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

Chapter 20:3

When Herbology was dismissed, and most of the students left for Charms, Fred and George followed Towler to Enchantments, looking puzzled. The leaf they had eaten upon Angelina's suggestion was having very little effect. That is, until they were greeted by the pungent, rotting stench of the dungeons. Never before had the Weasley twins been so thankful to be holding a cauldron. They vomited ferociously the very instant they entered the humid, cave-like classroom. Professor Quirrell glared at the twins, still cross for finding them in the corridors at night.

"Hogwarts is a s-serious wiz-zarding establishm-ment. This is inap-p-propriate behavior," he stuttered with revulsion, as they looked up from their shared cauldron. "Why are you g-grinning?"

"Mum sent food from home," said George, his lips glistening.

"Dreadful corned beef sandwich," whined Fred. "It was quite warm. Didn't make the journey too — wellll — BLECH!!!"

"BLORCH!!" George followed, filling half the cauldron with nastiness.

Kenneth Towler and the three other students in attendance groaned in disgust, as Professor Quirrell pinched his nose.

"Leave at once...th-this is a j-j-job for Mad-dam Pomfrey!"

The twins nodded and backed out of the classroom, but not before Fred aimed his next evacuation onto Quirrell's doorknocker.

"BO-LORACH!"

"No!" he shouted. "I j-just had that replaced!"

While their initial objective had been reached, Fred and George understood almost immediately that their escape to Hagrid's cabin would not be so easy. When the scent of their ceaseless vomiting caught the attention of Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's skeletal, dust-colored cat, she gave chase. They knew she would be quick to inform on them the moment they left the castle, so the twins did what they could to keep their vile sickness from splashing out of the cauldron. That proved too difficult.

They abandoned it altogether in the Transfiguration corridor and fled. But despite their best efforts, Mrs. Norris was able to continue tracking them and, in a twist of cruel repetition, led the boys directly into a dead end hallway.

"Two days in a row? I thought we were better than this?" sighed George, the freckles on his nose standing out against his pale, sickly face. "Maybe..." He belched. "Maybe the map will show us a way out again..."

"I can't..." said Fred, far too weak to feel around for the map in his pocket. He had gone almost green since they left the dungeons. "Let's invest some time in learning a stunning spell or two, shall we?"

"That would've helped matters considerably. For now, we need someplace to hide. Do you even have a clue where we are?"

"Seventh floor."

The scratchy croak of Mrs. Norris echoed from down the corridor.

"Filch's cat is done barking, it would seem," said George feebly.

"And out for revenge," Fred added, looking gaunt. He was listing sideways when his wavering vision focused unexpectedly. "Tell me, George...is it from the effects of the leaf...which I'll admit is entirely possible at this point...or was that humongous door basically nonexistent a few seconds ago?"

Unblinking, George turned and laid eyes on the wall, nearly toppling over in the process. Beside them, on the formerly stark surface, was a varnished oak door, twice their height, with a decorative brass handle.

"I'm beginning to think that leaf does more than...induce vomit..." he said, slapping a hand to his mouth. George was a second too slow. He retched in a wide and miserable arc across the elegant door.

There wasn't time to be disgusted. Fred wiped the handle clean with his sleeve and opened the door, expecting to be greeted by a space worthy of the carved designs in the wood — perhaps a vast chamber teeming with trophies, golden thrones, banners, even a jeweled crown or two.

He was profoundly disappointed.