Chapter 2

Mr. Pierce could have been there hours, or only moments when low murmurs drifting on the dead air wafted towards his ears. There was no time to compose himself as two figures turned the corner. They were tall, especially to the eleven-year-old, had striking hair, and identical features. He let out a breath. It wasn’t a member of the Inquisitorial Squad. The Weasley twins were safe. From their gestures and tone, they were highly frustrated.

“…and there’s not much of a reason to stay. We have our funding from Harry. The paperwork’s filed for number 93. Blimey Fred!” George looked at the first year in surprise.

A low, feral growl came from Fred. “She got another one?” He looked at his twin darkly. Bending down to sit a mutter of, “A first-year?!” came from his quivering lips. Identical expressions of rage crashed upon them like a menacing wave in a storm. Still acting on instinct, the boy whimpered; realizing this, the twins calmed their emotions.

The second twin sat down on the other side of him. “What’s your name kid?”

“Michael. Michael Pierce. You’re the Weasley twins. I tried one of your Skiving Snackboxes at the beginning of the year,” Michael whispered. “Which one of you is which?”

“Fred, lookie here! A Gryffindor and prankster! No better combination!” The second twin joked weakly.

“You’ve it right George,” Fred nodded, a glimmer of a smile haunting his face. But it wasn’t to last, for it disappeared instantly.

They sat in silence, one of mutual understanding for a bit before Michael shifted his hand awkwardly and sharply drew breath in.

“Your hand’s going to be fine Michael,” George said softly, lifting the afflicted hand’s wrist to gaze at it solemnly.

“Yeah, it’s not as bad as it seems,” Fred steadily said, his tone belying his true thoughts. “See, it’s fading already.”

“We know a few ways of helping it. Murtlap essence works wonders,” George took a vial out of his pocket and let a good number of drops of a yellow solution drip onto Michael’s hand and pool there. Taking out a handkerchief, he tied the hand up gently. “You can hardly see ours anymore,” George proffered his hand as evidence.

“And the pain stops after a while,” Fred looked into Michael’s suffering eyes. “Don’t let the old toad get you down. The job’s jinxed. She won’t be here next year.”

“But,” Michael stammered, “I might not come back next year because of this. Mum won’t let me once she finds out. She can say that boarding school didn’t agree with me, and I can go to public with all of my old friends.”

The twins didn’t know what to say to that. Leave the world of magic? All because of some sick, twisted woman? Something was needed to be done; a whole generation of wizards and witches could be destroyed because of this manipulative toad.