Disclaimer: I do not own Harry's brilliant world or anything in it.

"Boys! Ron, Harry, and Hermione should not be the only ones doing the work around here!" barked Mr. Weasley as his twin sons flopped lazily down onto their bunks. "When Muggles go camping everyone pitches in!"

"We're not Muggles, Dad," groaned George for the umpteenth time.

"And we're not technically camping. We're only staying until the World Cup is over," added Fred. Mr. Weasley gave them an annoyed look.

"You know what I meant," he huffed. "Now if you'd be so kind, we'll be needing firewood to make dinner with—"

"Aw, Dad can't we just have normal food?"

"No! We are going to do this the proper way, like real Muggles!"

"But—"

"No buts, Georgie. Now, Ron, Harry, and Hermione are out getting water, so why don't the two of you do your part? Even Ginny and I will help, right dear?"

Ginny looked far from pleased with this arrangement, but didn't say anything to protest. Fred and George barely managed to hide their snickers at the look on her face.

"Sure, Dad,"

Mr. Weasley beamed at her before continuing, "Right. We'll try to find the matches, then. Bye, you two! Don't get into any trouble now—no gambling with Mr. Bagman unless I'm with you—watch out for hags!"

"Bye, Dad," the twins chorused as they stepped out of the tent.

Fred and George set off lazily, not intending to return for at least half an hour so that they could get a good chance to see the camp properly, and hopefully meet some witches. Though it was close to sunset, the amount of activity in the camp was almost chaotic. Witches and wizards were wandering in every pathway, screaming about merchandise they sold at the top of their lungs. There were warlocks who could balance three cauldrons at once on their noses; old witches gossiping excitedly together, swapping stories; dragon breeders who walked around suspiciously, occasionally sauntering over to someone who looked like they didn't have anything to do with the Ministry and offering eggs; even, as George pointed out, a man who looked uncannily like a vampire.

"Wonder why Dad told us to look out for hags?" asked Fred awhile later.

"No idea. Maybe he believes those stories about them cutting off human fingers and using them as toothpicks . . ."

"Nah, that's true, George. Lee even said that one time—"

"Fred! Look over there!"

"What? Where?"

"At the edge of the wood!"

While Fred was still searching fruitlessly for the source of his brother's excitement, George took matters into his own hands and grabbed Fred's shoulders, wrenching them around so that he could not miss what he'd spotted. Fred's eyes lit up.

"I don't believe it!"

"Are they real?"

"Must be. But I've never even seen one before-"

"They're even better than Bill said they would be!"

A small group of veela were standing in a tight knot before them, chatting animatedly amongst themselves. Their silver hair glistened in the evening sunlight like shards of glass, their bright eyes alight with excitement. George punched Fred playfully in the arm as if to reassure his twin that he wasn't dreaming, then said mischievously, "How difficult do you think it would be to get two of them alone with us, Freddie?"

"Not too difficult," answered Fred, matching his brother's roguish tone. "if we come up with a good enough plan,"

"D'you think we could convince them we're on a Chocolate Frog card?"

"Nah. We're going to have to come up with something better than that . . ."

"Fred, why can't I be the heroic one this time?"

"Because, George, we want the veela to fall madly in love with a dashing young wizard, and I'm the handsome one of the two of us."

"You are not! Mum always said—"

"—that I was better looking."

"That's not true! Just because you were born first—"

"—means that I have more authority and I say that I get to be the heroic one!"

George scowled at his brother, arms crossed tightly across his chest, one foot tapping impatiently on the forest floor. The twins' whispered argument, carried out behind a small grouping of trees that grew close enough together to create a hiding place, was in danger of being loud enough for the veela standing nearby to hear. Recognizing this, George took a calming breath and muttered, "Fine. This time you get to be the hero, but next time it's my turn! And you owe me five Chocolate Cauldrons, which are the only payment I will accept to appease me."

Fred clapped his brother warmly on the back. "Good man, Georgie. I knew there was a reason I loved you so much."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I want my Cauldrons as soon as we get back to the Burrow."

"Deal. Now let's find you a suitable costume…"

Within ten minutes, George was outfitted with a ragged cloak the twins had stolen from a nearby tent, his face smeared with mud, hair mussed up to a level of untidiness that would make James Potter proud. Fred wolf-whistled as he looked his brother up and down critically. "You look absolutely ravishing, George. If I were a veela, I'd pick you over a dashing young wizard any day."

"If you were a veela, we wouldn't have to bother with ridiculous plans because I'd already be dating you. I'm that smooth." said George. Fred snickered with disbelief.

"Sure you are. Now let's get going, before the veela scarper."

Without further ado, Fred leapt dramatically from behind the trees and meandered coolly to where the group of veela was still standing, talking and giggling amongst themselves without the slightest concern for the troves of wizards ogling at them from afar. They paid attention, however, when Fred Weasley appeared before them, bold as brass with a smug smile stretched across his face. "Hello, ladies," he crooned. "Are any of you using a Confundus Charm, or are you just naturally mind blowing?"

To both twins' amazement, the veela giggled. Instead of letting the shock appear on his face, however, Fred played it cool and continued, "Wow. You look even more beautiful when you laugh. I wouldn't have thought it was possible."

"Such a sveet tongue for a young vizard," said one of the veela, almost mockingly. Her voice was melodious, like hundreds of little bells ringing. "Vot's your name, leetle boy?"

"You can call me Felix," Fred said with a sly wink.

"Felix?" one of the veela questioned. She sounded genuinely curious, which Fred took as a good sign. They were interested in him.

"Yeah, as in Felix Felicis, because one of you beautiful ladies is going to get lucky with me," The veela laughed again and moved closer to Fred.

"Vell, Felix, I could think of a few reasons vy none of us vould like to — vot vas it you called it? 'get lucky' — veeth you today," said the veela who had spoken before. "The first of vich being that you don't look old enough to know the difference betveen a branch and a bowtruckle."

Fred looked indignant. "Excuse me? For your information I know many things about the forest. I know about a rumor that I bet you lovely ladies haven't heard yet. Apparently there's a deranged Tibetan warlock meandering around the campsite!"

"A vot?" asked one of the veela, looking frightened.

"A Tibetan warlock," Fred repeated. "They're saying he's barking mad. He runs around the woods all day screaming about ducks and Floo powder, and whenever anyone gets near him he pretends to be a carrot. I saw him once already today and he tried to attack a group of Swedish witches. Seemed to think they were roasting his ducks for a dinner party. I'd watch out for him, if I were you, he sounds quite dangerous."

The veela gasped, looking horrified. They stared at the surrounding trees with wide eyes, as if expecting the warlock to jump out of nowhere and attack them.

As it turned out, they were right.

Within seconds of Fred finishing his speech, George jumped from his hiding place with an insane shriek, waving his arms and jumping up and down like a monkey. His brother had to fight back laughter as George loped toward the group of veela, drool sliding down his chin, eyes crossed, still screaming like a maniac.

"MY POOR WATER FOWL!" George screeched, getting closer to the veela every second. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DUCKS? FRIED THEM? MASHED THEM? STUCK THEM IN A STEW? HOW DARE YOUUUUUU!"

Fred, with a heroic look back at the veela, stood in front of them with his wand drawn, bellowing, "Never fear, fair dames! I'll take care of this buffoon!" With that, Fred brandished his wand, ready to send out a spell to slow George's efforts to reach him, when suddenly—

"NO!" Fred yelled. His wand had turned itself into a rubber chicken before his eyes. George stopped running towards them. The veela stopped being petrified and began to look confused. "Damned fake wands! In the name of Merlin's giant—"

"Vy has the varlock stopped?" whispered one of the veela. Fred frantically searched his pockets for his real wand, but it was in vain. How was he supposed to look heroic saving the veela from his made-up threat if he only had a rubber chicken to defend himself with? The hilarity of the situation seemed to hit George right at that moment, for he doubled over laughing. The veela, however, were looking a lot less confused now that they realized George wasn't actually a deranged Tibetan warlock coming to take revenge. Instead they looked furious. So furious, in fact, that they were beginning to literally shake with rage . . .

"George! Stop laughing! It's not funny! We're—" but Fred's angry shout was interrupted by a birdlike cry behind him. Turning quickly on the spot, he found himself face to face not with a group of beautiful women, but rather a group of angry winged creatures that literally had fire in their hands waiting to be thrown. Fred gulped.

"Now, ladies, it was only a joke, I can explain—"

"We were only messing around, we didn't mean any harm, honestly—"

"Can't we talk about this in a civilized way?"

The veela were advancing menacingly on the twins now, beaks snapping at the air as if they wished they could snap at flesh instead. Fred and George backed away slowly while they tried to talk their way out of it, but they could tell they were wasting their breath. This was confirmed as one of the veela growled, in a voice that sounded nothing like bells, "You'd better start running, Felix!"

Fred and George turned and sprinted as fast as they could through the trees without looking back.