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

Chapter 12:3

Fred and George left Zonko's Joke Shop and looked back through the front window, trying to spot a cloud of yellow mist. The afternoon sped past them so quickly, the boys assumed they must have traveled through time.

From the moment the older students of Hogwarts entered Zonko's, until the October sun went down over the mountainside, the Weasley twins were racing across the back room for extra stock. Eventually Zonko was so overtaken by requests, the boys had to get creative so they could help without any of the Gryffindor students seeing them in Hogsmeade. If there was a gag or costume that needed replenishing, one of the twins would sneak an entire box to the correct aisle and stock the shelves from under the invisibility cloak. As Fred and George filled the store, jokesters filled the aisles, including the notorious Victor Sparrow, who purchased an entire crate of Filibuster's Fireworks and a wooden box called a Havoc, of which there was no description provided. It was mayhem, but the best sort of mayhem. The boys left Zonko's that day, learning firsthand how profitable the Halloween season could be for the owner of a joke shop.

"Back to Hogwarts, then?" said George, cheerily. "We don't want to risk being caught. There's quite a few older students hanging around."

Fred stuffed a whole chocolate frog in his mouth. Its enchanted legs wiggled between his lips as he replied, "There's an easy fix for that. Find a place where we won't be seen."

The candlelit walkway was swarming with multitudes of witches and wizards preparing for a night filled with festivities, but there was one building that remained as mirthless as ever. Fred and George made their way to the end of the twisting cobblestone street with their eyes fixed on the grimy door of the Hog's Head Inn. It was the only pub without Halloween decorations, although the gloomy sign and the gruesome, meaty skull over the lintel that once belonged to a large Hog spoke to the contrary. The twins peered through the darkened bay window for signs of life, and saw a few strange people milling about through the scant light of expiring candles.

"Not a Hogwarts robe in sight, brother," said Fred.

"No Hogwarts robes," agreed George.

As eleven-year-olds, the Weasley twins had a vague sense of what to expect when entering the large, vaulted room that was the Hog's Head Inn. They weren't at all dazed by the awful, indefinable stench, or confused by the sheer filth that coated every surface in centuries of neglect. Neither did they mind how the soles of their shoes flopped in and out of the muck as they traversed the stone floor with an air of purpose toward a booth below one of two crooked black staircases. Fulfilling their desire to go unnoticed, the pub was mostly empty, save for a scattered collection of the most bizarre folk the twins had ever seen. There were beastly men, practically a moon cycle away from becoming werewolves, and a rough-looking, hooded goblin gnawing on a small, scabby creature that was crying out for help. Most interesting was the man nearest their booth with different sized arms and legs, who George guessed to be the walking representation of a Potions lesson gone awry. A pair of red-haired twins were hardly invisible in such a dark place, but especially to one particular woman who was dressed in a furry violet cardigan with a smug, toadish grin and a green velvet bow that rested at the perfect center of her wide head. Her bug-eyed gaze was locked onto them as she descended the second set of stairs from across the pub.  Her spine elongated and her eyes narrowed so thinly, they nearly vanished, splitting her bloated pink face in slits. And yet, when she came near them, her eyes yawned open with her devious smile.

"What do we have here? Double double, toil..." she said loftily, poking George with the end of her wand, "...and trouble." She then jabbed at Fred. Both of the boys grasped at their arms, as they burned momentarily from the point where her wand had touched them.

"Are you barking mad?" blurted Fred.

"Who do you think you are, stabbing at us with your wand?" George grumbled, scooting away from the woman's unnerving grin.

"I...am Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. And you, you grubby little maggots, are beyond school boundaries without permission," she said in a high and calculated voice. Her right eyebrow lifted briefly.

"Hang on, is she the one Mum's always on about, Fred? Endlessly assuming we've done something unbecoming of a young wizard?"

"Yes, sending owls to the house and that. I'd say you're spot on, old boy," he replied coolly, before cocking his head in her direction. "Care for one of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Madam? I'm certain we can find one a toad would enjoy."

Fred and George scrounged through the bags Zonko had left for them, chewing the ends off their candy beans in search of something truly foul. Before Dolores Umbridge could reply, the Minister of Magic stepped out onto the first floor landing and, while adjusting her immensely tall, pointed hat with one hand, motioned for her assistant to return with the other. With a squeak and a rapid intake of breath, Umbridge placed her wand within the pages of the ledger she had been carrying and took a step back.

"There will come a day," she said in a soft, but steely tone. "Count on it."

The twins were far too busy searching through their loot to pay her threat any mind. Their distraction progressed even further when they each discovered a silver Sickle at the bottom of their bags. Fred immediately rolled his shiny new coin down the splintered tabletop, while George inspected the fine, Goblin inscriptions.

"Mister Goosefeather!" he cried. "Thank you very much, indeed!"

"A Sickle of my very own. I never thought I'd see the day," said Fred blissfully.