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

Chapter 14:2

"W-W-Weasleys! You will elevate your h-heads and pay attention to the l-l-lesson," Quirrell ordered, his voice trembling. "I will remove house p-points, if pushed."

A glaze lifted from their eyes, as they attempted to focus on their surroundings. The diffused light of the dungeon classroom begged them to rest. They could hardly keep their eyelids open more than a hair, because they'd just completed a very productive seven-hour exercise in the discipline of mischief-making. While everyone had been sleeping, the twins skulked through the castle, setting traps and launching schemes from the journals. After a victory on the Quidditch pitch, their confidence had never been higher. Adventurous times were upon them, and they had to stay awake to see them through.

"Now, as I was s-saying —"

Thump...thump...thump...

Someone was at the door. The twins straightened up.

Professor Quirrell stood from his desk and walked to the entrance of the classroom. As he opened the door, he stammered, "Yes, h-how may I h-h-help you?"

There was no one standing there. No one at his door and no one in the hazy dungeon corridor. His eyes came to rest on the door knocker before he scanned the hallway a second time. Whoever had used the knocker could not have gotten down the hallway quick enough.

"Did you hear anyone r-running away?" Quirrell asked the class hesitantly. "It came from m-my d-d-door knocker. The sound was unmistakable."

"I didn't hear anything, Professor," said Fred, through a yawn.

"Maybe it's all in your head," said George.

Adjusting his purple turban nervously, their professor returned to the scrolls on his desk. But before he could open his mouth to continue their lecture on the origins of Flora Ferentina, the commonly used aroma enchantment, the knocking returned.

Thump...thump...thump...

Quirrell left his seat at a quicker pace and hurried to the sound. Once more, the open doorway revealed that no one was present. He narrowed his eyes at the flaming torch brackets, fighting the urge to explore the hallway, and closed the door. The twins hid their gradually twisting smiles as Professor Quirrell edged his way back to the front of the classroom. He hadn't even gotten halfway when the knocking erupted a third time.

Thump...thump...thump...

He dashed across the room and, in one fluid motion, seized the rusty handle, threw open the door, and raised his wand, only to discover that the corridor was, indeed, bare. Carefully, and without the remotest hint of fear, Quirrell sealed the door. Yet this time, he stayed within the archway. And when the knocking returned as expected, he did not move.

"There it is again," Fred remarked eagerly.

George raised a confident finger, "Yes, I heard it that time. Perhaps —"

"Shush!"

Through a muffled spell, Quirrell carefully aimed his wand at one of the bolts for the knocker that pierced the door. Gradually the iron glowed orange, searing the wood slats. Quirrell lowered his wand with an abject frown souring his expression. Then he opened the door a final time. The knocker, which had been rapping the door of its own free will, halted once again. The twins laughed into their hands as the timid professor lost his patience entirely. He wheeled in place, his wand outstretched. The lionhead knocker broke free and streaked through the air, sending slivers of wood across the corridor. The few students in class strained to see the activity from their seats as the red-hot door knocker was sent to the furthest wall, where it burst into a cloud of glittering flecks. As the dust settled, they noticed a dark brown owl swooping through the shimmering mist to deliver him a message. Quirrell wrestled the envelope from its wing.