The Prank
Fred and George Weasley were sitting at the Gryffindor table amongst the chattering students eating a spot of breakfast. Outside, the Saturday morning sky was cloudy and relatively bland; the red-headed Weasley twins meanwhile served as a contrast to the dreary background that permeated through the windows of the Great Hall.
“George, this is our opportunity,” said Fred, with a determined look on his face. “Anyone from the third year up will be going to Hogsmeade and when they return, their pockets will be filled with all sorts of things. You know what that means?”
“We need to find a guinea pig that will do some shopping for us,” said George, grinning.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” complimented Fred, before his face dimmed with concern. “However it’s easier said than done.”
Fred was gazing along the Gryffindor table for students, who could potentially help them. It was then that he saw one of their fellow first years, Lee Jordan.
“Lee, come over here,” called Fred, amidst the noise of students. “We need to ask you something.”
“Fred, George,” said Lee, looking at both of the twins. “What do you guys need?”
“Well Mr. Jordan, we are in need of some assistance,” said Fred. “What we want is for some third year ---”
“Or fourth year,” said George.
“Or fifth year,” interjected Lee, smirking.
“--- or whatever, to go to Hogsmeade and get some Dungbombs for us,” said Fred quickly. “We need someone who will do the job without suspicion and just deliver them to us. Understand?”
“Easier said than done,” said Lee.
“Yeah that’s what Fred said,” sighed George.
“How about your brother Percy?” asked Lee. “Isn’t he a third year?”
At that moment, the twins became horrified as if Lee had spoken a disgusting swear word just then.
“Are you mad?” asked George.
“Are you absolutely bonkers?” questioned Fred.
“Are you kidding?” asked both of the twins in unison.
Lee raised his hands so as to let the twins know that he got the point.
“Sorry Lee, but you have a great deal to learn about our family,” said George.
“Seeing as we only known you for about a month, we can forgive you,” said Fred. “Our sweet older brother would never help us. He’s ambitious, boring, rule abiding, boring, Prefect material, ---”
“And did my brother mention, boring?” said George. “We are determined not to follow his example.”
“Okay, okay, I get the point. What about Oliver Wood?” suggested Lee.
“Not a good idea,” whispered Fred, leaning closer to both his brother and Lee Jordan. “Ever since we found out that Wood will be the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain next year, we sort of blackmailed him into letting us try out for the team a year from now.”
“Actually we begged first then we blackmailed him,” George corrected.
“How did you manage to do that?”
“Ask no questions and we’ll tell no lies,” said Fred.
“I heard that the announcer for the Quidditch House Cup, Nathaniel Banks, is a seventh year,” said Lee. “I want to speak to Professor McGonagall to see if I could take his place next year. It has always been my dream to go and announce the Quidditch World Cup.”
Lee’s eyes seemed elusive for a moment as if he was daydreaming.
“Focus Mr. Jordan,” said George. “That won’t happen until after you leave Hogwarts. Let’s return to today, can we?”
“Okay, sorry,” apologized Lee. The three of them continued to think until Lee suddenly smiled as if an idea came to him. “Don’t worry. Let me take care of everything.” With that Lee Jordan abruptly got up and walked away.
“What was that all about?” George wondered.
“If he could get us some bombs then that makes our job easier,” reasoned Fred.
At a distance, the twins saw that Lee was speaking to an older student, whom they couldn’t recognize. Percy walked by and both twins stopped staring so as to not give their brother any reason to suspect them of plotting something. Additionally in regards to Lee’s friend, Fred and George wanted to be fully anonymous, not wanting anyone to know that they were the ones interested in getting some Dungbombs. Though skeptical yet hopeful, the twins left Lee to do his own magic – one that involved negotiation.
A while later, Lee met them in the Gryffindor Common Room and handed them some Dungbombs.
“How’d you get these?” questioned Fred.
“Who was that older Gryffindor student you were speaking to?” asked George. “He looked at least, say, a sixth year. Maybe older.”
“Angelina Johnson has an older brother,” replied Lee.
“Bless him,” said George.
“Bless her,” Fred countered.
“Luckily for you both, he had a batch of Dungbombs already,” explained Lee. “And he was ready to let them go for a small price.”
“Thanks Lee,” said George, handing Lee some Sickles. “We definitely owe you one.”
“Just tell me,” said Lee, smirking. “Why do you want these Dungbombs?”
Fred replied first, looking at George, “We just want to do something ---”
“MISCHIVEOUS,” both of them said simultaneously.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Lee. “Good luck.” Lee then headed out the Fat Lady’s portrait and turned toward the library to meet a first year Ravenclaw girl. After they saw Lee leave and the portrait closing with a thud, the twins contented themselves with doing a bit more planning.
“Where should we let it off?” asked George.
“I reckon we should set it off at the corridor after supper in the Great Hall tonight,” suggested Fred.
“Smashing idea,” said George. “But may I suggest that we involve the Slytherin house in this. They, after all, pummeled us in Quidditch early this month and our actions could merit us a hero’s welcome in the Gryffindor common room tonight.”
“They might even give us a trophy for Special Services to the School,” said Fred. “What more can a first year ask for?”
“Let’s do it!” said George.
The early evening arrived and students were eating the appetizing supper that materialized before them after Professor Dumbledore said, “Tuck in.” For the most part the twins were not nervous because they were excited that their plan was about to unfold. Throughout the feast, both of them were smirking and even Percy wondered what was up.
“Why are you two smirking?” asked Percy. “You don’t have anything planned do you? You know Mum wouldn’t like to hear that you both got detention. What’s more, both of you will make Gryffindor lose points. Do you want that?”
“Perce let me ask you something,” snapped Fred. “Are you a prefect?”
“No.”
“Are you Head Boy?”
“No.”
“Are you a professor?”
“No,” said Percy, getting annoyed. “What are the use of these pointless questions?”
“The point is to stay out of our business,” said Fred.
Percy scoffed and walked away.
“What an intrusive and nosy git for a brother we have here,” Fred remarked.
“Too true,” George agreed. “Do you think he will tell anyone that we’re up to something?”
“He doesn’t have any proof that we’re doing anything,” answered Fred. “And he can’t tell Mum because we will have already launched the Dungbombs by the time he owls her.”
“Yeah, we’re just pulling a prank,” defended George. “Not breaking the law or anything. We just want to blow off steam and have fun.”
“Blow off steam?” questioned Fred. “You sound like a locomotive.”
George laughed at this and responded. “Yeah the Hogwarts Express.”
“Do you think a few Sickles are too big of a price for these Dungbombs?” asked Fred.
“For what we’re about to do,” replied George. “Not at all.”
No sooner than George said that, the Prefects were gathering the students of their respective houses and started making their way to their own common rooms. Fred and George hurried and soon they were separated from their housemates. They went along a corridor, which both Fred and George assumed led to the Slytherin common room. When they saw the Slytherin students coming up ahead, they launched a couple of Dungbombs, one of which unfortunately hit a Slytherin seventh year. The Dungbomb erupted on his clothes releasing a bunch of nondescript slime, splattering everywhere, including on a third-year named Marcus Flint. When Fred and George saw this, they choked with laughter from where they were hiding and no one could see them through the rancid smelly haze. Other Slytherin students that walked into it started to hold their nose over the noxious smell, using swear words to voice their contempt over the situation.
“My, my, they are too young to use language such as that,” said Fred.
“Maybe we should send an owl to their parents,” suggested George.
“This is too good,” said Fred, as him and George continued to hide in the stairwell corner.
“Hopefully we won’t get caught,” George chuckled. “I wouldn’t want Mum to send us a howler.”
“That should be the least of both your problems.”
They heard a new voice from behind. The voice was raspy, menacing, not to mention threatening, and that was enough to make both twins turn around.
It was Argus Filch.
