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

Chapter 23:2

George looked exasperated. "Was that a threat?

"I really can't tell," Fred responded heavily. "But we do know one thing. He wants that map for himself."

"Right — so he can find the treasure."

"No, George." Fred was shaking his head, his mouth slightly open in a crooked grin. "He wants the map so we can't see what he's planning."

Their menacing, judgmental gaze faltered when Lee and Angelina came to sit beside them. They hadn't spoken in weeks. The pair quietly emptied their schoolbags, then turned to face the twins.

"Did you try to steal my great uncle's spyglass?"

"Lee, we agreed not to start with that," Angelina admonished, before looking expectantly at Fred and George. "Well...answer him."

"Of course we didn't," said George.

"Then why were you seen with it?" Lee persisted.

"You've got it wrong," said Fred, never looking so ashamed. "I'd only borrowed your spyglass for —"

"But you didn't feel the need to ask, though, did you? Once again, the rules don't apply to the Weasley twins," Lee snapped. "And why would you skip the final match? Even if you were off doing something you thought was more important, it was my first ever commentary for a Quidditch Cup! I was so sure you'd come. It was nerve-racking. I needed my friends by my side. Or, at least, the people I thought were my friends..."

"We're sorry, Lee," said George, his eyes misting. "I guess we weren't thinking about you."

"No, you weren't," said Angelina ruefully. "The girls have been telling me all year to keep my distance from you two. And now I look like a mug. Your best mate has been absolutely gutted over this. I'm so disappointed."

"Fair enough," said Fred, under his breath.

George lowered his head as they turned away.

For the first time since arriving to the castle, the boys realized that Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson had come to Hogwarts alone. They had no one to encourage them. No friends to make the experience more enjoyable, and no family to ease the sorrow of leaving home. Even though it had been rocky with Angelina at the start, while under the effects of the love potion, both of them relied on the twins to be their foundation. And they had been abandoned, time and again.

There was more that needed to be said, especially from Fred and George, but Professor Parsimonae had pulled the drapes, unmuzzled the Meantail, and was presently casting a spell on the space above the runic stone. This action normally signaled the students to take out leafs of parchment and dip their quills in ink, but today's exam would not be a riddle. Sparkling down on them in dazzling blue light was the gigantic head of a wizard. Every fiber of his being was visible, but no detail was as bright as the brain that hovered beneath his wizard's cap. It pulsed steadily with life, like a beating heart.

Uncertain of its purpose, Aria Keane was quick to begin sketching the figure with intense concentration, along with her fellow Ravenclaws. They set down their quills when Parsimonae approached to introduce the exam.

"A proper Magical Investigator," he started, "is like a slumbering dragon — deathly powerful, but silent! And not to be trifled with." He buttoned the jacket beneath his open robe and twirled the top hat to his head with a flourish, before winking cheekily. "Your final task in this class is simple. Solve the mystery of what happened to the paintings."

"But it's been solved! It was the Toilers of Trouble," said Benjamin abruptly, glaring at the twins from over his shoulder.

"Ah, Mister Nettles, please wait your turn," the investigator replied, wagging his finger. "You must stand at the front and present your case before the class. Furthermore, it must be a theory that does not already exist. Use your logical minds. Think upon all available evidence, utilize the process of elimination, and piece together the remaining clues. Only then can you reveal the most fitting solution. Take as much time as you need. You may pair up, if you so choose."

"We can pair up!" said Angelina. Lee was nodding with relief, as Parsimonae dragged out one of the erased portraits and leaned it against Professor Mulligan's desk.

Before anyone had time to choose a partner, Tenice Montague and Oscar Meaney stormed to the front of the room. Parsimonae showed his astonishment, and stood by the windows to observe. Their initial answer was brief. According to the little tyrants from Slytherin, it was all an elaborate scheme invented by the Weasley twins in order to rescue their parents from financial ruin. The mystery had something to do with copying the enchanted art to separate canvases, at least that was how it sounded. They spoke over one another constantly, and the theory was difficult for most of the class to follow. When the investigator seemed displeased with their solution to the mystery, they continued by revealing how their two accomplices, Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, were involved. Lee, as Montague claimed, was eager to prove to his parents that he wasn't a Squib (a Muggle with magical lineage), so he could finally be accepted into the family. Angelina, however, had sliced a few of the paintings from their supports, hoping to use the scraps as proof to her 'stupid Muggle dad', in Meaney's view, that magic was real.

If their marks had been calculated by applause, the two of them had nothing to fear, because their housemates from Slytherin were cheering riotously. Montague returned to his seat, raising a fist in triumph.

A split second later, and before George knew what was happening, Fred was halfway to the front of the classroom.

You're going NOW?

WE are going now, Fred replied in thought, stomping his foot as he turned to face the class.

George rummaged anxiously through their notes.

Leave it.

But we're not prepared, Fred.

Trust me. Trust yourself. We've never been more prepared!

George left the desk and lumbered up to the front to stand beside his brother.

I hope you know what you're doing.

Follow my lead, George.

This had better work.

Fred's right eyebrow lifted, and the class looked on with rapt attention.

"We know what you're thinking, and we're not about to confess," he began rather hastily. "My brother and I are the Toilers of Trouble, as you know, but we are innocent of this crime. The real perpetrator used our methods to hide their identity and to distract from their true purpose. Once we're finished here, none of you will need to present your solutions to this mystery, because we plan to unmask the culprit ourselves — right now."

Parsimonae shifted in place. "And who better to solve the mystery than the very pranksters upon whom blame has been cast. Proceed."