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

Chapter 12:2

The yellowing statue of Gregory the Smarmy glided easily back into place as the twins entered the throne room with wands lit and gripping some of the better broomsticks from the Quidditch supply cupboard. Flying to Hogsmeade guaranteed the twins a shorter trip through the tunnel, which left them time to explore the mysteries of the secret chest. It was hiding in the shadows, exactly where they had left it. Fred didn't bother to hang his jacket or set the broom down on the table. He rushed to the chest and aimed his wand at the tarnished lid.

"Alohomora!"

Dust clouded the room, snuffing George's wand. It was a few moments before they could see clearly, and Fred was brave enough to peer at the contents within. The twins had previously agreed that he would be the one to open the chest, in the event that some dormant creature would leap out and devour the first thing it saw.

"What's there, Fred?"

"Well, George...it's not filled with Galleons, if that's what you're asking."

Fred reached inside with both hands, his every feature brimming with excitement. George was less enthusiastic, because the only items his brother withdrew from the depths of the chest were books. As Fred stacked them on the table, George cleared the dust from the covers.

"Illegal potions, recipes for joke sweets, defensive tricks," he said, scanning the titles. "Here's that one the Marauders suggested, Clandestine Crimes and Other Pursuits. I mean, it's brilliant and all, but is there nothing else but books? Not much of a treasure, if you ask me."

Fred stood with a thieving smirk, a stack of worn leather journals reaching up to his chin. He toppled them with a queer laugh and they fanned out across the table. "Do you have any idea what these are, my dear brother? The journals you see in front of you list all kinds of plans and ideas for mischief and rule-breaking! You wanted a treasure? Have at it!"

For the next hour, Fred and George pored over the hand-written journals of the four Marauders. At times, one of them would break out in laughter, while the other would quickly fold the corner of a page to recall it better later on. The boys were in awe of the wit and absurdity of their fine predecessors. More so, they were curious why they had never heard of the Marauders before discovering the map in Filch's office.

"Something must have happened to them, right?" said George as they stepped into the shelter of the Forbidden Forest. He propped their broomsticks against the broken stone wall, bundled their school robes at the mouth of the tunnel, and sealed the door. "You can't muck about for years and not get caught at some point."

"Maybe they were too good to be caught," said Fred. "They had to be cracking good wizards to make the map. What if Zonko's one of them?"

"Let's ask him, shall we?"

The moment the Weasley twins entered Hogsmeade, they were overwhelmed by the festive decorations. Enchanted pumpkins were whittling cursed expressions into their orange skin, tiny spiders sculpted great cobwebs of ghosts in the trees, and the sweet smells of cinnamon and marshmallow greeted them at every turn. The twins were finally able to experience the thrill of celebrating one of the wizarding world's most honored holidays.

On the High Street, Zonko Goosefeather was standing on a wobbly stool in his front window, hanging enchanted streamers of hissing black cats from a curtain rod. The twins hid under the cloak before he could see them approaching. Then, as silently as possible, they opened the door to the joke shop and crept inside.

Zonko was humming a tune when a bell chimed overhead. His giant toad croaked from an overstuffed cot at the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper level. The shopkeeper turned to greet his customers with a silly grin, but found the room empty. Shrugging, he reached into his breast pocket for a blue, plastic whistle, placed it casually between his lips, and resumed his balancing act atop the stool. And just as the Weasley twins were preparing to give him the scare of a lifetime, Zonko blew the whistle and a cyclone of gusting wind smashed into them, sending the cloak across the room.

"Ha-ha! Huckster's Vuvuzela, never fails," Zonko hooted with a single, jubilant clap. "I knew it was you. And an invisibility cloak, no less! Well done." Fred and George rose unsteadily to their feet. Zonko hopped down from the stool, pocketed the whistle, and gathered up the cloak. "My...what a discovery. Frankly, I'm spellbound. I didn't think your lot could afford something like this."

"We can't," said Fred, fingers twisting in his ears.

"However did you come upon it?"

"That miraculous find is Dumbledore's," said George affably. "We aren't supposed to have it in our possession, strictly speaking."

The shop owner handed the cloak to George and shook his sizable, round head. "Really, boys. If I were wearing a hat, I'd gladly take it off for you. Fine mischief-makers, you are!"

"Zonko," Fred started, watching the shopkeeper's expression closely. "Do the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, or Prongs mean anything to you? We found some old journals of theirs back at Hogwarts. Seem to be in the trade, if you get my meaning."

"No, can't say I'm familiar. Undoubtedly, they acted under pseudonyms. Most of the famous ones have made themselves known, when the time was right. Our trade is all about timing, boys. I would think that, were those four still at the game, someone would be able to identify them. The trade is also about seeking recognition from your betters," he replied easily. "Brilliant name, Wormtail. I'm imagining a spring-loaded plate of crusty, worm bolognese." Beside them, the great toad hobbled over to the door. Zonko glanced through the window and saw a horde of students marching down the gravel road from Hogwarts. "Maybe next year. To the back office, yes? If I need something, just pass it through the window. It's all clearly marked. Give me an hour or so, and there's a splendid bag of sweets in it for you!"