A/N:
Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S11, R4
Team: Caerphilly Catapults
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: Write about someone who slips out of trouble time and time again.
Your story, along with your position's prompt, must contain a ghost as a main character.
Additional Prompts:
(au/occupation) thief
(dialogue) "If only it were that easy."
(object) map
Word count: 2326
Betas: Dora, Queenie, Rose
This is a not-exactly-non-magical AU where there's only a small group of sorcerers, and ghosts are not a common occurrence and normally can't be seen or heard by people.
-x-x-x-
George was in big trouble now. Standing on his toes and clutching at the bars fixed in the narrow window just below the ceiling of his cell, he pulled himself up to see the square where the gallows stood menacing in the center, ready for tomorrow's execution – his execution.
The transparent form of the ghost of his twin brother floated beside him.
"Oh, that doesn't look pretty," George whispered to him.
"I know," Fred murmured. "I've seen it outside."
"It seems I'll be joining you very shortly," George said, trying to keep his tone light, but he couldn't help the small catch in his throat.
"Hey, you still have a few hours to perform a miraculous escape," Fred offered, making his brother snort.
"If only it were that easy."
"It never is," Fred admitted. "But we always manage to make it out alive." George cast him a pointed glare and Fred laughed. "All right, you managed to make it out alive thus far. So, you know, just hang in there." Fred winked with a wide grin. "Get it?"
George chuckled. That was funny. He let go of the bars and dropped onto the hard stone floor. He sat down on the ledge he had for a bed as his brother glided through the air.
They were silent for a while. Fred floated around the cell, which was something he had taken to doing instead of pacing. When their eyes met, Fred's ghostly face brightened up the way it did when he was thinking about something funny.
"Do you remember that time when we stole the executioner's axe right out of his hands?"
George snickered, a wide grin forming on his face as he thought back to their teenage years when he and Fred were just starting up their profession.
"Goblin-made," he remembered. "One of the first jobs we landed. Remind me again, why did we decide to go for it in front of a large crowd and during an execution, instead of just sneaking into the guy's home?"
Fred raised an eyebrow.
"Because somebody couldn't stand by and watch a magical creature get its head chopped off. Even at the risk of switching places with said creature."
George beamed. It had definitely been their most improvised and reckless heist.
He had hoped they would be able to blend into the crowd before anyone figured out what was happening, and it might have worked if it weren't for the fact the square had been so heavily guarded that day.
They had been surrounded within seconds, and the only way left was back to the executioner and the creature, which – luckily for them – happened to be a winged one. They had hopped onto its back and a moment later they soared through the sky on a hippogriff.
"It worked out for the best, though," George reminded him. "It's how we met that big fellow, Hagrid."
The hippogriff had flown straight back to its owner, a very strange but good-natured sorcerer, who had been so happy to get the creature back alive that he offered them a generous compensation and insisted they stay for tea and cookies, on which they had almost broken their teeth. Then he treated them to some sort of whisky for sorcerers, which the twins fully blamed for their agreeing to his job proposition.
"You want to keep a dragon here?" Fred had slurred, struck by a coherent thought all of a sudden while fighting to keep his eyes open. "In a wooden hut by the forest?"
"Well, yeah," Hagrid had answered matter-of-factly. "Why d'you ask?"
Fred had quickly shaken his head.
"No reason." Then, when Hagrid had gone to fetch another bottle of whisky, he whispered to George, "He does know they breathe fire, right?"
And that was a question they should have asked themselves before they accepted the job.
"Sure," Fred exclaimed sarcastically. "If by 'for the best' you mean getting a second-degree burn on our behinds." They both burst into laughter. "It's unbelievable that we didn't end up as dinner that day."
"Somehow it didn't occur to me that stealing a dragon egg would involve dealing with a grown dragon," George admitted.
"Right!" Fred threw his hands up in the air theatrically. "Because they keep dragon eggs stored in a hen house!"
"Ha! If only it were that easy." George grinned "Then anyone could be a thief of magical objects!"
"We got better at it in time," Fred stated fondly.
"Ever since we got the map," George agreed.
They had always been good at sneaking into places and they always found magical artifacts fascinating, even though they were not sorcerers themselves. They quickly discovered, however, that sorcerers were prepared to pay very generous sums of money for the things the twins liked to steal and so they turned their mischief into a business.
When they were still in school, they already had several successful magical artifact heists behind them, so it was ironic that they got caught stealing something as mundane as a list of test questions from the teachers' room one day.
The caretaker, Mr. Filch, had dragged them to his office, locked the door, and went to get the headmaster, after screeching at them that they were getting expelled.
Fred had walked over to the window and looked out.
"It's not that high," he had said. "Do you think the old creep knows our names?"
"Nah," George had answered. "He doesn't even remember all of the teachers' names."
"Still, he could say it was twins," Fred had noted, making George snort.
"Like we're the only twins in this school?"
He had joined his brother by the window, already planning their route down the wall. Fred had grinned.
"Do you want to make a run for it then?"
George had answered with an identical grin of his own.
"Not before going through his stuff."
Most of the things in Mr. Filch's office had been complete junk, but they had found the map in his desk drawer. That day, not only had they escaped expulsion from school, but also acquired an artifact which made them into legends among both thieves and sorcerers. There was no magical object they weren't able to steal since then.
The map – a magical object itself – showed an elaborate network of underground and hidden passages in the city that they never even knew existed. Moreover, with the use of a proper password that, surprisingly, didn't require any magical abilities, the map also revealed the exact location of people in the area. And so, with the map as their best friend in the art of thievery, they had gone from grabbing axes and dragon eggs to sneaking into the most protected manors and stealing exclusive magical treasures.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the dungeons, and George paled.
"Is it time already?" he whispered.
Fred frowned, floating up to glance out the window.
"It seems a bit early." Fred's ghostly features sobered when he held George's gaze. "I'm with you till the end, Georgie," he said earnestly.
"I know, Freddy."
George spread out on his bed, putting his hands behind his head as if on vacation. He wasn't going to give the guards the satisfaction of seeing him distressed.
The man who stopped before his cell, however, was no guard. He had long silver hair and beard, and just one glance at him told George he was a sorcerer. He rolled his eyes internally. They wouldn't even leave him alone shortly before his death?
This job is killing me, he thought, then almost laughed out loud. This job actually was killing him, quite literally – or was about to, at dawn. Being a thief was never the safest occupation.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," the sorcerer said cheerfully, as if they'd bumped into each other in a tavern. "May I have a moment of your time?"
George hummed.
"I don't know." He twisted his lips. "I am quite busy."
The old man smiled kindly.
"I suggest you make time, Mr. Weasley. I think you might be interested in my offer."
"The man has a nerve." Fred snorted. "What does he think you can do from here?"
George flicked his eyes to his brother, then back to the sorcerer with a smirk. He could play along.
"What can I do for you, sir? And please, bear in mind, my abilities are rather… limited at the moment."
The man conjured up a chair and sat down on it complacently.
"I'm looking for a new butler."
George blinked and raised his eyebrows at the absurd statement.
"I'm sorry?" he said, a short laugh escaping his lips.
The sorcerer looked at him over his half-moon glasses.
"Given your current situation, I'd think you might be interested."
"Given my current situation, I'd think you'd realize they won't release me just because some old man needs a butler," he pointed out, quite sure now his visitor was cuckoo.
He just kept smiling unwaveringly, his eyes twinkling.
"They will, if I ask them."
"Really?" George sat up, intrigued, and regarded the sorcerer's robes curiously. "You're not even on the King's Council," he noted.
"Indeed, I am not," he admitted, "but my word happens to mean a lot around here. If I vouched for you and assured the king you wouldn't cause trouble or try to escape, I could have you out of here within minutes."
In the corner of his eye, George saw Fred move around excitedly, but he refrained from looking at him. Over the years, he had learned to act in front of people as if his brother wasn't there so that they wouldn't think he was crazy.
"And you think you can trust me?" he asked teasingly.
The man pierced him with his gaze as if he could see right through him, making him shudder.
"I think I can, yes," came the good-natured answer.
Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling the scrutinizing stare brought on, George crossed his arms on his chest. It wouldn't hurt to hear what the weird old man had to offer, although he suspected exactly what services he truly required of him. Leaning back against the stone wall, he narrowed his eyes.
"So what exactly would this job entail?"
"Well, you would serve me my drinks and my food," he said slowly.
"And?" George enquired, his lips lifting in a smirk.
"I could also use help collecting ingredients for my potions."
George heaved a bored sigh and rolled his eyes.
"And?" he persisted.
For a moment, the sorcerer was silent. Then, as if he wasn't proud of what he was about to admit, a deep sadness entered his eyes.
"And I'd like you to steal something for me."
George made a shocked face.
"Me?" He placed his palm on his chest theatrically. "Steal something? Good sir, who do you think I am?"
Fred snickered and, unable to keep up the pretense, George felt a huge grin form on his face. The old man's features brightened up as well.
"Well, you are the infamous thief of magical objects," he pointed out.
George sprang to his feet and took an extravagant bow.
"Whatever it is you desire, I can get it for you. I do have one condition, though."
"Other than getting you out of a death sentence?" the man asked not unkindly.
George stepped closer to the barred door, holding his gaze.
"When they arrested me, they took something from me. I want it back."
For a minute, the sorcerer just kept smiling. Then he stood up and waved a hand, making a box appear on the chair.
"Let's see what we have here, then." He reached into the box and hummed. "I don't expect you'd be this attached to the half-eaten sandwich now, would you?"
"Ugh!" A sound of disgust came from Fred's direction when the sorcerer pulled out George's meal from weeks ago that showed a whole palette of colors from green to black.
"They still have that?" George twisted his lips. "No, I mean the map, obviously!"
The man took out a parchment, which contained a detailed map of the city, and scrutinized it with interest. Unconsciously, George took another step closer, gripping the bars.
"This is a magical object," he noted.
"It's just a map, old man," George insisted, rather rudely.
He looked up at George with a twinkle in his eye.
"Of course it is," he said mockingly but in a good-natured tone. "May I ask how you acquired it?"
"It just fell into my hands one day." George made an innocent face.
"You mean you stole it," he inferred with a small smile.
George shrugged.
"It wasn't much use to the previous owner. Seriously, it was just sitting in his desk drawer. Seemed like a waste."
He had to resist glancing at Fred again. The map had eventually become much more than a tool for them. They were aware of the risks their occupation brought, so they took proper measures. It had always been the two of them against the world, and they couldn't bear the thought of having to live without each other.
So, with help from a friendly sorcerer, they made sure that if one of them died, his ghost would stay by the other for as long as he lived. An anchor was needed for this kind of magic – an object to which their spirits would be temporarily bound. And what object better to choose than the one that never left their side?
"I can't work without my map," George insisted.
"So be it then." The old man shrugged. "You can have it back."
George beamed with satisfaction.
"Then we have a deal, Mr… ?"
"Dumbledore," he said with a kind smile. "Albus Dumbledore."
Both Fred and George stared at him with their mouths open. The greatest sorcerer in the world willing to save George from the gallows so that he can steal something for him? Well, this was an interesting turn of events.