Fred and George and the Elixir of Life (Year 2) (WAITING...)

Chapter 2:5

While Percy held their attention, waving his arms about and huffing like a petulant garden gnome, Ron left the table and walked directly to the bookshelf in the living room. He brought back a discolored chessboard a moment later and busied himself by arranging the pieces while his mother watched in astonishment.

She blinked continually, breath escaping her clenched teeth in a long gust of waspish buzzing. "Rrrrronald!" Molly erupted. "My patience with you is drawing to a close. You are not seriously setting up a game of Wizard's Chess... in front of me..."

"But Bill promised me a game during his next visit," he whined.

"I don't care if your brother promised you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take a bite out of the bloody moon. Complete — your — lines."

"All right, all right."

Molly took to the kitchen, as she normally did when she was frustrated, and looked for something to peel. She landed on an unripe zucchini that was resting in the windowsill. "Wizard's Chess... Think you'll be tested at Hogwarts on your ability to move pieces across a board, do you?" she continued, peeling vigorously. "You will be required to turn in scrolls. And if you think you can outsmart them, think twice. First years aren't allowed to use a Quick-Quotes Quill."

Fred sidled up to his mother, looking intrigued, as George fed a leaf of Ron's crumpled parchment to the Venus plant.

"Awful, isn't he? Such a disappointment. Now, this quill — could, say, a second year student use one?" Fred inquired, not-at-all selfishly.

"Yes, but they're dead expensive," said Bill.

"Sorry, Charlie!" Fred declared, reaching into their mom's apron for the coin pouch. "You'll have to wait one more year, I'm afraid. Quick-Quotes Quill, here I come."

The green wooden spoon soared over to smack at Fred's hand. He dropped the pouch with a yowl.

"George, your penmanship has always been satisfactory. Ron's, on the other hand, is atrocious."

"Be that as it may," he replied, nursing his fingers. "I'm still Fred."

"Yes, you are. Sorry, Fred. I won't get it wrong so often when you visit for Christmas. Then you can wear your jumpers. And George," Mrs. Weasley said, pointing at him with the vegetable peeler. "Stop feeding that thing! It'll grow as tall as this house."

"Then we can cook it," said Mr. Weasley with enthusiasm.

Fred rushed the table to cover the plant's nonexistent ears. "Shh... it's okay, girl. Don't listen to the very bad man."

Molly laughed until her attention shifted. Then she unexpectedly circled around the kitchen table and approached her husband with a determined air.

"Arthur?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, you know. Ministry this, Ministry that."

"I see," she said faintly, crowding him. "Then you wouldn't mind explaining to me why the pictures on this newspaper are standing completely still?"

"Huh?"

Molly swiped it from his hands, her tone severe. "Bringing a Muggle newspaper into this house! And hiding it behind the cover of the Daily Prophet, to boot! Have you no shame?" She handed him back the rest of the wizarding newspaper. "Stop visiting the shops!"

"It makes us look like Muggles," he said, cringing. "Isn't it better if no one suspects us of anything?"

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No wonder Fred and George have been on the verge of mutiny since birth."