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

Chapter 14:3

"What about our exams, Professor?" asked Fred, with a grin that only his brother understood. Beside them, Morvin Ashbury's toad croaked an inescapable cloud of rancid bubbles.

"Please...just...get to work, Mister Weasley. Your pencil isn't going to transfigure itself."

"You said we could have the results today," George reminded her. "We were rather looking forward to it, weren't we, Fred?"

"That, we were."

"What in the name of Merlin?!" McGonagall blurted irritably, waving back the constant bubbles. "We will be retaking the exam on Monday, Mister Weasley. For that, you can thank some of your fellow students."

Morvin's cheeks went a shade of bright pink as his toad belched even more foul bubbles into the air, to the groan of those beside him.

"What happened to our exams, Professor?" inquired Angelina promptly.

"Tell me they blew up or something," Lee muttered. "I'm not too keen on seeing mine."

"They've disappeared, if you must know," she said, fanning more of the bubbles aside. "Not the papers, mind you, the writing...er...the answers. When I revisited them this morning, the ink had returned, but in the form of a bothersome sentence at the top of each page. 'Long Live the Toilers' — or some nonsense. Mister Ashbury, will you please control your toad! What in blazes have you been feeding it?"

"I can't get him to stop, Professor McGonagall. Honestly," he said meekly.

"Then we shall have another practical lesson in Transfiguration." She stared down at the miserable looking toad and pointed her wand at its throat. "Henda Muxio." The toad rattled in Morvin's grasp until it shrunk to a bar of soap. "There, that should —"

Almost instantly, the transfigured soap went haywire. An unending torrent of bubbles popped and dribbled from its streaky green surface, rapidly covering the floor and threatening to flood the room.

"Oh my stars!" said McGonagall with a jolt. She attempted to regain control of the enchantment to no avail. The thick bloom of lather was growing exponentially with each passing second.

"Bloody brilliant," the twins cried in unison, as they left their desks to ride the oncoming wave.

"Er — Professor?" pleaded an unseen student that could have been Aria Keane.

"What should we do?" whined the voice of Roger Davies.

"First years, if you will..." McGonagall bawled from somewhere nearby. "Please...vacate the classroom. Go now. Be on your way to —"

They never heard the end of her statement and were still clearing the soap bubbles from their robes as they entered the Great Hall, much earlier for lunch than they'd ever been. And, as they soon learned, Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration students were hardly the first to be excused prematurely that morning. The fourth years had been dismissed from an examination in Astronomy when the large orrery hanging in the tower whirled out of control like a ring of Bludgers, as the solar system unleashed a sudden and unprovoked attack. According to Oliver Wood, Percy was sent to the infirmary with a bright purple lump on his forehead due to a collision with Europa, one of Jupiter's larger moons.

And then there were the sixth years. They had been studying in the library for Care of Magical Creatures when a bewitched suit of armor was let loose on them. Apparently, the enchantment had been more problematic than the Marauders had foreseen, because Professor Kettleburn was still winded from the fight, propped against the hearth across the Great Hall, puffs of steam escaping his many whirring appendages.

"Poor bloke," said George, stifling a laugh as his brother took out a quill to strike through a line from journal number three.

"Can you believe this?" asked Lee, sliding down the bench toward them, his black hair still adorned with glistening bubbles. "The Toilers of Trouble. Who could they be, you think? Has to be a real wizard. Seventh years, most likely."

"The who of what?" Fred wondered through another yawn.

"You must be joking," said Towler, looking stunned. "The Toilers of Trouble. You were there in Transfiguration. Morvin's toad...the exams. And then Enchantments. They've been responsible for that, and loads more."

"What happened in Enchantments?" asked Nettles expectantly.

"Our door knocker went mental," said Fred.

"I'd say it was Quirrell who went mental," George corrected. "So, what you're saying is...when that cauldron exploded in Potions...that was them? The Toilers?"

"Yeah," said Lee without taking a breath, "and they're responsible for what happened to the Slytherin team during Quidditch. That's why their brooms were impaired. They weren't magical brooms at all."

George nodded proudly. "I like that last bit, Fred. Not even using magic to defeat their adversaries."

Fred nodded in kind. "That's the mark of a good wizard, George."

"You think they're just winding us up?" asked Angelina, vaguely. "Not one house has been spared."

Cedric Diggory dropped to the open seat beside the twins. "That goes double for the Hufflepuffs."

"We only just heard," said Alicia Spinnet.

"Heard what?" asked Fred, looking aghast.

"What happened, Ced?" George inquired, looking more aghast.

The boy hung his head. "Our Quidditch robes. The house colors were changed to violet and black. And now they read Pufflehuff."

"Don't forget the emblem," Morvin Ashbury said miserably, emerging through the crowd with neither a toad or bar of soap in hand.

"Right," Cedric continued. "Goodbye badger. Hello fluffy, purple puffskein."

"Oh, I like those," George noted with a bright smile.

"Gentle, cuddly...colorful!" Fred agreed. "What's not to like?"

"Quite a lot, actually," Cedric argued. "Tonks seems to think it's that fourth year, Victor Sparrow, pretending to be more than one person. Apparently, he's done things of this sort in the past." Cedric left their table and followed Morvin back to the throng of dismayed Hufflepuff students.

Fred leaned forward in his seat, wearing a puzzled expression. "Hang on, did Diggory say our Quidditch robes?"

"Didn't know he'd made the team," said George.

"I guess we don't talk to him very much anymore."

"Seems like it's all work, all the time these days," Fred mused, crossing off more lines from the journals. "I mean, it's natural, isn't it? Chap's our adversary now."

"Quite right."