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

Chapter 13:4

It was Saturday morning, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team was leaving the changing room in high spirits. The twins were so skittish as they stepped onto the pitch, with the high-climbing stands assembled all around them, that they swore the commentator's voice belonged to their classmate, Lee Jordan. Then their jaws dropped. There was a short, dark-skinned boy standing at the podium.

"...and for the last three years..." he declared in a resounding timbre, "Slytherin has dominated this game like an evil warlock on the hunt. Not that we would even know how to defeat such a fiend since we have yet to attend Defense Against the Dark Arts. No offense, of course, to the previous instructor, Professor Allergen, or to our illustrious headmaster for that strikingly insightful lesson on the evils of manipulating time. Speaking of...it's just about time we begin the first match of the year! I am your new commentator, Lee Jordan. Welcome to Quidditch!"

Fred and George celebrated with the rest of the school, realizing that there was no better place for their friend. The roar of anticipation was building as each Gryffindor player mounted their brooms and coasted forward to the center of the oval field, where the equipment chest was resting and Madam Hooch was standing with, of all people, Professor McGonagall in a referee uniform.

"What's this?" Charlie inquired. "Two referees?"

"I'm afraid not, Mister Weasley," said McGonagall, sounding cross. "The flying instructor has a concern she would like to voice in connection with...our new Beaters."

"I mean no disrespect when I say this," Hooch began, straightening up as she spoke. "But Fred and George Weasley are the least qualified students to fly a broomstick in a decade. I do not wish to see them plummeting to their deaths."

"They've gotten much better," Shep Quarter assured her.

"That's right. We've been training them ourselves," said Briers.

Wood and Graham carried on the team's defense of the twins, and she raised her hand to silence them. "I must protest. There are powerful balls hurling through the air with the sole intention of knocking you to the ground. And it is the Weasleys' job to seek them out! With a bat in hand, no less! I think I've said enough."

"What solution do you propose?" huffed McGonagall, as she adjusted her goggles. "The Gryffindor roster has one relief Beater. We would need to forfeit."

"There is but a single solution with which I am comfortable," said Hooch plainly, looking unappeasable. "Tethers."

"What?" Charlie spat with a laugh. "Broom tethers? Are they infants?"

"I thought this school was named Hogwarts, not Worrywarts," Quarter snickered.

"It is that...or I can revoke your appointments, which is within my purview. Team Captain, I look to you to make the suitable choice."

Charlie turned to Professor McGonagall, who shrugged in defeat. His smile faded, but not entirely. "Sorry, lads. We can't forfeit the first game of the year. Don't be too embarrassed, yeah?"

"You're joking!"

"Do we have no say in this?" Fred asked, as Madam Hooch closed in on them.

George's cheeks flushed pink as two thin ropes magically leapt from her bag and fastened themselves to their brooms. At the end of the ropes hung a leather strap that swung in the wind. A moment later it snapped around each of their left ankles and then slipped straight through a shiny brass buckle. The twins could hear a rolling laughter building across the stands.

"Feel better, do you?" asked McGonagall indignantly.

"I do, indeed," Hooch professed. "Good luck, everyone."