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

Chapter 19:1

THE TREASURE OF HOGWARTS

It had to be a dream, because the evil wizard, Lord Voldemort, was there. No, it was a witch. She had dark hair and large, beautiful eyes — with a face that was somehow both young and old. They were standing in the ground floor corridor at Hogwarts Castle. And this time George was alone.

She thrust her wand at him, with a speed beyond anything a witch could perform without relying on the Dark Arts. No one was there to protect him, and the water was coming. George couldn't pull away from the witch's frightening stare. Her eyes were different now, hollow and extinguished, yet focused solely on him.

George felt his body turn. He tried to run, but his legs weren't moving.

That didn't matter. The water had engulfed him. It flipped George over in its tidal wave and he was careening down the hallway, gasping for air as he tumbled end over end. His new Christmas sweater caught on the mouth of a gargoyle statue. He tried to escape, but the current controlled his every move. George knew that the witch was mere few feet away. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't talk — and he couldn't swim — and he was out of breath. And then, through the icy water, came a pale arm. It grabbed onto his sleeve and pulled him vigorously to freedom.

"Hey, wake up," Fred whispered. "You're doing it again."

"What?" murmured George, as he took quick, erratic breaths.

He opened his sleepy eyes and jolted upright. The early morning sun was shining through the leaded dormitory windows, casting a diamond-patterned glow onto the curtains of his four-poster. George relaxed. He was back at Hogwarts, safely in Gryffindor Tower. His eyes struggled to focus as they skimmed the other beds in the room. Lee looked drowsy, but concerned. Kenneth Towler was snoring, and Benjamin Nettles rubbed his eyes with a yawn.

"You were yelling, George," Fred described, moving gradually back to bed.

"Sorry...nightmare," he said groggily, struggling to breathe.

"Was it that witch? The flood?"

"How'd you know?"

"You must've said something in your sleep."

Benjamin stared at them for a moment before falling so hard into his pillows that his head thudded the bedpost.

"It's all right, we were sleeping in anyway," murmured Lee, from the other side of the room. "Back to bed, mates."

"Lee...stop referring to us as bedmates, would you, please?" Fred joked.

With a tired chuckle, they closed their eyes and soon returned to sleep. George, however, remained alert and awake. As the minutes passed, he studied the rays of sunlight as they crept unhurriedly across the flagstone floor.

The twins moved slower than ever that morning. They were the last to leave their dormitory, last to come down from the tower, last to breakfast, and the last to leave the Great Hall. By the time they entered the upper level of the library, Transfiguration had begun. Professor McGonagall's emblematic scowl grew more menacing the nearer they came. Fred and George sidestepped their professor, as if she was yet another grimacing statue at the castle, and scanned the desks for two empty seats.

"First day back and, somehow, the Weasleys manage to arrive late to their very first lesson?" she howled reprovingly, following close behind them. "How lucky you are that you're both in my house...otherwise... Oh, what am I saying? As if a deduction in house points or a threat of detention would ever change your behavior. Sit with Gryffindor. Start researching for your report on the Evolution of Inorganic Transfiguration. And absolutely no talking."

The twins walked lethargically through the desks until they found Lee Jordan. He was near the windows, sharing a wide table with Angelina, Meuriel Baxter, and Alicia Spinnet.

"Hi, Fred...and George," Angelina whispered, choosing to look directly at them.

George met her eyes and was overcome by how drastically different he felt. Any frustration or irritation he had normally experienced in her presence was all but eliminated. It was almost as if they were meeting for the first time. He could see that she felt the same. As they sat, smiling awkwardly, Professor McGonagall let out a groan.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Can you transfigure a quill for me?"

"Mister Ashbury, where is your quill?" McGonagall asked crossly.

"It was stolen from my room, Professor," said Morvin, in a low whine. "Along with everything else. Ask anyone, they'll tell you."

"I won't be doing that. This is the last time," she huffed, accenting her warning with a grimace. She removed her wand and tapped a button on his cloak. Instantly, it transformed to a feather quill and rolled to the table. "Share ink with Mister Diggory. Everyone else...heads down and keep working."