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

Chapter 16:7

"Why are you yelling at me? Hagrid said he'd complete the job."

"You think that's why I'm upset?" Angelina questioned in a harsh tone. "You almost got us killed!"

"Me?" George whined, as they entered the stairwell.

Angelina lowered her voice when she noticed the Magical Investigator. "Are you honestly this daft? You could clearly see that wasn't a tree branch! I tried to warn you not to pick at it, but you just couldn't help yourself. Typical boy!" She slowed to a stop when they reached the third floor landing. "Must you take the same staircase? There's more than one."

"Fine," George grumbled.

He circled his way around the portrait hall to the landing on the opposite side. Then, after waiting patiently for the moving staircases to bring them to the next level, they somehow found themselves sharing the same landing again.

Angelina huffed. "Well...go on..."

"Sorry," said George in his most adorable voice. "This staircase is full, actually. Take the next one."

"Ugh! You're insufferable!" Angelina erupted, as she brushed past him and stormed up the stairs. He grinned and followed after. "You don't have to be so close to me. And there's plenty of other routes you can take to Gryffindor Tower."

"Maybe you're taking my route. How do you know?"

"Because I —"

"Shh!"

"Don't shush me!"

George yanked Angelina back to the landing. They were at the entrance to Percy's legendary hallway on the fourth floor.

"Let go of me!"

"There's someone down there. A witch," he said, giving a sideways glance to the dark figure at the center of the corridor. She was taking long steps and gazing strangely at the paintings.

"It's just a professor."

"No, it's not. I would know, wouldn't I?"

"Probably not." Angelina tilted her head around the corner to look at the witch who was a short way down from them. "She's covered under the hood of her robe, so...as I said...you wouldn't know. Can we just —?"

"Be quiet, will you? She's saying something."

The witch was dressed in a billowing black cloak. Runic embellishments ran along the hem in a silky, gray thread. She pointed her dark wand at one of the portraits, and then jolted to the next. "Get back here!" she said, with a voice that smacked of poison. The woman darted down the passage and disappeared through a recently discovered doorway.

"Where'd she go?" Angelina asked in hushed tones, as she elbowed George aside to peer more clearly around the corner.

"Dunno. But she's got to be the one destroying the paintings, right?"

"We should tell the investigator..."

"And let him stroll in and take all the credit? Don't think so. Gryffindor needs the house points."

"Then we're following her?"

"Of course. I mean...I was going to...er...if you're heading this way," George stammered, attempting to mask his trepidation.

"Then I'll join you," said Angelina decidedly. "I don't see how it matters, frankly. She's only a professor."

With their heads low, they hurried down Percy's hallway, determined to learn the identity of the mysterious witch in black, and only slightly concerned that they would stumble onto a row of ruined paintings.

Fred peered over his shoulder and exchanged looks with Lee before covering his face with the cloak and vanishing from view. Lee retracted the frame, and the wizard within the portrait scoffed at them. With an upturned nose, he balanced his pointed hat with one hand, while keeping a shimmering crystal ball steady on a pedestal with the other. As inconspicuously as possible, Fred descended the stairs toward Parsimonae, who was studying a triptych of ancient paintings that seemed to memorialize the founders of Hogwarts, depicting the four house animals as they gathered in a field of imposing stones that flanked a single, magnificent tree.

Drawing steadily nearer, Fred sought inspiration from the ghoul that haunted their attic at the Burrow. Each step was stealthier than the last. Then, when the investigator whispered menacingly at a nearby portrait, Fred simply abandoned his subtle tactics and propelled himself down the steps at full speed. And, for the first time in his life, he was thankful for his squeaky, hand-me-down shoes. It made the echoing racket of hurried footsteps far more unsettling in the dense silence.

The Magical Investigator spun in place. His legs buckled — his head bobbed erratically — he nervously scanned the stairwell. Fred repressed a laugh as the man gradually cowered into the shadows. After a few minutes of teeth chattering had passed, and Parsimonae showed signs of regaining his confidence, Fred inched forward. Then, when the gap between them had narrowed to a few paces, he shoved the investigator across the platform.

The result was marvelous.

Releasing a strangled cry, the investigator recoiled and thrashed his head in all directions, straining to expose whatever had assaulted him. Without a soul in sight, he stole down the stairs and abandoned the stairwell with a deranged expression.

"Spirits!" he bellowed, absolutely unhinged. "Help me! I'm being manhandled by spirits!"

As Fred gave chase with a spring in his step, he could hear Lee's muted, but delicious, laughter coming from the passage behind the painting. Lexington Parsimonae was thundering down the corridor, some distance away. Whenever the investigator seemed to slow down, Fred added a haunting wail or a croak to keep things interesting. After giving the map a quick glance, Fred realized that Parsimonae was heading to the third floor corridor, and to the bizarre classroom labeled with the letter 'W'. As he continued to murmur frightful noises, Fred stowed the parchment into his robe and screeched to a halt outside the Charms classroom to catch his breath. They had come to a dead end, and unless the investigator knew the password to gain access to the hall with the trapdoor in the floorboards, he would not be able to —

"That's odd..." Fred murmured, as he watched Parsimonae open the door and sneak inside. He hunched forward and pulled the Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders, before taking out the Marauder's Map again. Parsimonae's ink dot was roaming the forgotten classroom. Somehow, he had known the password.

"Very very odd, indeed."