Chapter 116: Weasleys' Winding Down
"Oi, Elian! Off to see the old toad?" George Weasley fell into step beside him, slinging a familiar arm around his shoulders.
Fred appeared on his other side, producing a handful of garishly wrapped sweets from his robes. "Fancy a pick-me-up? I'd recommend the Puking Pastille. Quick, effective, gets you out of any lesson with a clean bill of health." He pointed to a green one. "Well, maybe not clean."
"Nosebleed Nougat's a classic," George chimed in, pointing to a pink wrapper. "Sustained flow, very convincing. Lets you skip the whole day, really."
In unison, they declared, "Affordable, effective, and guaranteed to brighten your dismal academic experience!"
Elian couldn't help but smile. The Weasley twins' business had boomed under Umbridge's reign of educational terror. They seemed to have an uncanny sense of which class was suffering through Defence Against the Dark Arts next and were always there, ready with their illicit confectionery salvation.
"Thanks, but I'd rather not spend the afternoon covered in vomit or my own blood," Elian declined politely. He despised Umbridge's class, but he despised the mess more.
"A man of refined tastes," George sighed dramatically. "Our pockets weep."
"We know what he really likes," Fred said with a wicked grin.
"The brightest witch of her age!"
"The charming Seeker with a saving-people thing!"
They finished together, cackling.
Elian shook his head, used to their antics. He enjoyed their company; their irreverent energy was a breath of fresh air in the oppressive castle. "Shouldn't you two be in class?"
George shrugged, stuffing the sweets back into his pockets. "Charms with Flitwick. We've… made other arrangements."
Fred's expression turned uncharacteristically serious for a second. "Truth is, Elian, Hogwarts and us… we're reaching an understanding. It's not really working out anymore." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Bit of a secret, but George and I have decided to… seek alternative education."
"You're dropping out," Elian stated, not a question.
The twins froze, their jaws dropping in perfect synchrony. This was not the reaction they were used to. When they'd told Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they'd been met with stunned disbelief, horrified lectures about futures and O.W.L.s. They thrived on that shock.
"You… you understand?" Fred sputtered. "We're leaving! No more NEWTs, no Ministry career, no more boring lectures!"
"We're going to open a shop," George added, watching Elian's face closely for any sign of the expected dismay. "Harry's given us a massive startup fund. Fancy buying in? A hundred Galleons gets you a founder's share. Profits guaranteed!"
Elian considered it for a moment. He knew, from the hazy memories of another life, that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes would be a roaring success. But he wasn't interested in being a silent partner. Harry's sponsorship was poetic, fitting. "I'll pass. But I wish you the best of luck. You're right, this place isn't for you."
The twins stared at him, utterly deflated. Their grand announcement had landed with a dull thud.
"You're no fun at all, Elian," Fred complained, though a smile tugged at his lips.
"We're working on something special," George said, regaining his spark. "Something that'll really make a splash on the way out. You'll see. Might even make you regret not investing."
"Oh, you'll beg us for a share then, but it'll be too late!" Fred declared, puffing out his chest.
Elian merely smiled and made a subtle movement towards his wand pocket.
The effect was instantaneous. Both twins flinched, memories of their many failed 'prank wars' against him in D.A. sessions flashing before their eyes. They'd never landed a single spell on him, and he'd countered them with humiliating ease every time.
"Right! Well! Places to be!" George said, backpedaling quickly.
"Explosions to prepare! Or something!" Fred added, already turning to flee.
"You'll see!" George called over his shoulder as they scampered down the corridor. "It'll be a grand exit! The grandest!"
Elian watched them go, his smile lingering. Their 'grand exit' was something he actually looked forward to. In a castle growing darker by the day, the Weasley twins' brand of chaotic, joyous rebellion was a light worth preserving, even if it was leaving the building.
He turned and continued his grim march towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the brief interlude of laughter fading, replaced by the familiar sense of dread that Umbridge's door inspired. The countdown to the next hour of misery had begun.
(End of Chapter)
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