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

Chapter 24:4

Wind whipped through George's flaming red hair as he soared at breakneck speed through the hallway, far behind Aruzula Darc. Above all else, it was vital that they didn't lose track of her. She flew like lightning through the narrow labyrinth of corridors, pulling things off the walls to unseat them. Though, to her surprise, George was more skilled on a broomstick than he looked, even with a companion. Each time she tore off a tapestry, or pulled down a statue, or kicked over a suit of armor, he outmaneuvered them with ease.

"Not bad, George," Lee acknowledged, holding tightly as he narrowly missed a candelabra to the skull. "You could've been a Seeker!"

"Told you I was good," said George boastfully.

"Painting," Lee said casually. "Painting!"

A tall portrait of two wizards drinking ale in a hazy castle kitchen came tipping down in front of their broom. The wizards hollered, dropped their drinks, and dove into the nearby still life of a prepared fish dinner. Without time to dodge left or right, George flew on undeterred. They ducked their heads and smashed straight through the canvas.

"Right —" George started, his cheeks going pink. "That painting was definitely my fault!"

"I won't tell Dumbledore," said Lee, with a nervous chuckle.

They tilted sideways and banked around a corner, just as George was beginning to realize that he was in a race. Aruzula had bypassed numerous open windows, in which escape could have been possible. She didn't want to leave the castle. Nonetheless, her reason for trying to lose them was unclear. George picked up speed as she turned another corner, and immediately regretted that decision. A heavy bookcase was listing from the right wall directly in front of them. It was too late to fly above it, and the crash would propel them to their deaths. George had to be quick.

"LIE BACK!" he howled, as he pulled up his legs and leaned into his friend, who did the same. Lee took hold of George's chin, as the broom tipped downwards. Books of all sizes left their shelves while the boys swept below the falling bookcase. The bottom of the broomstick scraped on the stone floor. George yanked up on the broom handle, just as the massive bookcase came crashing down behind them. They had made it through unscathed, but only just.

George landed the broom. He rolled to his knees and reached for Lee.

"You're completely nutters," he said, gasping for breath. "And I love it!"

From a distance, Aruzula had stopped to watch their daring maneuver. She smirked with approval before pelting toward the dungeon corridor. Their broomstick lifted from the floor and the tether snared George's ankle, as if summoning them to follow after her. George stepped over the broomstick, planted his feet, and pushed off for momentum.

"Stop running, will you?" Angelina called, as they trailed behind the Magical Investigator.

There was no mistaking it now. Lexington was sprinting after the masked man who had been hiding in the portrait gallery.

"I'll tell yeh what...it's a good thing he's lost his wand," said Fred to Angelina, as Parsimonae tried to evade them, his eyes constantly on the row of paintings that spanned the corridor.

"He's a Hogwarts professor. Or he was, in any case. Certainly, he knows a wandless charm or two."

Lexington Parsimonae came to a halt at the top of a stairwell, glanced back at them with an exasperated sigh, and tore down the steps.

"Let's hope he doesn't," said Fred, as they followed.

Halfway down, Fred and Angelina recognized where the investigator was leading them from the ring of muck that coated the walls, although the smell alone was a clue. They had wound up on the ground floor in the east end of the castle. The hall was littered with waterlogged classroom furniture and rubble, leftover from the flood that Mr. Filch had refused to clean without the aid of the house-elves, who had been feuding with him for months over Mrs. Norris and the state of her unkempt litter boxes. Still without shoes, the investigator was having trouble climbing over a pile of desks, while attempting to use the chaos of the corridors to disappear.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Fred," said Angelina apprehensively.

"We'll be all right," he replied, taking her by the hand as they vaulted a fallen ceiling beam and rushed after their former teacher.

Once safely over the blockade of desks, they spotted him standing in the tattered hallway, where several classroom doors were unhinged and hanging loosely. Parsimonae was muttering to himself and looking desperately at the walls, catching his breath in deep swallows.

"Where've you gone? Don't tell me I've come all this way..."

Fred's heart was beating out of his chest as he withdrew his wand.

"We have you," said Angelina boldly. "Do not move a muscle."

Parsimonae spun on his heels. They were moving toward him. "Lower that wand," he warned. "You are getting involved in a longstanding feud, of which you know absolutely nothing."

"There's nowhere left to turn, Professor. Your time has run out."

At those words, the investigator's frenzied expression turned devious. He pulled back his robe, removed something from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and flaunted a dastardly smile at the young Gryffindors. Then, raising an eyebrow, he admired the item in his grasp.

"I've had this since the start of term. Should be quite potent," he said shrewdly. "Let's see if you can prank your way out of this one."

The investigator opened his hand, revealing a tiny, insignificant bottle that rested in his palm. And before they could order him to stay put, he thrust it to the stone ceiling, where it shattered in a blinding flash of a thousand yellow sparkles.

Fred held his wand steady. They couldn't help but be mesmerized by the flickers of light showering down on them. That is, until they noticed Parsimonae hurrying deeper into the corridor with both hands clasped over his ears.

"Has he gone mad?" asked Fred, squinting.

"No...that's not it!"

Their eyes contracted in shock.

There was just enough time for Fred to bite down on the blunt end of his ruddy wand so he could plug both ears, while Angelina struggled to perform the Mutamoriam Pox charm before the song could reach them. As the shimmering mist engulfed the corridor, Fred could see that she was too late. Her arm was practically frozen in place, the wand only inches from her side.

The potency of the Greenwich Meantail's captured song was having the opposite effect. Time was moving slower for her. Much slower.

Fred kept his fingers lodged into his ears, as he trotted carefully along the hall toward where the investigator was headed. Before making the turn down the next corridor, he mumbled something that sounded like, "You just...stay there, Angelina. I'll come back for you."