Sugarquill

April 7th

I love spring.

Don't you love spring? Yes, yes, you're paper, you're inanimate, blah blah BLAH, don't you LOVE spring?

Well. I do. Leesh says that 'magical things happen in spring'. George says 'once the weather looks up everything seems good, eh?'. I dunno about those theories, but I just think this spring thus far has been downright fun.

So, this morning after I'd woken up and changed into my robes, I headed down to the Great Hall and slid into a seat next to Angelina, my girlfriend.

Ang. My girlfriend.

My girlfriend.

MINE.

Not yours.

This scenario is the result of a very memorable chase through the rain and mud on my birthday, resulting in a shouting match and me 'shutting her up'.

Hehehe.

The transition from friends (or incredibly-awkward-former-friends-who-don't-talk-because-of-the-romantic-tension-between-them) to boyfriend and girlfriend has, according to Ang anyway, been quite easy. Luckily enough our friends are supportive—if they weren't I'd have to pummel them.

Anyway, that's the update on the fabulous antics of spring this last week. And for the record, the weather is barely different from whatever we had in February.

Now, for today. Well, yesterday actually. Yesterday George and I received a rather rare visit from Ginny. Not that we discourage fourth years from talking to us.

"It's Harry," she whispered. There were only a few people in the common room and it was easy to hear. "He wants to talk to Sirius. I'm not sure why, but he really wants to. He seems to have a lot on his mind…I guess he just needs to talk to someone about it."

"Yeeesss," said George slyly. Ginny sighed.

"Do you think you two could help us?"

"Well, of course, baby sister," I said brightly. "But we'll need to talk to the client first."

Nearly all the fifth years are buried in career pamphlets these days. Luckily for George and myself, we were looking for the three most easily spottable heads poking out from behind the rubble.

"Hey," I said, sneaking up on Harry. "Ginny's had a word with us about you. She says you need to talk to Sirius?"

"What?" said Hermione. Oh dear, the client's kept his doings a secret. We can't have that now, can we?

"Yeah…" said Harry nervously. "Yeah, I thought I'd like—"

"Don't be so ridiculous," Hermione snapped. "With Umbridge groping around in the fire and frisking all the owls?"

"Well, we think we can find a way around that," George said with a grin. "It's a simple matter of causing a diversion. Now, you might have noticed that we have been rather quiet on the mayhem front during the Easter holidays?"

"What was the point, we asked ourselves, of disrupting leisure time?" I continued. "No point at all, we answered ourselves. And of course, we'd have messed up people's studying too, which would be the very last thing we'd want to do." I nodded at Hermione, who looked still more shocked.

"But it's business as usual from tomorrow," I said briskly. "And if we're going to be causing a bit of uproar, why not do it so that Harry can have his chat with Sirius?"

"Yes, but still," Hermione said, as if we were dim. "Even if you do cause a diversion, how is Harry supposed to talk to him?"

"Umbridge's office," Harry said quietly. There was a pause.

"Are—you—insane?" hissed Hermione.

"I don't think so,"

"And how are you going to get in there in the first place?"

"Sirius's knife,"

"Excuse me?"

"Christmas before last Sirius gave me a knife that'll open any lock. So even if she's bewitched the door so Alohomora won't work, which I bet she has—"

"What do you think about this?" Hermione demanded at Ron in a very accurate imitation of Mum.

"I dunno," said Ron, startled. "If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true friend and Weasley," I said, clapping him on the back. "Right, then. We're thinking of doing it tomorrow, just after lessons, because it should cause maximum impact if everybody's in the corridors—Harry, we'll set it off in the east wing somewhere, draw her right away from her own office—I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?"

"Easy," replied George.

"What sort of diversion is it?" asked Ron.

"You'll see, little bro," I said, getting up to leave. "At least, you will if you trot along to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor round about five o'clock tomorrow."

April 9th

Forget spring, I love my life. Hang on to your knickers, this may take a while.

So, it's yesterday, four thirty. George and I ask to be excused from Charms. Well, okay, no. We never went to Charms. I met Ang just before it though.

"Where do you think you're going?" she said as I proceeded to go back to the common room.

"Harry needs a favor," I said in a hushed voice. "George and I are the only ones capable of creating a satisfactory diversion in this place, aren't we? Well, that's exactly where I'm going. To create a diversion."

"Fred," She grabbed my arm. "Careful of the toad. Just…don't do anything stupid."

"Please," I grinned. "How little do you know me?" And then I 'shut her up' again. (Hehehe.)

"I know you fine," Ang said sternly. "I know that your definition of stupid and mine are quite different. So don't do anything I would call stupid."

I looked down. "Ang…"

"What?"

"There is one thing. A sort of…Plan B. In case we get caught or anything. It shouldn't happen, but if it does, don't worry. I'll write as soon as I can."

"Fred, wha—"

"Don't worry!" I flashed her another grin and jogged back to the common room.

So now it's four thirty. George and I levitated a dozen Disillusioned boxes down to Gregory the Smarmy's corridor. It took long enough to do it stealthily. Four fifty. There's something coming toward us, but we can't move until five. Who can be laughing like that?

It's Peeves! This is either very good or very bad…

"What's this?" he's saying. "Big, baffling, boxes! And not a student in Smarmy's sight! Should Peevesy place a protest for this…peculiar plight?"

"That's a big new word, Peeves," I say. He jumps.

"Weasleys working wordlessly to make the mean management…cry!"

"That's right, Peeves," says George. "And you know how important that is."

"No I doesn't." He's shaking his head.

"Maybe not." I'm saying. "But you do know how fun it is."

He's grinning. "Don't tell anyone that you've seen this." George is saying.

"Seen what?" says Peeves. And now he's swooping away. Four fifty-five. I hear footsteps above us. They're moving. They're moving toward the stairs, I think—

"George," I begin, but he knows what I'm going to say. We can't wait any longer. The owner's of those footsteps will be here any second, and they might linger. We can't afford lingerers!

"Now then?"

Now.

April 10th- 93 Diagon Alley

Teehee! I'll pick up from where I left off, as always.

George and I sprang out from our hiding place and to the very edge of the corridor. Wands out, and faces covered so we didn't get any in our eyes.

"Ready Fred?"

"Ready George."

"REDUCTO!"

Cautious manufacturers that we are, we had—like I just said—our hands over our faces to keep our eyes safe. The problem with us, though, is that our eyes will risk their safety to see what they want to see. As we yelled our curses, both George and I lowered our hands and watched the boxes burst open and drench the corridor with muck. Weeds and reeds were growing out of the floor, which quickly disappeared under a thick layer of brown goop. Gregory the Smarmy was unrecognizable; his face and body were splattered with bits of the swamp and a toad was croaking happily on his head. But speaking of toads—

"WEASLEYS!" I don't think any high-pitched, girly voice has ever made my blood run cold before, but yesterday was the day it did. George and I exchanged a terrified glance before we turned around and looked at the livid silhouette of Dolores Jane Umbridge.

"I'LL HAVE YOU FOR THIS!" She shrieked. She was wringing her hands and her eyes were ready to pop out of their sockets. She wasn't angry, though, and I think that's what brought me and George back to our senses; she was excited. Umbridge was looking at a chance to punish us, expel us, defeat us. Poor toad. If she'd bothered to do her research she'd know that we Weasleys don't give up without a fight.

"RUN!" I yelled. Umbridge was caught off guard; we shot past her in a fraction of a second, knocking her off her feet and into the swamp.

"FILCH!" she screeched, but we were halfway down the stairs.

"Where should we go? Hogsmeade?" I asked as we ran.

"We can't run yet!" cried George. How ironic.

"Then we have to hide!"

"Changing rooms?"

"Obvious!"

"Forest!"

"Dangerous!"

"Room of Requirement?"

"Perfect! RUN!" Not that we weren't already running, but the reiteration spurred us on to a mind-boggling velocity.

We had run past the room twice, thinking madly that we needed to hide, when there was a loud thud at the end of the corridor, louder than the noise from the distant swamp. Immediately following The Thud came footsteps. There were at least a dozen, shuffling loudly, coming closer.

"See if they're hiding in that Defense place!" shouted a sickeningly familiar drawl.

"No," George breathed.

"Yes," I gasped.

"RUN!"

"AFTER THEM!"

And we ran. Pelting down the scarcely populated corridors, we headed down the staircases, one after another, not knowing where we were going, but not caring. All we knew was that we had to put as much distance between ourselves and the Inquisitorial Squad as possible.

"THEY'RE COMING DOWN!" cried Malfoy, his voice surprisingly close. "WEASLEY TWINS COMING DOWN TO THE ENTRA—AAAAARRGGHGHH!"

Once again, our eyes got the better of us, and for a few seconds George and I were running while looking backwards; Peeves had come from nowhere and was proceeding to soak the whole Squad with a pail of…our swamp. They kept running, though, still bellowing things like "TWINS! ENTRANCE HALL! STAIRS!" as they did.

Had we still been on a higher level, we'd've had time to dodge them by going through a hidden passageway or hiding behind suits of armor. By now they were too close, and the only thing between us and the entrance hall was one staircase, which we were sprinting down. At the foot of the stairs were hundreds of students, some covered in swamp, some clean, but all with their mouths open. There was no open gap, no place we could get through fast enough without being caught by Malfoy and his gang first. George and I skidded to a halt in the mob's clearing, back to back and breathing heavily.

"What do we do?" I hissed.

"Plan B," said George.

The Inquisitorial Squad came rushing down the stairs, their faces gleaming with triumph. Peeves was hovering above everyone else, making a face at the short, stubby, woman on the stairs: Umbridge.

"So," she squawked. "So…you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?"

"Pretty amusing, yeah," I said calmly. We weren't scared of her. She was scared of us.

Filch came wheezing down the stairs to Umbridge. "I've got the form, Headmistress," He sounded ridiculously happy and was waving around a piece of parchment like a lunatic. "I've got the form and I've got the whips waiting…Oh, let me do it now…"

Okay, I know he hates us, but not that much! This man has far too much time on his hands.

"Very good, Argus," Umbridge said. "You two," She turned her beady little eyes on us. "are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school."

"You know what?" I said. "I don't think we are."

I turned to my twin brother. "George," I said, as airily as if we were teasing Ron. "I think we've outgrown a full-time education."

"Yeah, I've been feeling that way myself," he replied.

"Time to test our talents in the real world, d'you reckon?"

"Definitely."

We turned toward Umbridge and raised our wands in unison. "Accio Brooms!" We called, and in they zoomed, one still wearing the marks of its enslavement. The crowd parted as they shot through and stopped sharply in front of us.

"We won't be seeing you," I said pointedly to Umbridge, mounting my broom.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," said George.

I looked around at the crowd that had assembled, and decided to place our first advertisement.

"If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley—Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes," I announced. "Our new premises!"

"Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," said George, pointing at the bat in question.

"STOP THEM!" Umbridge shrieked, but it was useless. Her mindless cronies closing in, George and I kicked off and shot into the air above. I turned my broom toward the person (being?) without whom we would have been caught.

"Give her hell from us, Peeves."

He seized his hat from his head and saluted the two of us as we waved our last good-bye to the students of Hogwarts and soared out into the world.

Now, mind you, we've seen very little of any world as of yet.

Base was surprised—pleasantly, though—to be greeted by us in her office at eleven-thirty last night. Luckily for Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes…well, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes exists! The previous owners of number ninety-three had cleared out and cleaned up; they'd even left us all their shelves both in the store and inventory room. Our trunks had, of course, come straight to the flat above the shop once we'd left school, as had our many remaining boxes of madness. We've spent all of today unpacking and setting up, so even breaking my hand using a quill is a welcome break. George went out a little while ago to place an ad in the Daily Prophet for employees, as well as post a few flyers around town.

There's this strange tapping noise in the flat, though. I can't imagine why. The bathroom's fine, and so is the kitchen (not that we'll be using it a whole lot, but it's there, clean and working). No one lives above or below us, so that's out of the question, and people can't exactly come up to our windows to harass us into buying things from them.

Ohhhh! It's an owl. I can't be blamed for having no presence of mind; it's been a long two days. Anyway, I'm going to get that owl before the window and my eardrums give in.

It's from Angelina! It says—hang on, let me just stick it in here…

Dear Fred,

I don't mean to be a really clingy controlling girlfriend who tries to restrict your every movement and whatnot, but could you try not to drown the school in swamp and drop out leaving me with no clue what you're doing? Thanks, that'd be appreciated.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all for you following your dreams. In fact, I was excited for this prank shop. But not telling me plan B? We haven't been dating that long but I thought our relationship would have been at least important enough for you to warn me about life changing decisions. At least our friendship might have been.

It was you though, so I suppose I should've expected it anyways. Trish by now has created paradoxical phrases for us to use in describing yours and George's disappearances. I won't bother to tell them to you, because I'm sure she'll be writing her own letter soon enough. Or if not the four of us have already planned out our visit to your shop; we're doing it right after we get out of school. I hope anyway, if Umbridge doesn't manage to kick us out before then, which really wouldn't surprise me now. That flea ridden frog has a tongue so fat she can't even catch the flies on her many warts.

Enough of my elaborate metaphors, I miss you to be honest. I'm sure you're having fun setting up shop and knowing you've left chaos behind, but really, chaos isn't nearly as much fun unless you have a cute redhead to spend time laughing with afterwards. Not that that went through your head when you were being a total idiot.

Sorry, still a little angry. Can you tell I'm doing my best to control it? Point being, I expect you to write back immediately, because although I reinforce that I don't want to be clingy and still really like you both romantically and as an interesting person in general, I sort of need to know what the hell is going through your mind. Appreciated. And I'll see you soon, hopefully. I know the shop will be bustling by the time I get there, but I'm sure you can take time for your favorite customer.

Love;

Angelina

Typical Ang. Should've expected it. She's right in saying that I should've told her Plan B, but George and I had things planned out our own way. We weren't telling anyone else because we didn't want to get them in trouble with us. That's why Lee could only do so much as well.

Anyway, Angelina knows that. She's just a little upset is all, and this is how she shows it. I hope. On a brighter note, there's chaos at school! George and I can celebrate as soon as he gets back. We never really intended to start a revolution; we just wanted to rebel a bit. Now we've left more than just chaos behind…it's some sort of legacy, isn't it? I do believe I'm having a proud moment right now…excuse me…

And Ang. Ang is proud, too. I'll admit, it wasn't exactly the main subject of her letter, but it came across all the same. She's proud of us—of me—and she can't wait to come here. Maybe if she gets tired of the shop (because really, she's probably seen enough Weasley Wheezes to last her a lifetime), we could go out into town. Grab some food. Talk for a while.

Excellent. That being said, I'm going to go back down and lift a few more boxes. The sooner we set up, the sooner we get customers, and I'm ready for my favorite braids to walk through that door.

Authors' Note (Tev in italics and Proma in bold): Wow. This is finally finished. I really can't believe it, seems like we've worked on it forever, in a good way of course. Two years. Maybe more. I've lost count. All good things have to come to an end though, and look how we've ended up. Our writing skills have far improved by the first chapter I now think of as horrific. Agreed.

All of you, although we've lost some along the way, reading until the end is amazing. AMAZING. I never knew reviewers could be so wonderful; you left us hundreds of reviews, emailed us with saved chapters and encouraging messages when our story was taken down, even nominated us for an award. (About that, you can vote for us at freewebs . com/ajarofpens) Thank you. And it means a lot to me, as has my long standing partnership with Proma, we've both fronted up equal amounts of the work and it has been by far my best co-writing experience. My only one, but when something like this is your first co-writing experience you have an extremely positive outlook on the whole process. I'd love to keep contact with all of you, or read anything you've written if you've bothered to leave con crit reviews. E-mail at booksarebliss at hot mail, or for Proma Proma007 at A O L com Or both, you can love us at the same time.

I also hope we haven't left you disappointed, but this is my last fanfic ever. I myself have quite disappeared from the scene, but if the right story comes up, I'll write it. I won't stop writing though, and I hope all of you never lose your passions either. Thank you for sharing this experience with us.