CHAPTER FOUR- Behold the Usual Suspects
"Fred?" George's voice floated from the back of the store, a foreign note of uncertainty creeping into it. He was dreading what his brother would say when he saw the state of the stockroom, but he was dreading even more what his brother would say when he told him exactly why everything was turned over.
For the first time in the history of the intrepid jesters' joint business, something was missing from their vast inventory.
Something very dangerous.
"I need a bit of help back here, Fred, if you don't mind."
"I was hexing a letter to send to Perce-" Fred's voice trailed off as he looked at the disaster area in the back of the store, and then he started to laugh. "What'd you blow up this time, brother?"
George snickered despite himself; the thought hadn't even occurred to him, for once. He quickly sobered, however, at the thought of Albus Dumbledore turning them into croaking frogs, or more likely, braying asses. "Listen, you remember we gave Dumbledore our promise that nothing we delivered on Halloween would be harmful or… out there?" Fred arched a usually wickedly peaked eyebrow, waiting for the conclusion of the sentence. "Well, it seems we're… ah… missing something."
Fred's eyes widened and he had to hold back a laugh. It really was a bit amusing to think of one of those fool first-years turning themselves into a fish, or growing extra arms and legs. "What are we missing? Should we go find a Hufflepuff who's started to have allergic reactions to homework?"
George shook his head and wordlessly handed his twin an empty tin, its lid dented, a sloppily handwritten label pasted across the front that said "IN TESTING-DO NOT USE."
The tin was unrecognizable; they'd dented it in their hurry to slap the few remaining candies away from their reach-and anyone else's.
They'd been attempting to concoct a Cheering Chew, a candy that would make the consumer immediately happy, as though they'd cast a Cheering Charm. It would be easier, they reckoned, and a great deal easier to use in plain sight of Muggles or in quiet places. If they'd had any success with this particular confection, they'd have tried to sell it at St. Mungo's for the more tired, more disheartened relatives.
What they'd turned out with definitely wouldn't have been appropriate in the wizarding hospital.
Every confident in their own work, Fred and George had simultaneously eaten one of the fudge pieces, nodding and making agreeable noises at the taste-they'd certainly learned a spot or two of cooking from Molly, whether she believed it or not-and then they'd waited for the cheering to begin.
"You know," Fred said consideringly, "Perhaps we're not the best test subjects for this. We're already-"
"Such sociable chaps," George finished, hopping onto the counter of the deserted store and swinging his legs. "This is true, but we can better judge side effects-"
"If we're not distracted by the untoward cheeriness," Fred finished. "Good show-"
He stopped talking, looked for a moment like he had forgotten what he was saying, and then his eyes glazed over completely.
"Fred? Fred, mate, what's the matter? I need to write it down." George had reached for a clipboard and-
When they each came to a few moments after that first sample, they were looking at each other with a mixture of horror and ecstasy.
"Great Merlin's-"
"Lacy knickers," George finished. "Did you just-"
"Like a wet dream," Fred finished. "Only without the wet." He looked down at his crotch and grimaced uncomfortably. "But just barely."
Completely at ease with telling his brother everything, George put his forehead to the heels of his hands and said, "I'll tell you one thing, whatever just happened, I'm never looking at Hermione Granger the same way again."
Fred burst into laughter-a not entirely sane-sounding outburst-and ended the jag on a craggy little sigh. "Ah… well, you know, you'll have to tell me about that sometime." He, on the other hand, seemed very reluctant to bare all, and knowing the sheer power of the mental picture he'd just had, George wasn't about to let this particular detail go.
By the time he finally edged it out of his brother that his particular poison had been about Angelina, Alicia, and what had sounded like a muttered Oliver, they were both reeling again, thrown into a daydream so strong it blacked out their reality, if only for a few moments.
The remaining few pieces of the fudge had been thrown into the battered tin after the twins had spent a considerable amount of time trying to rid themselves of their… visions… and the side effects of said visions. They'd taken one piece from the remaining store to split into small pieces and try to decipher exactly what it was doing to them.
After a little experimentation and a hasty calling-off of that particular business venture, the brothers vowed never to distribute the fudge… but neither of them could bear to part with it.
And now… the tin they'd stowed it in was empty, and George was all too afraid he knew where their sweetest sweets had gone.
"Fred, mate, tell me you took it. Please. I'm fair begging." George watched his brother with restless eyes, watched him turn the tin over and over and over with long fingers, then watched Fred give him that wicked, conspiratorial look.
"Did you hide it just to take the mickey out of me, George? 'Cause if you did, it's been a damned good lark so far… otherwise, Professor Dumbledore's going to absolutely kill us if we have a couple of kids-"
"Running around with absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever." Fred sat heavily on the floor and looked up at George. "Well, I suppose in a roundabout sort of way, whoever ate those really will be cheerful."
George couldn't help but smirk at the thought of a hapless little Hufflepuff thinking naughty thoughts about heavens knew who-the possibilities were endless. "We'll have to ask Ginny to keep an eye for us," he said finally. "You'll have to swear her to secrecy, Fred," he said absently. "She trusts you more than me, and if she tells Mum, the only fantasy we'll be having is of not being ghosts in this drafty store."
Fred nodded and started halfheartedly levitating candies and gadgets to their proper spots on the shelf, thinking it didn't really say much that his sister trusted him more than his twin.
She hoped the unctuous bastard fell.
In fact, she hoped he fell, knocked out a few other players on the way down, and then landed on his face.
In fact-
Ginny was running out of wishes for the Slytherin Seeker, and she was running out of good reasons why she would be so intently watching a Quidditch match between Slytherin and Ravenclaw.
She had nearly forgotten about the match in all of the… distractions of the morning, but Hermione had been more than happy to remind her of the upcoming match, in one way or another.
"I suppose you'll be going to the Quidditch match today," she'd said over breakfast, a note of displeasure in her voice. "It's all Harry can talk about. It isn't enough that he plays, you know, he also has to watch every opportunity he gets. I think he's watching Draco Malfoy, you know, to see how he plays. Though I can't imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to spend that much time looking at Draco Malfoy."
Ginny jerked, spilling her hot tea over her hand, and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "What? No, of course I wouldn't want to watch Malfoy. Why would you think I would?"
At the exceedingly odd look Hermione gave her, Ginny replayed the comment in her mind and flushed guiltily. "I mean, no, I can't see how he manages to watch him for that long, either." She looked down at her plate and worried at her lip.
It had been the word Quidditch, damn it, and she'd had a flash of those long fingers and leather gloves and sweaty Quidditch uniforms.
Damn it.
Hermione had seemed not to notice, however, so upset was she over Harry's inattentiveness. She vowed to spend the day doing homework just to spite him, sniffing that she didn't have any yen at all to watch Draco Malfoy spend an hour flaunting his daddy's wealth and his mediocre talent.
Oh, but Ginny had that yen, and so she found herself sitting in the stands apart from her peers, watching the sky as though waiting for something to happen, and she was waiting for something to happen, she reasoned. She was waiting for him to plummet from his broom and fall face-first onto-
The Quidditch pitch is their forbidden place, their little secret. It is here they come when they feel most dangerous, most daring, and most damaged. They come here in the hopes they'll get caught, in the knowledge they could, and in the fear that they might. This is the third time they've been out here, the Head Boy and a Gryffindor prefect, sneaking around the grounds, stopping every five feet to kiss in the dark, fevered despite the cool winds, hot hands slipping under robes, a low, teasing laugh slipping from lips-his? Hers? It doesn't matter, what matters is the way he takes her shoulders in his hands and tosses her to the grass under the sky he dominates with every game, and he'll dominate here, too, as he pins her wrists to the dewy grass and brackets her hips with his knees, grinding himself into her as she bucks her hips and bites his lips-
"Hey, little sister."
No three words could have killed the fantasy quite as effectively, and Ginny didn't know whether to be grateful or be disappointed that it had been interrupted.
After all, the encounter of that morning already seemed so far away-
Cold stones against her back, hard heat driving into her-
Perhaps not so far away, after all.
She blinked several times to clear her eyes and smiled at the twins, wondering if her cheeks were as red if they felt, if they could see her hands shaking. "What on earth are you two doing here?" she asked, her surprise somewhat dampened by her apprehension.
If anyone would recognize mischief, it was these two.
But the twins had worries of their own. They'd spent the better part of an hour debating on how, exactly, they were going to ask her if she'd seen anything amiss around the castle without giving themselves away.
"You know," George had finally said, "As odd an idea as it sounds, perhaps we should just come clean and tell her what's going on."
It really was an odd idea-the twins never 'fessed up unless coerced, and that usually only happened under Molly's stern hand, anyway. But for once, they were in a bind, and any way out was a good way out.
"We just came to watch the game!" Fred said, wincing when George elbowed him. "Well, not exactly."
Bloody hell, she was having a hard time taking her eyes off the game. "Hmm… what? I'm sorry, I was watching… the game."
All three siblings shifted uncomfortable, and none noticed the others' discomfort.
"Listen, Gin, we need your help," George said. "And you have to swear you won't mention to anyone, or-"
"We'll be turned into goats," Fred finished.
"Have you noticed anyone acting strangely?" George burst out.
That had her attention. Had she noticed anyone acting strangely?
Well, she thought of saying, I've been lusting after Malfoy for the past twelve hours or so, and he's apparently not averse to it, as he shagged me up against a wall in the corridor-
"It's a school of magic, loves, of course people have been acting strangely," she said, struggling to sound lighthearted instead of… strangled.
The look the twins exchanged would have been comical, Gin thought, if it didn't so closely mirror the unease she was feeling.
"There isn't time to sit and spell it out," Fred said firmly. "Gin, we made a mistake with the Halloween bags, and we need you to keep an eye out for anyone-"
"Acting unusually amorous," George cut in. "We're missing things from the store, and we've an idea where they went-"
Now she was positively riveted, her jaw gaping open.
Unusually amorous?
"What… have you done?" she said slowly, feeling as though her joints were rusting to a creak, starting with her gaping jaw.
Unusually amorous?!?!!??!!?!?!
Ginny thought she might be two brothers lighter by the close of the day.
"Er…" Fred had been ready to spill it all, but Gin had sounded a great deal like his Mum, and the thought of having one of his ears twisted off didn't seem particularly appetizing. "Well, there's something we're experimenting with-"
"Were experimenting," George corrected with a stern look. "But we stopped. It was a fudge. Well, two. Look, we just need you to make sure there aren't any little first years trying to corner professors after classes-"
"Are you all right?" Fred asked suddenly. All the color had positively drained from Gin's face. "Oooh, has someone done that? Capital idea, George. Maybe a Hufflepuff is after Snape," he snickered despite himself.
"No!" she said firmly, standing and trying to catch her breath. She was going to faint. She was going to kill them.
She was going to kiss them.
For Merlin's sake, she couldn't even think straight.
"I haven't noticed anything," she said dully, the sounds of the crowd receding to a buzz in her ears. She'd shagged Malfoy, and it was because… her brothers had slipped her something?
She turned her eyes to the sky once more, one hand pressed to her chest, the other dangling at her side, and she watched the Slytherin Seeker take a victory lap around the posts, the Snitch grasped in his fingers.
He puts his hands over hers on the broom, his lips at the nape of her neck as he urges the broom into the sky. Laden with their combined weight, the broom still moved like lightning, and he takes them into a dive first, the force of the dive pressing him fully into her back, and her moan is lost in the rushing wind as he pulls back, the broomstick pressing relentlessly into her-
"I'm sure no one important got them," she said finally, placing her hands on her brothers' shoulders as much for support as for the affectionate contact. "I-I should go."
She wanted to be angry, but now that the game was over, all she could think of was him, him in those damnable gloves, sweaty and victorious.
"If I think someone's had it, should I tell them?" she asked suddenly, feeling deliciously wicked and shockingly unconflicted.
And just as she'd hoped, her darling brothers looked shocked.
"No!" they said in unison, and Fred finished the statement. "Just… make sure they're not into trouble."
They meant to tell her how long the fudge would last, but their baby sister was off like a Snitch released from its case.
"You reckon we ought to have told her how long it would last?" George asked, staring thoughtfully after his sister and wondering if this meant they were no longer responsible.
"Eh," Fred said noncommittally, wondering the same thing. "It's hardly relevant. After all, we don't know when some poor bastard's actually going to pop that candy into his mouth."
In unison, the two thought of a Hufflepuff cornering the Potions professor, and they both burst into laughter.