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

Chapter 15:7

The doors to the Great Hall went unopened as the entire school queued up along the marble steps, standing shoulder to shoulder. At the front were the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students, their faces painted in their house colors, beside a few professors who were drenched in some unidentifiable, but fetid, green ooze. Madam Hooch, who felt responsible for Shep's injury, paced outside the doors in her referee uniform, thumbing the silver whistle at her chest. Everyone was dressed for the winter storm, and the teams were still in their Quidditch robes. All were keen to learn why Professor Dumbledore had stopped the match before it began, and if his interruption had anything to do with the prank that Professor Quirrell (and others) had endured.

Keeping watch nearby, Mrs. Norris crouched within the sculpted entryway to the gallery of moving staircases. For some unknown reason, she was determined to block access to the stairwell. When any of the students came close to trespassing her domain, she barked loudly at them. Cedric Diggory was the first to laugh, as many of the students wondered if the Toilers of Trouble had been responsible for bewitching the cat's voice box.

Mr. Filch slunk into the archway, a muscle twitching in his cheek. The bedraggled cat looked up at him, her red eyes gleaming. With a wolf-like growl, she rubbed her matted fur against his filthy pant leg. The caretaker bent to her level and lifted Mrs. Norris to his chest.

"The culprit's in our midst, my sweet," Filch drawled, as the cat hissed at the onlookers. "And they'll pay for what they done to ya."

A moment later, the house-elves waded through the mass of immobilized students with trays of hot cocoa. When Fred and George reached out for a steaming cup, Dandy swooped forward to snatch them away. The cocoa splashed out of the cups and onto his oxford shoes, and yet he was surprisingly unfazed. The High Elf was too busy staring suspiciously in their direction.

"It weren't us, Dandy," Fred whispered imploringly.

"Honest," said George. "We don't even know what we're doing here."

When Dandy backed away and handed their half-empty cups to Aria Keane and Roger Davies, the twins frowned miserably, knowing their attempt at pranking the whole school had lost them any faith they'd gained with the house-elves.

When Hagrid finally opened the doors and invited the students and staff inside, the pearly ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington was hovering over the Gryffindor table, eager to assure the students of his house that he had visited the hospital wing and that, although Shep Quarter was in excruciating pain, his head was fully attached.

Rumors fluttered down the house tables as the headmaster consulted his professors before addressing the room. Beside him, Madam Pince was crumpled into one of the large dining chairs, with her arms outstretched and eyes firmly closed, as if she was trying to erase something horrible from her memory. As they sat, the twins grew concerned that Dumbledore's interruption had something to do with the prank they had pulled in the library, and perhaps that Percy's reaction to Scabbers had caused more trouble than intended. But when they spotted their brother at the end of the Gryffindor table, he seemed just as curious about the all-school meeting.

Seated across from them, Angelina Johnson was swapping conspiracies with Lee.

"There are various reasons for why Dumbledore would interfere with a Quidditch match, but Peeves knocking down a few paintings in the stairwell is simply not one of them," Angelina insisted, nodding so furiously that her frizzy, black curls bounced atop her head. "It's preposterous."

"No, he would...if you had been listening!" Lee pressed knowingly. "What if they were — important — paintings?"

"That's a flimsy argument, mate," said George, hiding his guilt over their teammate's injury.

Angelina grunted and rolled her eyes at him.

"What?" he grumbled. "I was agreeing."

"I am perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, George Weasley."

"When don't I get attitude from you?"

"When you stop being yourself."

"I could be Fred, for all you know."

She snorted and turned away from the conversation, arms crossed in defiance. Brooding next to Angelina, Lee glanced down at the ledger he used to track their Quidditch stats and tore out the current page.

"It's all right, Lee," said Fred. "We'll get a rematch."

"I was really looking forward to this one. The snow and all," he sulked. "Such a shame."

"It's snowing, isn't it?" George whimpered, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling that revealed the afternoon sky. "I'd forgotten about the...er...Herbology detention..."

"Uh huh," Angelina confirmed, unaware that her chestnut cheeks had flushed to a dark rose. A subtle frown formed on her lips as their headmaster left Madam Pince's side and made his cautious approach toward the golden podium.