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

Chapter 22:3

"They were with you?" asked one of the house ghosts.

"The three of us were in my office, celebrating their twelfth birthday," Lexington said, lying with remarkable sincerity. "Time got away from me. I should have known better."

"But Professor Kettleburn claims that he caught the Weasley twins in the Restricted Section," argued Flitwick. "Why would two first year students have a reason to —?"

"I asked them to return a manuscript that I had borrowed from the library. Most of the forbidden books at this school pertain to my field of study, as I'm sure you know. Now...I admit that was not the brightest idea, but I'm new to Hogwarts and am still trying to get my footing, you see. It's all a misunderstanding, really."

"Sounds a'right ter me," said Hagrid gruffly. He looked relieved. "I know they're good boys, Professor Dumbledore, sir. Shoulda been in bed, is all."

"Whoever did this, they're trying to get us expelled," said Fred, getting to his feet.

George stood as well. "We're innocent, I swear!"

Dumbledore motioned for them to sit. He lowered his head to gather his many thoughts before speaking.

"Truth is a complex adversary, wouldn't you all agree?" he asked. "Uncovering the complete narrative of this mystery, which does, at least in part, involve the young Weasleys, is a challenge that will take some time. How can one know precisely what has taken place, when our perspective will forever be limited to one set of eyes? I believe patience will prevail in this instance."

Darting forward, Professor Snape whispered something to the headmaster, who shook his head slowly.

"Thank you, but such extremes are unnecessary," said Dumbledore calmly. "At the moment, I am prepared to take them at their word. And that, perhaps, Fred and George were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Truly, Professor, I implore you —" Snape interjected, stunned to silence when Dumbledore faced him with a steely look of warning.

The headmaster opened his hands and inspected his wrinkled palms thoughtfully. "At times, our reality can be quite elusive. We reach for understanding, and yet it slips so easily from our grasp. The past is often difficult to accept, because we are too close to the present. This matter is ended," he said plainly, as Filch fumed with disgust. "Our illustrious school is under attack...its most precious paintings in ruin. Something will be done of it, I assure you. As your headmaster, I am confident that those responsible will be revealed to us all in time, and the Weasley twins will be free of their present accusations."

As Dumbledore nodded and surveyed them wisely, a gravelly voice croaked from a gap in the door.

"Myrtle's death...all over again..."

They turned to see Professor Kettleburn hobbling away, leaving behind a plume of gray steam. Hagrid swallowed and looked down at his colossal feet, as Mr. Filch scampered back and forth between the twins and Professor Dumbledore.

"But what about their punishment!?" spat the caretaker, his wild hair slapping his face. "Said they'd done it, didn't they? The Weasleys are the Toilers of Trouble! We've got them and — and — we're just gonna let 'em loose?"

"I accept that this has been a stressful time for you, Argus...but I believe that missing today's Quidditch match is punishment enough. They are now out of the running for the Quidditch Cup. And after a vast reduction in house points for being discovered out of Gryffindor Tower past curfew...and in the Restricted Section, no less...I would say the Inter-House Championship, as well."

Filch nodded half-heartedly.

"Fred and George, it would be prudent for you to stay out of trouble for the remainder of term. Despite your actions, you are still students of Hogwarts and will be expected to concentrate on your schoolwork. And, above all, leave this mystery to us. Have I made myself clear?"

The twins gazed up at him with sad, focused eyes.

"Yes, sir," Fred said, mopishly.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore," George muttered in agreement.

Acknowledging their response with a blink of his sparkling eyes, Albus Dumbledore departed from the room with Hagrid and Mr. Filch, just as Professor McGonagall had arrived. After glaring disapprovingly at the twins, she followed behind Dumbledore with Professors Flitwick and Parsimonae. Snape was hesitant to leave. He looked at them maliciously, seeming to read their minds.

"Could you tell us what was written in the letters?" asked George meekly. "The ones attached to the paintings, I mean."

"As if you don't already know! It was the same message as all the others — you — wrote," he emphasized, advancing on them. "Never, in all my days as a practitioner of the magical arts, have I been in the presence of such parasites!" He swooped in close to their faces. "Please...I beg you...go against his wishes. Words cannot convey how much I would delight in escorting you permanently off the premises."

"That's a bit uncalled for, don't you think, George?"

"I wholeheartedly agree, Fred. And there's no purpose in name-calling, at this point."

On his way to the corridor, Snape whirled his head round to assess them with a final scowl of heavily-lidded contempt. It was a struggle, but Fred held back the urge to wave goodbye as the door closed. George looked relieved as he faced his brother, hearing Fred's every thought.

"Thanks for that. We've yet to take our Potions exam."

Suddenly, and in all directions, the school desks, chairs, and bookcases dropped from the ceiling, where Snape had chosen to store them during George's incarceration. The twins rushed to the door to avoid being squished like identical, red-haired dung beetles.

Once free of the room, they spotted Professor Parsimonae at the end of the hall, donning his top hat before making the turn.

"Can you believe he covered for us? We would've been expelled otherwise. And if Dumbledore knew the truth, Parsimonae might have been sacked, then and there. Why'd he risk it, you think?"

"Don't you see, George? He wasn't doing it for us," said Fred, narrowing his eyes. "He was doing it for himself."

"I don't understand."

"If Dumbledore thinks we were celebrating our birthday with the investigator...they won't be wondering what he was up to during that time."

"Hang on, Professor Parsimonae just made us his alibi?" said George, realizing the implications of that statement.

"Which begs the question — what was he really doing last night? And did it have anything to do with the newly ruined paintings?"