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

Chapter 15:3

Early Saturday morning, the statue of Gregory the Smarmy slid back into place as Fred and George tiptoed down the hallway with a crate of magical baking supplies. They had just returned from a quick jaunt to Hogsmeade and had deposited a few items into the founders' room, including a sealed box of Cauldron Cakes, one package of Dungbombs, and one of the more tolerable Whomping Willow saplings (that they lovingly named Thwacks), along with a miniature thundercloud and a floating, artificial sun orb that they had pilfered from a locker of gardening goodies Professor Sprout failed to hide behind the shrubs in greenhouse one.

In order to retrieve the supplies that Zonko had set out for them, the boys needed to be stealthy. The older students were permitted once again to visit the village of Hogsmeade before the Christmas holiday, and Fred and George did not intend on being discovered. They were plotting one of their most involved pranks, after all. With another Quidditch match mere hours away, and with the house-elves soon to be on their feet, there was no time to lose. They had to get baking.

"What about the owls?" said George in a soft voice, as they walked briskly down the chilly corridor.

"We would need hundreds to do the prank right," said Fred evenly. "We may need to go without, for the time being. Filch dragged a mattress up to the Owlery again...hoping to catch the Toilers."

"Foolish old git."

George led with the Marauder's Map, and they stepped discreetly down flight after flight of stairs on their way to the Entrance Hall. When they finally reached the lacquered door beneath the immense marble staircase, Fred unfolded the Invisibility Cloak.

"We're about to enter house-elf territory, and those blighters have a nasty habit of disappearing from the map."

"Good thinking," said George, as they crept into the silent, torch-lit corridor. "I knew there had to be a reason we were sent to the kitchens so often for detention."

"Now which of you is the guilty party?" Fred squinted at the wall of paintings lining the passage, each a vibrant still-life of ornamental serving dishes overflowing with food. "That one, there. The silver fruit bowl."

They edged up to the oil painting and peered closely at the sumptuous mound of varnished, multi-colored fruit. They looked real enough to eat.

"Where is that green pear?" George asked uncertainly, poking at the painting with his forefinger.

"Ah, there you are," said Fred in a clever tone. "Thought you could hide behind the bananas, did you? You can't escape us. Tickle tickle."

The pear in the giant, glimmering bowl squirmed and trembled under his finger before expanding out from the canvas to form a soft, sea-green door handle. George pulled on the handle and, like the portrait of the Fat Lady, the frame gave way, pivoting easily from the stone wall to reveal the concealed antechamber.

"Tickling the pear. That's lovely magic, that is."

A moment later, the painting sealed behind them, and they entered the passage with their lit wands held vertically. Even in the dense darkness, they could see that the kitchen was as vast as they recalled, and far easier to navigate without hundreds of house-elves scurrying about with uneven dinner trays teetering on their stubby, gray heads.

Fred moved quickly to dump out Zonko's crate of ingredients while George went searching for a rolling pin and as many baking pans as he could find. They clanged together as he transported them to the counter.

"Shh!" Fred breathed, as he leafed excitedly through one of the journals in search of the recipe.

George's gaze traveled to the Marauder's Map. The hallways were undisturbed and the house-elves were sleeping in the murky room to their right. More intriguing than this was how all of their minuscule ink dots were stacked in perfect columns and rows. So, while Fred laid out their materials, George wandered toward the room.

"Where're you going?" Fred whispered. "We haven't the time to go exploring!"

"I'm not doing anything of the sort," George replied playfully, as he slithered into the shadows.

Even at age eleven, Fred was astutely aware that house-elves were an inquisitive breed. Though he wanted to avoid their unnecessary questions, he couldn't help but be drawn to where his brother was heading. Just beyond the high-ceilinged room under the Great Hall, where four long wooden tables were often overloaded with platters and goblets before being sent up to the corresponding house tables above, was a cavernous room with walls that were punctured by small, catacomb-like chambers, each shielded by dingy floral curtains on brass rods.

"Is this...where they sleep?"

"Must be."

The twins moved hesitantly toward one of the curtained cavities when they heard a noise coming from the kitchen. Someone was singing. They set off at a run, but it was too late. Standing beside the arched brick oven was Dandy and seven other meagerly dressed house-elves.

"My Lords!" one of them squeaked, gliding over to the twins with a bow. "Whatever brings you here?"