Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 7:5

After a short but tireless search for a solution to the riddle through their used copy of A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, and their tremendously used copy of Hogwarts, A History by Bathilda Bagshot (an edition their mother had gotten for free somewhere on Diagon Alley due to an unfortunate publishing mishap that erased the first thirty pages), the twins followed Angelina's advice and sought out their History of Magic instructor - the ghost, Professor Binns.  When they couldn't find him in his classroom or office, the twins asked Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, their semi-beheaded house ghost, who was haunting a section of the library devoted to decapitations and the development of the guillotine.  From there, they left for the castle grounds.  According to Nearly Headless Nick, a moniker their house ghost instantly rejected, Professor Binns enjoyed spending Saturday mornings by the lake, reading his favorite manuscript.  The twins found him half an hour later floating inches above the water's edge in the shade of a beech tree.  In his hand was a silvery, transparent book.

Although they had come with a purpose, Fred couldn't stop himself from asking the obvious question first.

"How can that be a ghost?"

"I beg your pardon, student?" Professor Binns droned, his downy translucent hair wafting in nonexistent wind.

"Your book," said George. "It's a ghost."

"Ah, yes.  I'm afraid this was the book I was reading when both of us were burned to cinders in the staff room so many years ago.  I seem to be unable to let it pass on.  Truth be told, it is a fine book."

"Burned to cinders?" Fred inquired.

"I fell asleep, and thus received a just punishment," said Binns in a slow, deflated voice. "One tries not to disrespect the author of such a tome by dozing during an afternoon read...but, though it enthralled me, it must have been one of the slower chapters, for I was drawn to such depths of sleep that, when I caught fire, I did not wake."

"How were you burned?" Fred pressed.

"Fire, naturally," their professor replied, unwittingly. "However, it may be the fault of my long-stemmed clay pipe.  It went missing somewhere between the realms of the living and the dead.  I do miss it so."

"That's very strange, sir," George reflected, his eyes skimming the calm surface of the lake. "Well, we wanted to ask you a question.  Pertaining to history, of course."

"In search of extra merits?" asked Binns. "There aren't many Gryffindor students who seek me out at week's end.  And first years?  Proceed with the matter and I will do my best to root out an explanation."

"Have you ever heard of a smarmy fellow here at Hogwarts, Professor?  He was known to be a bit of a coward."

"Why, yes.  Gregory the Smarmy.  Quite an old wizard - if you could call him that.  He was a figure from the time of the founders.  I believe he was a caretaker of sorts here at the castle.  The...Mister Filch, if you will, of the school's incarnation.  Seems fitting, as Argus Filch is also a rather smarmy fellow.  I do not know much else, I'm afraid."

George gave him a generous smile. "That's more than we expected, sir."

"If your interests in the founding members compel you to write a scroll each, I will award five points to Gryffindor."

Fred copied his brother's smile. "Nice of you to offer, but that's unlikely to happen."

With the key to the riddle in hand, the twins left the ominous lake and returned to the tower to find their common room filled with students.  The whole of Gryffindor House was celebrating the first free weekend.  With madness and excitement all around them, it was difficult for the boys not to dismiss the parchment for an hour and join Lee Jordan and the other first years by the hearth for a round of Gobstones, a game of skipping marbles and avoiding squirted goop, but they had to decline.  The anticipation of treasures and mischief was too powerful to ignore.