Chapter Text
There exists a remarkably thin line between brilliance and sheer idiocy. Fred and George Weasley stepped over this line casually and regularly, as though their very lives depended on it - which, in their very own opinion, it rather did. What is the point of enduring boredom when one might instead devote themselves to the far more fun pursuit of troubling others?
And devote themselves to it, they sure did.
Their family was the first to witness it. One of their earliest victims was their own baby brother, two years younger than both of them. Their pranks ranged from transfiguring his teddy bear into a giant spider, to attempting to bind him in an Unbreakable Vow, to slipping him an acid pop.
Of course, little Ron was not their only victim, though he was most definitely the most frequent. Even in their early days at The Burrow, their mischief knew very few limits: constantly confusing their family over who was who, or hiding dungbombs beneath their great-aunt’s chair at dinner in a bid to stop her from attending future gatherings.
It came as an immense relief to almost the entire family when the twins were finally sent off to Hogwarts. At last, there might be some peace in their home.
George and Fred, however, were only just getting started on their schemes once they arrived at the wizarding school. Very much to the dismay of their older brother Percy who acts as a prefect for Gryffindor.
For their very first year in Hogwarts they had set themselves a rather ambitious mission: to ensure that every soul in their house suffered from their very particular brand of mischief at least once. Beginning, of course, with their own year.
And as the year wore on, they ticked names off of their carefully curated list, though never in any distinct order. It was simply a matter of who happened to wander into the clutches of the scheming, ginger-haired twins first.
Dungbomb by dungbomb, their plans advanced, leaving a trail of chaos not only among their fellow students but even the staff within the ancient walls of Hogwarts. And as the end of term crept ever closer, bringing with it a deceptive calm, the twins found themselves confronted with a most curious realisation:
There remained but a single name on their list.
A single name. One that rang with an odd sort of familiarity. And yet, when they paused to think about it - really think about it - no face accompanied the thought. Not a feature, not a flicker of recognition.
Curious, that.
Did this person even attend lessons? If they did, the twins had never once taken notice. Mind you, they themselves were hardly great examples of punctual scholarship - but after a full year at Hogwarts, one would think they’d have crossed paths with this mysterious individual at least once… wouldn’t they?
“She’s not about very often,” Angelina says, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.
The twins raise their eyebrows in perfect unison. “What d’you mean?” they ask in unison.
The Great Hall is buzzing with chatter, plates clattering and voices rising as everyone tucked into their dinner. Fred and George did make a fair effort - by their standards, that is - to match the final name on their list to an actual face, but so far had come up with absolutely nothing.
“Well, she does go to lessons,” Angelina goes on. “You’ll probably spot her tomorrow. She usually sits with us. But if you want a proper word, you’ll have to leg it after class. Soon as it’s over, she’s gone.”
Fred and George exchange a look before turning back to her. “Gone?” Fred echoes.
“What d’you mean, gone?” George adds.
Angelina gives a small shrug. “No idea. Been like it since the start of term. One minute she’s sat right next to you, next minute - poof. Vanished.”
“Vanished where?” Fred presses.
“Beats me. Merlin knows.”
Fred reaches for a scone and takes a hearty bite. “You really haven’t got a clue? Thought you two were mates.”
Angelina shrugs again, taking a crunch out of her apple. “We are. But… she keeps her distance a bit, doesn’t she? Never really seemed like my place to ask.”
The twins exchange another look before pressing any further. Whatever. They’ll make this work.
Night slips by, and the twins keep their eyes properly peeled for any unfamiliar face lurking about the common room or drifting along the moving staircases. They even turn up to breakfast at a shockingly early hour - practically unheard of for the twins - just in case. And at last, they finally spot their final victim of the term. They spot you.
You are seated beside Angelina, the two of you deep in conversation, heads bent together as though discussing something terribly important.
George jabs Fred in the ribs with his elbow. Fred shoots him a knowing look and gives a small nod. They grin in unison, each with a bag of stinkpellets tucked safely into their pockets.
The plan was simple - beautifully so, really, honed to perfection after many successful attempts: stroll past, drop a pellet neatly into the victim’s hood, then retreat to a safe distance and enjoy the ensuing confusion as an entirely suspicious stench begins to follow them about.
They just began to edge their way in from behind when quite suddenly, a food trolley comes barrelling across their path at a most unreasonable speed, forcing them to stumble back a step or two.
By the time they regain their footing and look up again, their target is no longer beside Angelina. Instead, you are halfway to the doors of the Great Hall, slipping out in an evident hurry.
The twins catch Angelina’s eye. She merely mouths, told you so.
Without another word, they bolt for the doors. But by the time they reach the corridor beyond, you vanished completely.
“Drat,” they curse.
“George?”
“Fred.”
There is a brief pause, both of them frowning in the same thoughtful way.
“This might be a bit trickier than we reckoned.”
•••••••••••••••
The days wear on, and still the twins persist, very much relentless in their efforts to land so much as a single successful prank whenever they happened to cross paths with you.
They attempt their usual stinkpellet trick more than once. Each time, just as you came within perfect range, someone would drift in front of you. Purely by chance, it seemed. And then you would vanish into the crowd, not to be seen until the next class.
In Herbology, they make a bold attempt to tamper with your plant while your back is turned. Or at least, what they thought was your plant. It turned out to be a repotted Mandrake, which immediately let out an earsplitting shriek the moment they tugged at it, leaving them both reeling and quite thoroughly told off by Professor Sprout.
Even the simplest schemes straight up refused to cooperate. A carefully placed banana peel, dropped neatly in your path, should have been foolproof. And yet, without fail, someone would bump into you at just the right moment, causing you to step clean over it without so much as a wobble.
And so, it was under these most trying circumstances that Fred and George find themselves in detention, utterly at a loss.
“How lucky can one person be?” Fred grumbles, leaning heavily on the broom he’d been given to sweep the classroom. “It’s getting a bit ridiculous now.”
George, unusually quiet, is frowning in thought. “You know… I think I remember her.”
Fred turns to him. “You do?”
George nods slowly. “Beginning of the year. She was one of the first we tried to prank. Had a couple of goes, then gave it up and moved on.”
“Oh.”
They both let out a long, frustrated sigh.
“Surely there’s no such thing as someone completely unprankable,” Fred said. “That’d be unnatural.”
With only a handful of days left before summer, time was very much against them. And given that they had spent the better part of two weeks trailing her to no avail, it was beginning to feel like an impossible task.
George shifts, leaning against his broom in much the same way as his brother. Their eyes meet.
Slowly, identical grins spread across their faces, mischief glinting across their faces.
“Well,” George said, “only one way to find out, isn’t there?”
•••••••••••••••
The twins resolved upon a different sort of approach. Clearly, charging in headfirst wasn’t doing them any favours. No, if they were to succeed, they’d have to uncover your weaknesses first. And to do that, they had to observe. Properly. Quietly. Work out your habits, your routine - everything.
It was during Potions that they made their move.
Fred and George arrive earlier than usual. Suspiciously early, in fact, as they took note of something rather interesting: you were almost always among the first to arrive, often seated well before Angelina and the other girls joined you.
And there you were.
Alone at your desk, head bent over a bit of parchment, scribbling away.
A perfect opportunity. But for once, they held back. Patience.
George clears his throat lightly as they approach. “Mind if we sit here?”
You glance at them briefly, just from the corner of your eye, before returning to your scribbling. “Feel free.”
George slides into the seat beside you, Fred dropping into the next one along.
First contact.
Gradually, the classroom begins to fill. Angelina raises an eyebrow at the sight of them but doesn’t comment, instead settling down with a few other girls from their house and a couple from Ravenclaw.
Fred leans on his elbow, trying to sneak a look at what you were doing, only to have his curiosity cut short as Professor Snape sweeps into the room and promptly smacks a small book against his head.
“Pay attention.”
Fred mutters something under his breath.
George, meanwhile, watches from the corner of his eye. You appear to be drawing… stick figures? Or something like them, anyway.
He leans slightly closer. “What’re you drawing?” he whispers.
No response.
Had you not heard?
He glances up at you properly. Your head is propped lazily against the palm of your hand, swaying ever so slightly as you dip your quill into the ink again. How Snape hadn’t called you out yet was beyond the boy. More of that ridiculous luck, no doubt.
Your foot taps softly against the floor, steady, rhythmic, almost absent-minded.
George shifts closer and repeats his question. “What’re you drawing?”
This time, you react.
Your eyes snap open, and you turn to him, clearly startled. As you lift your head from your hand, George catches sight of something small slipping from your ear and disappearing neatly into your sleeve.
He blinks. “What was that?”
You hesitate, looking faintly confused. “What?”
“That- just then. In your sleeve. What was it?”
You pauses, as though weighing it up, then give it a small shrug. “Dunno what you mean.”
“No, I saw it! There was definitely something-”
Fred, now fully invested, leans in closer. “What’s going on?”
George barely had time to answer before-
Snap.
A piece of chalk strikes him squarely on the head with alarming force.
“Weasley. Detention. Both of you,” comes Snape’s cold voice. “Kindly refrain from distracting others. Believe it or not, some students are actually here to learn something.”
George rubs his forehead, wincing. Learn something? He casts a glance at your parchment, your aimless scribbles clearly suggest otherwise.
Still… they’d been close. He was certain of it. That had been something. A clue, even. Shame Professor Snape was such a persistent obstacle.
George meets Fred’s eyes. Fred raises an eyebrow.
They’d catch you after class. They had to.
Except, of course, they don’t.
Just as Angelina had said, the moment they looked away - gone. Vanished again, as if you’d never been there at all.
Honestly, it was beginning to feel less like bad luck for the twins and more like something downright unnatural.
And so, the term draws to a close with a single name left stubbornly unticked on their list.
But that only made it all the more interesting. Now they only had all summer to plan ahead for the next term. Because that’d be when they’d strike. No one in Hogwarts would be safe from their schemes. And that very well included you.