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

Chapter 22:5

Reaching the dungeons, they were met by Peeves, who was busy prodding the head of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. He reveled, wide-eyed, as the head flapped back and forth atop his ghastly stump.

"Nearly Headless, Nearly Headless, Nearly Headless Nick!" Peeves crooned with a diabolical laugh. His enthusiasm surged when he noticed Fred and George walking down the fungus-laden steps. "Oy, weasels! Get your Quiddy bats. Help me thump it clean off for the first time in centuries!"

The Gryffindor house ghost reached into the sinewy cavity of his partially severed neck and took hold of the bone so he could nod approvingly. "Indeed, 'tis a lovely thought. And I would not object, were such an endeavor within the realm of possibility. But, alas, I fear your efforts would bring forth the nastiest of dizzy spells."

"A dizzy spell! Fine idea, Nick! Use your magic twigs and have at him!"

"Sorry, Peeves," said Fred.

"And Sir Nicholas," said George. "We can't get into any more trouble."

With matching frowns, the boys trudged into the Enchantments classroom.

"Do you know, Peeves," said Sir Nicholas, adjusting his hat with a sigh, "I think I'm quite sad for them."

"I'm sad for them, too!" croaked Peeves, bunching up his face in an overly dramatic expression of grief. "Far sadder than you'll ever be. I'm so sad for them, in fact, I'm going to...knock over this trophy case!"

His wild cackle erupted in the resounding crash of shattered glass and dented awards.

"Away with you!" said Quirrell from the classroom door, casting a spell that zoomed directly through the poltergeist's head, from one ear to the other.

Peeves clutched his cloudy, round skull and soared feet first into a broken mirror.

"I've h-had enough of th-th-that. Today w-we shall test an often und-derutilized enchantment," stammered Professor Quirrell, as he kicked aside a bronze goblet with a raised silver insignia of the Hogwarts crest. "Just as we l-learned how to send up c-c-colored sparks, we w-will use the same s-spell with d-d-different wand g-gestures in order to write upon the air. For example..."

Quirrell narrowed his already pinched eyes and held his wand firmly at the door. With a flick of the wrist, a glimmering fountain of gold sparks shot from the tip. He guided his wand through the air, as if painting an invisible portrait, until a slithering text of golden words could be seen hovering in the corridor.

NO TRESPASSING FOR POLTERGEISTS.

BE YE WARNED.

"Please t-take out your w-wands and p-p-practice the sparking ench-chantment. When I f-feel you have a sufficient g-grasp of the s-spell, I will c-c-come by to show you the p-proper g-g-gestures."

While the twins practiced their spells in silence, George's wand sparking far brighter than Fred's, a very enlightened discussion took place between their two minds.

Did you see that? thought Fred excitedly. Be ye warned! That's what was written at the end of the letter...back when the paintings were first blamed on the Toilers of Trouble!"

Right, thought George. When Dumbledore canceled the match. Be ye warned. It's just words though, isn't it? Doesn't mean anything.

No, I knew Quirrell had to be behind it somehow! He knows that Aruzula is involved. I'd bet Percy's life on it.

What should we do? George thought, his inner voice restless.

"Leave that to me," Fred replied in a whisper. He dropped his wand and waved in a wide sweeping gesture, trying to get Quirrell's attention through the haze of colored sparks. "Professor, there's a belief that twins possess special magic, like natural enchantments, and that...have you found anything to confirm this in your reading, or during your travels?"

"Please...Fred, or George — w-whichever one you are — just c-c-complete the task at hand," said Quirrell exhaustedly.

"I'd say that being a twin makes us unique," Fred continued. "We learned from our parents that there was a club at Hogwarts for unique students. It was called Slug Club, I believe. Can you tell us anything about it?"

"Yes, are they still holding meetings?" George asked, following his brother's lead.

"I d-don't know m-much about that."

Wands were lowering across the room.

"Could it have been a club for dangerous students?" Fred persisted.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" said Professor Quirrell, losing his stutter. His expression was suddenly distant, the way Fred and George looked when they were communicating by their thoughts alone.

Fred tapped his chin curiously. "It's just that — well, we found a photograph of the club, but it was in the Restricted Section of the library."

"One of the students in the photo had a fascinating name," George added. "Isn't that right, Fred?"

"Yes, I think her name was...Aruzula?"

A peculiar, almost bestial howl escaped from Professor Quirrell.

He tottered in place, then shuddered in a fit of unexpected coughs, before scrambling to the door. With a hand on his turban, he rushed past them and straight through the fiery warning that he'd left for Peeves.

"Forgive me...I-I-I-I have to go..." he faltered, his face going pale.

"Professor! What's wrong?" asked Towler.

"Spark — in my throat — I must v-visit Madam P-P-Pomfrey at once," he squealed, coughing. "Carry on."

Fred snarled in a grin and smacked his brother in the arm. "See! I told you. Look how he acted when we mentioned her name."

"I dunno, there are an awful lot of sparks in the air," said George, wincing as they stung his cheeks.

"Sparks? You've got to be joking? He was acting so dodgy!"

"Quirrell's always a bit dodgy, though, isn't he?"

"I won't accept that. He plays a part in this."

Fred opened the Marauder's Map so they could watch Professor Quirrell's ink dot speed out of the dungeons. He went directly to his office and sealed the door.

"What happened to v-visiting Madam P-P-Pomfrey?" Fred mocked, pointing so hard at the ink dot that it could have burst.

George shrugged. "Fine, so we need to keep a better eye on him."

"That, we do," said Fred firmly.