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

Chapter 22:2

Within minutes, the caretaker was dragging Fred down the corridor by the back of a rolling wooden chair. One of the metal casters caught on the threshold and Mr. Filch jerked the chair roughly into the classroom.

"This is silly, you know?" said Fred, arms firmly crossed.

"Shut it!" Filch snarled, as Professor Parsimonae and the Gray Lady approached the others.

All of them were wearing a different expression, especially the short-tempered house ghosts who had been joined by the ghost from Gryffindor, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. Hagrid looked uncertain and disappointed, while the investigator leaned back in silent reflection, keeping one eye on the 'spirits' at all times. The twins were most anxious to see Professor Dumbledore, and yet his expression confounded them. He set his shrewd gaze upon each of the boys, his piercing blue eyes showing the faintest glimmer of amusement. Fred and George swore, in the riot of thoughts that traveled between their minds, that they would have seen the headmaster grinning, were it not for his silver beard.

From outside came an overwhelming rumble of applause so loud that it made Lee Jordan's commentary indecipherable. But the score didn't matter in the slightest — they could hear the dismay in Lee's voice. Nymphadora Tonks had caught the Golden Snitch. Gryffindor lost the match to Hufflepuff.

"Ya hear that?" gloated Filch crudely. He slunk away from the window ledge, rubbing his hands together with fiendish glee. "They're applauding your last day at Hogwarts!"

The twins frowned identically, as the caretaker snickered to himself and looked to the others in the room for a sense of mutual gratification. His elated expression hardened when the house ghosts receded mournfully into the walls. Clearly, Mr. Filch was alone in his desire to watch them suffer.

Dumbledore took a step toward them, his long, bejeweled fingers entwining.

"Now that we are all here, let us discuss the matter," said Dumbledore quietly, peering through the half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose.

Fred and George didn't know if he was waiting for an explanation or trying to discern their motives, but they were too busy listening to the roar of the crowd to respond. So their headmaster proceeded.

"A number of accusations have been lodged against the pair of you, all of which could be punishable by expulsion. There is much about this ordeal that befuddles me. Nonetheless...I have learned, during my many years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not to trust my own eyes. For that reason —"

The classroom door swung open. Professor Snape stormed in, flushed with readiness. Following close behind was the squat Charms instructor, Professor Flitwick.

"As I was saying," Dumbledore continued, offering a cautious glance in Snape's direction. "I will not simply assume that you are, in fact, the Toilers of Trouble. Although some of their mischievous acts befell those with whom you hold a grudge, and these pranks often occurred in your presence. Naturally, you would want to see the fruit of your efforts, and I cannot fault you for that. I can, however, fault you for damaging school property, harassing your fellow students, disturbing Hogwarts activities, exploiting the Owlery, breaking curfew, accessing restricted areas, undermining authority, disrupting lessons, practicing in magic beyond your mandate, theft, dishonesty...and for being a general nuisance."

Professor Dumbledore rested for a moment to analyze their nervous expressions.

"What say you?"

Fred and George exchanged nods.

"You are completely right, sir," Fred started.

"We are the Toilers of Trouble," said George resolutely.

"Hah!" Filch brayed, reveling in their capture, while Flitwick whispered heatedly from the back of the room.

"It's true," said Fred. "We released the pranks on the school — but I swear, we had nothing to do with the paintings."

Snape growled in disbelief, as George affirmed, "We've no reason to harm them, Headmaster. Honest!"

"There is an explanation," Fred continued. "Someone out there knows what we've done, and they're trying to set us up with these letters."

"And what of the flood?" asked Professor Flitwick, trotting into view.

"That was a witch," George blurted, quick to defend himself. "She used to be a student here...even though she wasn't meant to be a student. I think. I mean...we don't know for sure. It was fifty years ago. Hagrid knew her — tell them, Hagrid!"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, lads," said Parsimonae with caution, as Hagrid backed shamefully into the shadows.

"LIES!"

Snape was so furious, there were black flames burning in his pupils.

"I will not stand here and listen to the very students who admitted to being the conspirators fabricating yet another lie! The Dark Aguamenti spell was used in the corridor that night, and we all know it. Alastor Moody witnessed one of you muttering the incantation during his visit to the school, before he was personally affected by the result," he said with a snarl, looking directly through them. "Perhaps Dolores Umbridge was right about you two. Our little convicts...on the road to Azkaban Prison."

"Severus..." Dumbledore admonished.

"But, Headmaster...I —"

Albus raised a long finger to silence the Potions Master before folding his hands once more in contemplation.

"If I may interject, sir," said the investigator timidly. "The boys were intrigued, as any pupil would be, by the spell that nearly took one of their lives. They were merely trying it out for themselves...under my supervision, of course. After all, this is a school. And who better to observe them than I, their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

"No — he cannot seriously think — Black Magic —"

Professor Snape was shaking his head so vigorously, they thought it might pop right off and go whirling down the hall.

"Now, I cannot vouch for their antics as the Toilers of Trouble," said Parsimonae in a measured voice. "But I am absolutely certain they had nothing to do with the paintings."

Each of the staff members turned to face him.

"And why is that?" asked Dumbledore shrewdly.

"Because Fred and George were with me last night."