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

Chapter 18:4

Life at their ramshackle home was surprisingly warm.  Fred and George had failed to realize how much they missed all the sounds and smells of the Burrow.  Ginny followed them everywhere, and Ron had a list of questions he'd been adding to since the moment they'd left.  He especially wanted to hear all the details Charlie and Bill would never share about playing Quidditch for Gryffindor.  When the twins needed an escape, they retreated to their bedroom.  And with the pandemonium of exams and lessons and expectations of being a student of Hogwarts now hundreds of miles away, they were able to find complete rest — even in beds that were little more than springs.

Practically every day until Christmas Eve, the twins slept.  And they slept well.

On that morning, with their hair standing out at all angles, Fred and George sluggishly descended the crooked staircase that cut across their house to the aroma of their mother preparing Christmas dinner.

"Molly, look!" their father declared, from the breakfast table. "The Weasley family mummies have woken from their hundred-year slumber!"

"My word!  We should celebrate," she said, smiling. "Come and eat."

The twins stumbled toward the table, as their mother ladled baked beans onto semi-burnt toast and placed it before them with a steaming pot of tea.  It was a far cry from the banquets they had enjoyed every morning at the castle, and yet a comforting reminder of the life they had always known.  The twins went without utensils and, playing into their parent's joke, started gnawing and tearing at their breakfast like mummies through flesh.

"All...all right," Mrs. Weasley said with a hesitant giggle, hurrying napkins to the table.  She kissed their heads again. "Mum's little mummies still have manners."

For seven attentive minutes, Mr. Weasley watched them so affectionately that he forgot about his own cup of tea.  It grew cold in his hand, and Arthur gave a little hiccup when he eventually took a sip.  Percy, who had woken at dawn, and refused to dress in anything but his Hogwarts robes, wasn't the slightest bit amused by their display of wasteful eating.  In fact, he ignored everyone in order to keep up with his studies, sitting near the fireplace with a large book all day, every day.  The holidays mattered so little to Percy, he had yet to put a single gift under the tree — even for Ginny.

Any ordinary December, the missing gifts would not have been noticeable, but the Weasley Christmas tree was more pathetic than ever that year.  Far wider than it was tall, the tree was so dumpy that Ron could hang the star at the top without sitting on his father's shoulders — a tradition he was rather eager to carry out that morning.

Fred wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas. "We should use Scabbers as the star this Christmas."

"He's bright enough," George agreed, which earned them a dirty look from their brother.

"You still haven't told us how he got that way, Perce," Mr. Weasley mentioned, following the yellow rat with his most bewildering gaze.

"It was a prank," said Charlie, trotting down the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley looked suddenly concerned. "Was it that Victor Sparrow again?"

"No, Mother.  The...Toilers of Trouble," said Percy, with a cross expression. "It is clearly one of his aliases, everyone is certain of it.  Scabbers will recover, but Victor destroyed priceless works of enchanted portraiture.  And, for his unruly behavior, he should face swift and exact reprisals in the form of expulsion and the public snapping of his magic wand."

"Yes, I heard about those paintings," said Mr. Weasley, as he warmed his tea with a charm. "Awful, just awful."

"Fred...George...you keep your distance from that boy!" their mother wailed, jabbing a finger at them from across the table.

"Why are you yelling all of a sudden?" George asked through chewing, while beans and gravy dripped down his chin.

"Because that's just the sort of thing you would do!  Your father told me about you two running off to Knockturn Alley after I expressly forbid it!  How clearly must I —?" She stopped in remorse. "No, I told myself I would not be bothered.  I'm so very glad you're home.  Only happy thoughts from now on." Mrs. Weasley nodded to herself and returned to the large root vegetable she had been rinsing in the sink. "Arthur, dear," she began, "could you reach that knife for me?"

"I can do it, Mum," Fred offered with an innocent smile.

"Your father will do just fine.  I'd prefer it if you returned to Hogwarts with your appendages intact."

"Smart woman, that Molly Weasley," said Fred with a grin.