Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Fifty miles away from the dilapidated phone booth, an old woman sat in an old-fashioned rocking chair, knitting a woolly scarf.

She heard a loud scream, shook her head and muttered, "Kids' music," disapprovingly and continued knitting. "I miss the Beach Boys. Now all we have to hear is this blasted Slipknot and something called My Chemical Romance. Why would you want to have a chemical romance? That sounds dangerous. Like a science practical gone wrong, or a mad doctor with no life."

Fifty miles away from the old woman, and inside the dilapidated phone booth, Mr. Weasley was screaming bloody murder, having been pelted with eggs by Peeves.

After realising that that the deafening screams were definitely masculine, Peeves got a good look at his victim.

He swore ferociously.

So did Mr. Weasley. Mr. Weasley looked at his attacker and scowled. "Aren't you that irritating spirit-thing that annoys the current caretaker at Hogwarts School?"

"Poltergeist, Weasel. And aren't you the crazy Muggle-obsessed father of the several red-haired children from Hogwarts School?"

"Oh, very clever, are you?" asked Mr. Weasley grimly as he wiped off the sticky residue of the eggs from his glasses. Suddenly remembering that he, in fact, was a wizard, he took out his wand, murmured, "Evanesco!" and the egg whites vanished.

"What are you doing here, Weas?"

"For your information, I work here."

"In this phone booth?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"Who're you calling names, Crazy?"

Mr. Weasley chose not to respond to the irritating poltergeist and dialled 6-2-4-4-2 into the phone.

"Why can't you Apparate?"

Mr. Weasley flushed red. "Well—if you must know—my licence has been revoked for…six months."

Peeves grinned evilly. "And why would that be?"

"For Apparating in a no-Apparition area."

"Oh." Not that that had meant anything to Peeves, considering that he was a poltergeist.

"Why are you here, might one ask? Don't you have better things to do…like rattling armour, sticking gum in key-holes, torturing the girl-ghost in the bathroom?"

"Myrtle's been grim lately. Poor little Spotty," Peeves answered, zooming about ostentatiously.

"With you around, I'm not surprised," muttered Mr. Weasley.

"If you must know, I'm trying to spite Dolores Umbridge. Is she still here?"

"Yes, and as toad-like as ever," smiled Mr. Weasley.

"Well, you could do me a little favour…"

"And why?"

"Because I still have some eggs here."

"Fine. What?"

"Keeping mum. Not a bad idea, you know?"

"Fine."

"Thanks, Baldy."

"Weasel, Weas, Crazy, BALDY! You know, I strongly object to all these names!"

"Sorry. Baldy. That's my personal favourite."

Unlikely as it was, it happened. Mr. Weasley kept quiet. He never liked Umbridge anyway…

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Two hours later…

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHH! MY RINGS! GIVE THEM BACK YOU FOUL, FURRY CREATURE! AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Peeves smiled. Oh, wait until he got the Canadian geese…