Morning, May sunshine, the school Quidditch pitch packed with students cheering frantically for their teams and players. The roar and clamour of the crowd surging at a well-executed manoeuvre or a scored Quaffle. Outside the pitch, the odd Auror or MLE officer could be spotted. And what were the twins doing? Under Disillusionment Charms, they were making brisk progress not far from the pitch, sticking to the most obvious route towards Hogsmeade — who was going to stop them on that path? But even out here they could hear it all clearly — the shouts, the elation from the pitch, and the voice of their good friend Lee Jordan commentating the match.
"...incredible work from the Hufflepuff Beaters opens a corridor for the Chasers! Excellent manoeuvre from Appleby! The pass! The Beaters are simply carving a route to the Slytherin rings for their own, another pass, and — ! Goal!!!"
"Yeaaaaah!" A powerful wave of voices rolled across the grounds and down the slope.
The twins couldn't see each other, but each felt the other's presence clearly enough.
"Granger's going off, by the sound of it," Fred murmured quietly, about halfway to Hogsmeade as they descended past a small copse. The pitch was a good distance away by now, but Lee Jordan's words were still just distinguishable enough to follow the action.
"Looks like it," George nodded, even knowing his brother couldn't see it.
The boys were on their way to carry out what was, for them, an important mission — delivering the finished product directly to Madam Bones. A meeting time had been arranged, along with all the attendant formalities, which made the twins somewhat uneasy. They were accustomed to conducting most of their business on the less-than-official side of things. They'd felt the same way when they left Hogwarts to sign official paperwork for the acquisition of a premises on Diagon Alley. Not a purchase, granted — a forty-year lease with an option to buy, the only arrangement they could afford at present.
The rest of the journey the twins made in silence. Their plan for getting off Hogwarts grounds was fairly straightforward. No secret passages, no underground tunnels, no clever tricks — the MLE and the Aurors had attended Hogwarts themselves and were just as familiar with those not-so-secret passages as anyone, and had since sealed them off and placed them under total surveillance. A direct route to Hogsmeade, and from there, roughly halfway to the Hog's Head, a simple Apparition to Whitehall in London — they'd been there a couple of times with their father and knew where to find a few of the visitor entrances to the Ministry. That was precisely where the twins were due to meet Madam Bones.
They covered the distance to Hogsmeade in silence, taking care not to betray their presence to the occasional witch or wizard they encountered along the way, and in the village itself. This was not their first such outing, and many of the necessary actions had become second nature.
Leaving the village behind and making their way up the path towards the Hog's Head, the twins reached a notable boulder sitting amidst a thick patch of lush green grass.
"You there?"
"I'm here."
"Apparating?"
"Naturally."
"On three?"
"Let's go one at a time, actually. I'm fairly certain we're both picturing the exact same spot. I'd rather not materialise on top of each other."
"Sensible. Right — I'll go."
The characteristic crack of Apparition sounded, and a slight distortion in the air marked where one of the invisible twins had been standing. A couple of seconds later, the second followed.
The noise of central London crashed into their awareness immediately, and both had to dodge almost at once to avoid pedestrians going briskly about their business. Cars moved along the road, someone was leaning on a horn, and the smells, colours, sounds, and tall grey buildings pressed down with an unfamiliar gloom.
"Did you put on the Muggle-Repelling Charms?" Fred's voice asked from an empty patch of air, addressed to an equally empty patch of air. Which replied:
"Of course. You?"
"Same."
"Off we go, then. There's the red box."
Reaching the red telephone box standing flush against the wall of one of London's unremarkable and entirely ordinary old administrative buildings, the invisible twins ducked swiftly inside and only then dissolved the charms, becoming perfectly visible once more.
"How do I look?" Fred straightened his very presentable brown jacket and checked his tie was sitting properly.
In his left hand he carried a sizeable case bearing their shop's insignia. It had, naturally, been treated with an Undetectable Extension Charm and various other enhancements, and it was in this case that Fred was transporting the boxes of artefacts received from Hector. Everything was labelled, instructions were included, and even the boxes themselves were made to a high standard.
"Exactly like me," his brother answered, dressed in an identical brown three-piece suit.
"Magnificent?"
"Naturally."
"Did you bring Muggle coins?"
"Always."
George produced a handful of ordinary coins from his pocket — precisely the kind required to use this particular box as an entrance to the Ministry of Magic, rather than simply making a telephone call. Though who in their right mind would ring anyone from this box? It was charmed against ordinary people, and among wizards, the telephone was a luxury found in very few homes — mainly those of Muggle-born or half-blood wizards who were familiar with the ordinary world and actually needed such means of communication.
"Dad would have an absolute field day right now," Fred said with a grin, watching as George lifted the receiver, dropped in a coin of the correct denomination, and began dialling the special number.
"He would, wouldn't he. Especially if there's someone around to talk at."
A magically produced voice came through the receiver, with an artificially constructed quality that even an idiot would have clocked immediately. Fred wasn't paying particular attention to what was being said, his mind mostly on the meeting ahead.
"George Weasley, Fred Weasley, appointment with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," George said. "The appointment is confirmed."
Within ten seconds, two badges bearing the twins' names and the purpose of their visit dropped into the coin return slot. George replaced the receiver, the boys pinned on their badges, and the telephone box — which, internally, functioned as a magical lift — began descending at a fair pace.
In under ten seconds, the lift was dropping from ceiling-level into the Ministry Atrium, and the twins found themselves looking down from a considerable height over the many witches and wizards bustling about below. Some were stepping out of fireplaces; others were vanishing in green flame in various directions.
The lift settled briskly to the floor, its doors opened, and the twins fell in with the flow of witches and wizards moving towards the fountain, then along the corridor, and into the lift hall. Stepping into a free car, they pressed the correct floor — noted in the letter — and waited. Within seconds the lift had filled with an assortment of witches and wizards pressing various buttons, the doors slid shut, everyone reached for the overhead handles, and with a distinctly ungentle lurch the car moved off.
"Nervous?" George asked quietly.
"Not particularly."
"I'm a bit nervous. This isn't the same as selling jokes to students."
"No, it isn't."
Emerging at the correct floor, the twins walked at a steady pace along gloomy corridors tiled in near-black, scanning the names on doors as they went.
"There," George indicated one of them.
Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement — read the nameplate.
"Right then. In we go."
Fred knocked and opened the door.
An anteroom — that was the only word for it. A not-particularly-spacious room with several long sofas that were evidently not designed with comfort in mind. The décor was muted, understated, conducive to a serious frame of mind — as was the large but unadorned desk behind which sat an absurdly stern young witch. The twins knew perfectly well what Amelia Bones looked like, and this was clearly not her.
"Good afternoon," the witch greeted them drily. "Mister Weasley and Mister Weasley?"
"Good afternoon."
"Please go through — you're expected." She indicated a set of double doors, and the twins made their way in that direction without delay.
Amelia Bones' office was no less spartan than the anteroom. Every piece of furniture in an uncompromisingly severe style — nothing superfluous. A single cabinet with glass doors through which one could see all manner of things on the shelves: books alongside commendations alongside a set of glasses. Far more prominent were the large filing cabinets. One of the drawers was open, revealing a densely packed collection of folders of varying thickness. Behind the large desk sat a witch of indeterminate age, though plainly not young. The sharp, angular features of her face and the hard gaze of her brown eyes inspired — well, the urge to stand at attention, even in someone who had never done such a thing in their life. Her dress was simple and entirely official — a fully buttoned black robe, though something suggested that underneath it lay some kind of business suit in a feminine cut.
"Good morning, gentlemen — please sit down," Madam Bones indicated the chairs in front of her desk.
"Good morning, Madam Bones," the twins replied in unison, exchanged a quick glance, and — apparently — awarded the right of negotiation to Fred, if only because he was the one holding the case.
The twins took their seats.
"Gentlemen. I'll come straight to the point," Madam Bones said, folding her hands on the desk. "In essence, the terms have already been agreed upon in our correspondence. I prefer to make the best use of time — mine and other people's."
"In that case, we are entirely in agreement with that approach," Fred said, with a nod. "The agreed minimum batch of artefacts is here—"
He indicated his case.
"—I suggest we proceed to a demonstration and verification."
"Quite right."
There was ample clear space on the large desk. Fred rose from his chair, set the case down carefully, opened it, and began lifting out the boxes received from Hector. Arranging them in two stacks, he set the case aside and opened the first — and only — box in one of the stacks.
"Rings with triple Protego," Fred said, sliding the open black box forward.
Inside, standing upright in four rows of twenty, half-embedded in a material that looked and felt expensive, were the mirror-polished rings. A folded set of instructions lay on top — covering the initial blood-bonding and general use. Fred demonstratively removed the first tray of rings, set it aside to reveal the second, which received the same treatment. The third tray was not quite full, but this prompted no questions from Madam Bones — counting the rings at this packing density required no effort.
Madam Bones silently extended a hand and ran her index finger across each ring in turn, going by feel — judging by the barely perceptible approval in her eyes, the goods matched the samples she'd been sent precisely. She picked up the instruction sheet and ran her eyes over it.
"Excellent work," she said, with measured brevity, and Fred began replacing the contents of the box.
A similar procedure followed with the other boxes, in which the same mirror-polished bracelets were packed in the same style, though in considerably smaller quantities. When the full inspection was complete, the twins and Madam Bones signed the contract of sale, exchanged goods for money, and all parties were satisfied.
"Gentlemen," Madam Bones said, once the coin pouch — the contents of which no one had counted, simply by virtue of the contract — had been transferred to Fred's case. "Would your firm — your rather ambiguously named firm — be open to further collaboration with the MLE and the Auror Office, beyond these particular artefacts?"
"Of course," George now took the lead. "We would, however, prefer to know what the departments actually need, rather than offering things at random. That way we can save time and resources — yours and ours alike."
"That is reasonable," Madam Bones agreed. "In that case, I will commission a review and have a list of requirements drawn up. I take it correspondence can be directed to you personally, rather than through my niece as an intermediary?"
The corners of her mouth moved — the barest suggestion of a smile — and the totality of this expressive abundance reminded the twins, for reasons they could not entirely explain, of Snape. Not the most flattering of associations.
"Of course. Letters addressed directly to us will reach us."
"Very good. A list will be sent in due course. It is gratifying to know that future Hogwarts graduates show such a high degree of civic responsibility and public-spiritedness."
"As it is gratifying for us to know that our work amounts to more than foolery, and can be of genuine use."
Bidding farewell, the twins left the Head of the MLE's office, walked a couple of metres down the corridor, and exhaled freely — immediately loosening their ties.
"Strange woman," Fred said. "Nothing in particular was said or done, and yet the tension was worse than if all the Hogwarts professors were trying to extract your soul simultaneously."
"That's the job, I suppose. Personally, I intend to get a drink. Or at least purchase one and drink it back at Hogwarts."
"Let's go, quickly. The Ministry is oppressing my rebellious spirit. Do you think the Hufflepuffs won?"
"Oh, sod all that..."
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