us?" Fred and George shared a surprised glance. They had assumed the newcomers would take charge.

"No, the other twins that splashed Merry."

"Pippin, Elladan and Elrohir are not here," said the interested party.

"Who?"

"His," Merry rolled around and jerked his thumb towards Aragorn, "foster brothers. Otherwise known as the Mad Twins. And now I think about it, you suspected something. You could have warned me," Merry accused, poking the older man in the shoulder.

"Elladan and Elrohir have an identical look on their face when they try to pull a prank. I thought you remembered," Aragorn defended himself.

"No, they don't look like Fred and George do," Pippin denied. "They are almost as inscrutable as Legolas when he is pissed off with us."

"Well, you never saw them trying to trick Elrond," Aragorn answered dryly. "Or Glorfindel for that matter."

"Did they succeed?" Pippin asked curiously.

Aragorn considered the question. "In general or against Elrond and Glorfindel?"

"We never saw them trying to trick those two," Merry stated.

Aragorn seemed lost in thoughts. When his gaze refocused, a small smile played on his lips. "Rarely if they were face to face. But long-range manoeuvring worked often."

"Well, that time, they got me. But don't worry," Merry grinned at the twins' attention, "I roped Pippin, Legolas and Gimli in my counter scheme and got back at them."

"And Minas Tirith was even still standing when we were done. You didn't have to chase us out of the city," Pippin looked at Aragorn with hurt eyes.

The latter snorted, rolled his eyes, muttered something that sounded like a prayer for patience and put the discussion back on track. "Tomorrow?"

Gimli coughed suddenly in his corner. These people are going to liven up the atmosphere, Fred thought gleefully.

"There are try outs tomorrow morning. I guess you can either stay and talk to the teachers or come with us," George shrugged. "But we definitively need to find a Keeper and possibly five reserve players. It's going to be rather long."

"Try outs for …ah… Quitch, right? Albus talked about it earlier but I don't …"

"Quidditch!" Fred interrupted Sam adamantly. "The name is Quidditch. It's the best sport in the world and Gryffindor is Hogwarts' best team," he boasted.

"I think I'll go with you to see what that is all about," Frodo decided, amused.

"Are you sure about that? Harry is currently channelling Wood and scheduled the séance awfully early."

"How early?"

"Seven o'clock in the pitch for the candidates. Half to seven for us."

"On a Saturday? Harsh," commented Pippin. "Your captain must be obsessed."

"Harry? He's good but not obsessed. It's his first year as captain and I think he wrote to Wood to get some advice. Now, Oliver was an obsessed one." George grinned, "Never mind; his influence will wear off pretty fast with our assistance."

"Well, if we want to be awake for that hour, we'd better get to bed," Sam said. He glanced towards his watch "Anyway, your time is almost up."

"I've got a better idea. What about a raid in the kitchens?" Merry proposed with a determined glint in his eyes.

And so, five minutes later, nine conspirators – including three reluctant ones - were sneaking in the corridors. Once food had been mentioned, the others hobbits had stated they were still a little hungry and the twins, reluctant to leave the newcomers, had only been too glad to lead them to the kitchens. It had been ridiculously easy for the hobbits to convince their friends to accompany them. It had only involved the very firm statement they were going with or without them. Overprotective instincts served the younger men well, for once.

After having put the finishing touches on tomorrow's plans, three 'Are we there yet?'s and three different answers ('No', 'Nearly' and 'Behind that painting'), Pippin thought back to his youth(s) and asked a rather important question. "Are the cooks likely to come after us for stealing food?"

He chose to ignore the comments that errupted behind him about the intelligence to ask this question right now and focused on the reply – as did the complainers, he noted.

"We're not going to steal food," announced one of the twins proudly. Recognising one from the other was easy back in the guest room. Fred had stayed on the left and George on the right. Now, in the semi-darkness, it was practically impossible. Even Elladan and Elrohir hadn't played so much on their resemblance to confuse people. The boy pulled on the door handle that used to be a pear and resumed, "We're going to ask for food. Watch and learn."

The room behind the painting was immense. Utensils hanged on the walls and four tables were in the centre of the kitchen. While George explained how the kitchens were relied to the Great Hall, Fred took some steps inside the room and at least a dozen little creatures with bat-like ears appeared. They immediately assaulted him with questions.

"How can we be of service, Mister Weasley?" "Do you need anything?" "Do you want a piece of pie, Sir?"

He looked over his shoulder and saw that the newcomers were too enraptured by George's explanations and the house-elves to command anything in particular. Shrugging, he asked for pie and turned back towards his brother to hear him finish, "… house-elves live to serve wizards."

"What!"

"It's not enslavement, no matter what Hermione says. They thrive on serving us and they consider it a matter of pride to do it well. It's their nature," Fred explained faced with their shock. Muggle-borns were always a little put-off by this particular trait of character.

"These are no elves!" Gimli exclaimed.

"Of course they are," George replied, puzzled. He shared a look with his brother. Not elves?

"Elves are very odd creatures, I agree but they look nothing like that," Gimli sounded troubled. In fact, they all looked troubled except Aragorn and Frodo who had kneeled to speak quietly with one of the house-elves.

"I can assure you these are house-elves," George insisted. "I know there are some Muggle legends that depict them otherwise but this is what an elf really look like."

"I meet elves in my past life," Boromir said, "and…"

"It's not them," Frodo interrupted. "It's just a coincidence. They wear the same name and that's all." He stood up while Aragorn continued speaking with the elf.

"You sure about that?" Merry asked but he started to relax.

In response, Frodo turned towards an elf scurrying beside him and said "Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie?"

"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand what you are saying," the elf raised nervous round eyes towards Frodo. "But if you could repeat in English, I'm sure I could help you?" he finished with an unsure question.

"No, thank you. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." Frodo turned back towards his friends. "Convinced?"

"'Do you speak elvish?' That's supposed to be a proof?" Gimli was still a little perturbed.

Frodo sighed and tapped on Aragorn's shoulder. The latter took a look at his companions' faces and finished his conversation with the elf.

"Thank you for your help, Dobby."

"I'm glad I could help, Sir," he said with his squeaking voice. Nevertheless, he looked a little anxious to get away from his interrogator.

Aragorn seemed to notice this and he smiled self-deprecatingly. "I am sorry if I have scared you. I get a little too intense, sometimes."

That seemed to reassure Dobby and he gave a small smile before going away. Aragorn watched him depart then stood up slowly in his turn. He seemed thoughtful and troubled by what he had learnt here but at Frodo's second nudge, he shrugged, "It doesn't look like a duck, it doesn't walk like a duck, it doesn't speak like a duck so, I guess it's not a duck."

"Aragorn!" Gimli rolled his eyes but he finally relaxed too.

"You know," George commented, "usually Muggle-borns are disturbed by the house-elves' behaviour and not their name."

"I am disturbed by their behaviour, trust me on that," Aragorn responded grimly but he changed subjects immediately without elaborating. "Are those pies for us? We should go then. Fred, George, thank you for the little tour. We'll manage to find our way back to the rooms but you'd better hurry back to your dorm."

It was a command and the twins found themselves walking before they even thought about protesting. Once they did, however, a look at Aragorn's face convinced them arguing would be pointless. The last thing they heard was Frodo's quiet voice.

"You know, you never apologised for scaring me."

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Next chapter: Hide and seek. What has Legolas been up to?