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

Chapter 20:9

Across the room, Iscarion ordered a drink from Aberforth Dumbledore. He guzzled it down and ordered a second. The twins climbed onto the stools beside him.

"So-rry," said George ruefully.

"What're you puttin' in these drinks, Ab?" said Spital in a surly tone, as he glanced in their direction. "I'm seein' two of this kid."

"Drinks are the same as always," the grumpy barman drawled, emitting a groan. "There's two of them."

"Your name doesn't happen to be Weasley...?" asked Spital, a noticeable slur to his voice. Squinting, he angled his head to size them up.

They nodded.

"He's Fred, I'm George."

"Ahh...there it is," he said, an oily glass to his lips. "The pure-blood twins, Ab! In our very midst."

The lesser Dumbledore grunted.

"Well, Fred and George Weasley — boy who was somethin'-or-other," He broke to tilt his head back for a swig, "— one of those Woolthwaite cards had been in my possession for over twenty years. So...this had better be good. How do you know Wonky Goosefeather?"

"His brother runs the joke shop in town and thought you could help us," George responded.

"Said you're in the Dark Force Defense League," Fred clarified, looking doubtful. "Don't recall you from the comics."

Spital winced and scratched at a scar that split the bridge of his nose. "We can't all be heroes, now can we? What d'ya want?"

"We're looking for any information you might have about a witch named Aruzula Darc? She went to Hogwarts fifty years ago."

"You were teaching back then, right?"

"Fifty years ago? You don't say..." Spital traded silent glances with Aberforth. "Strange times, I'll tell yeh. I was at Hogwarts, yes — Professor of Arithmancy."

"What's that?" Fred inquired.

"Arithmancy is the practice of studyin' numbers to best realize the future. It is...the most complex subject in all of Wizendom, and should not be taught to children." He paused to take another gulp, then coughed horrendously into his fist. "Even experienced sorcerers struggle to attain the necessary insight in order to suitably grasp the art of numerical prediction. You will learn — once free of that dreadful castle — that most adult wizards have no...creativity."

"Is that what you do for the Dark Force Defense League? Predictions?" asked George, curious if the comics were accurate to real life.

"No. That's not exactly my...area of expertise."

Iscarion clinked the side of his empty glass with a ringed finger and the barman refilled it slowly. As the intriguing wizard slammed it back, the twins began to wonder if they were courageous enough to hear what would qualify as his 'expertise'.

"Aruzula Darc," he continued, with a coolness in his voice. "I recall the name. She was smart enough to avoid my class. Must be in her sixties, now. Hufflepuff House...dropped out of Hogwarts round fourth or fifth year. No one asked why. Loads of people up and left in those days. Some fearin' the death, others over Grindelwald the Many...but there was somethin' goin' on back then. Somethin' eerie — and intensely magical, oh yes. Disappearances, monsters, petrifications, instructors catchin' fire...and the like..."

Iscarion twisted his stool toward the boys and leaned his weight on the bar.

"Let's get to the real reason you're askin' about Darc, shall we?"