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

Chapter 14:4

Percy entered the Great Hall with a few other battered and bandaged fourth years. The twins sat back and relished the gossip surrounding the aftermath of their antics, while the house-elves nervously passed around platters of jam tarts, sandwiches, and cups of steaming tea. But no one was as frustrated as the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, which Charlie thoroughly enjoyed. He was quick to transfigure one of the tarts into a Puffskein before hand-delivering it to Tonks, his greatest rival, who hurled back an outpouring of harsh words and swinging limbs so severe that only an incoming flock of owls could remedy.

Gliding down through an open window near the enchanted ceiling, came over two dozen post owls, landing sporadically across the four long tables. They seemed just as bewildered as the house-elves by the appearance of so many students at that hour. Fred and George, being rather excited about what was soon to happen, hadn't even noticed the tawny owl that was waddling between stacks of books toward them. And they weren't the only ones not paying attention to their house tables. All eyes were on the snowy white owl that had come to rest in front of the Slytherin Seeker, Marcus Flint. It was carrying a dark red envelope. And, as everyone knew, it was a Howler.

He backed away from the owl, as the Slytherin students sharing his house table urged him to open it quickly. Even the post owl dismissed the proper manners by abandoning the Howler and fluttering off to the rafters. Others shuffled away from Marcus until eventually he was the only one left at the Slytherin table. The room was silent as the envelope hiccupped in place.

"Just get it over with, Flint. You're only going to make it worse," suggested his teammate, Ian Parsimonae.

"Oh, shut up," he replied desperately.

Murmurs broke out across the hall as a trail of smoke seeped from a corner of the red envelope. Soon the edges singed, the corners curled upward, and the envelope rocked in place.

"Nearly there..." said Fred, as Professor Snape entered the hall with a spiteful expression, his robes a tangled mess. "This is gonna be so good."

"It can't come quickly enough," agreed George.

An instant later, the envelope went berserk. It snapped flat, zoomed upwards, and detonated in a triumphant flash. With black scorch marks streaking across his face, Marcus leaned back from the angry letter, which had now sprouted an ugly mouth. Then an intense, female voice screeched out at a deafening volume.

"MARCUS, YOU DOLT — WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" the envelope declared, for the entire hall's amusement. "YOUR TERRIBLY CROOKED TEETH AND RUBBISH QUIDDITCH PLAYING HAVE BEEN AN EMBARRASSMENT TO YOUR FATHER AND I FOR FAR TOO LONG — YOU SHOULD QUIT AT ONCE — AND IN REGARDS TO YOUR LAST LETTER HOME, THE ANSWER IS STILL NO, YOU WILL HAVE TO KEEP CUTTING YOUR OWN HAIR — FURTHERMORE, YOU ABSOLUTELY MUST STOP RAIDING YOUR GRANDFATHER'S WIG COLLECTION — HE IS COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE IN HIS HAIRLESSNESS, YOU KNOW THAT — WHAT SHAME YOU HAVE BROUGHT ON US — IF YOU ARE INCAPABLE OF BEING A FULLY-FUNCTIONING WIZARD, CONSIDER CHARMING YOUR WAY INTO A DIFFERENT FAMILY — ONE THAT IS CAPABLE OF ABIDING SNIVELING DUNDERHEADS — GOODBYE FOR NOW, MAYBE FOREVER, MUM."

The whole of the Great Hall was speechless. And although his cheeks were flushed purple in anger and humiliation, Flint screwed up his smoke-stained face and stared down in confusion at the letter that shredded itself into a hundred pieces and gently cascaded to the table. Awkward laughter commenced when an explanation wove through the hall as to what had really happened. The voice of the Howler didn't belong to Flint's mother, he did not have a living grandfather, and the scraps of the torn note had apparently gathered to form the farewell statement:

Yours indubitably,

The Toilers of Trouble

Before Professor Snape could inspect the evidence, the Howler was reduced to ash. Around him, the rumors built upon themselves until everyone accepted that all the events of the day were brought about by the same individuals. Indeed, an impeccable sort of chaos was reigning throughout the school, and, surprisingly enough, no one had noticed the mutual air of achievement surrounding Fred and George Weasley — nor the owl that was pecking at the tray of sandwiches in front of them.