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

Chapter 23:4

Standing at the entrance to the Study of Ancient Runes classroom was Professor Dumbledore, accompanied by three others — Nymphadora Tonks, Professor Kettleburn, and a strange creature that, if they were not mistaken, was a gargoyle. The squat figure was dressed in long, unadorned robes that matched the thick gray wings extending behind him like two devilish sails, clawed and demonic. Stranger still was how Dumbledore and the others looked as close to petrified as possible. Every detail of their stony expressions could be analyzed, because their movements were half the intended speed.

"What's wrong with them, Professor?" asked Cedric. He reached instinctively for his wand.

A grumble of guilt emanated from Parsimonae's throat, as the large depiction of the wizard's head, shimmering high above the runic stone, trickled away to nothing. While their unexpected guests stepped unhurriedly over the threshold, all four of them staring directly at the Magical Investigator, he attempted to mutter out an explanation.

"Listen — you must understand —"

"Time's up, mate," said Fred, eyeing their professor arrogantly. "You've been caught."

"Yes, Mister Weasley," he sighed. "I'm afraid you're right."

Professor Dumbledore suddenly soared into the room. As his body sped up, the others remained in a semi-frozen state.

"Headmaster, to what do we owe the pleasure?" asked the investigator, swallowing nervously.

"You look surprised, Lexington," Dumbledore proclaimed, his eyebrows set. Beside him, Professor Kettleburn and the gargoyle stumbled in. "Sixtus, you may confiscate the bird."

The gargoyle flapped its leathery wings and coasted over their heads. He sideswiped the birdcage and clawed himself to the top, a black-toothed grin breaking his scaly lips.

Dumbledore strolled forward and appraised their instructor with a sense of remorse. "And you, Professor, have seen your last day at Hogwarts."

Thousands of questions erupted from the students. They demanded to know what was happening. Fred and George, still looking smug, were not entirely certain themselves. After Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet them, half the class gaped at the intimidating gargoyle, while the others were able to witness Nymphadora leaping into the room, as if pushed from behind. Grimacing, Kettleburn wiggled one of his few remaining fingers into his only ear, then nodded ruefully at their professor.

"Sorry it had to be like this, Lex," said Kettleburn. "Albus had to see for himself."

Parsimonae accepted the apology with a pout, as Dumbledore paced leisurely to the front to stand beside the twins. Before addressing the class, he blotted out the sun by drawing the curtains with a flick of his wand.

"First years, the bird you see before you is called a Greenwich Meantail. It is extremely rare, and powerful beyond the stretches of your imagination. Watch closely."

Dumbledore swirled his wand in an oval, and the leather straps of the muzzle responded by climbing the Meantail's brown and turquoise feathers. The muzzle wrapped around its hooked beak a moment later, silencing the bird. Then, all of a sudden, a previously undetected yellow mist began to dissipate all around them. The room, which had darkened without the sunlight, was somehow being sapped of its color.

"The pleasant song of the Greenwich Meantail casts a powerful charm which has encased this classroom during your lessons...all term," Dumbledore explained.

"What charm?" asked Angelina with earnest.

"One that can distort the nature of time, itself," Dumbledore continued, speaking more to Parsimonae than the students. "Your professor has been utilizing this bird's abilities without first consulting the Ministry of Magic...and, in doing so, has permanently risked his future at Hogwarts." Their headmaster looked morose. "The penalty will be swift."