Work Text:
The Death Eater had expected resistance.
He had not expected the front door to explode into a cloud of purple smoke.
He staggered backward, coughing into his mask.
“Weasleys,” he wheezed.
A tiny bell chimed.
Ding!
A cheerful voice came from somewhere overhead.
“Welcome to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!”
The Death Eater froze.
There was a pause.
Then another voice added, “Your visit has been automatically upgraded to the premium torture package.”
The Death Eater slowly looked around.
The shop was empty.
Completely empty.
Shelves stretched toward the ceiling, stacked with brightly colored boxes, bottles, joke products, and things that looked suspiciously illegal.
He raised his wand.
“Show yourself!”
Nothing.
Then, from somewhere behind him:
“Boo.”
He spun around.
Nothing.
“Did you hear that?” Fred whispered from the hidden office.
“I did, it worked,” George whispered back.
“Think he heard it?”
“I think he nearly wet himself.”
“Excellent.”
The Death Eater backed toward the door.
It slammed shut.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
“Open!”
A little sign above the door flipped over.
SORRY! WE’RE CLOSED.
Underneath, another sign appeared.
FOR YOUR SAFETY.
The Death Eater stared.
“Idiots.”
From the ceiling:
“Correct!”
He fired a curse upward.
The ceiling immediately spat a small pink package onto his head.
He caught it.
Extendable Ears: One pair.
He stared at it.
“What?”
The package opened.
Two tiny ears sprang out and attached themselves to the sides of his mask.
Fred’s voice came through them.
“Hello!”
George followed.
“HELLO!”
The Death Eater ripped them off.
“Remove these!”
“Can’t,” said Fred.
“Why?”
“Because you bought the premium model.”
“I DIDN’T BUY ANYTHING!”
George sounded offended.
“That’s what they all say.”
The Death Eater pointed his wand at the nearest shelf.
“I will burn this entire place down.”
There was silence.
Fred and George exchanged a look.
“Do you think he means it?” Fred whispered.
“Definitely.”
“Should we tell him?”
“Probably.”
George pressed a button.
Every sprinkler in the shop activated simultaneously.
Except it wasn’t water.
It was glitter.
The Death Eater stood completely still as silver glitter rained over him.
Fred’s voice came over the enchanted speakers.
“Congratulations!”
George added, “You’ve been promoted to Head of Marketing.”
The Death Eater screamed.
He charged down the aisle.
A box on the shelf suddenly opened.
A tiny rubber chicken launched itself directly at his face.
HONK.
He swatted it away.
Another appeared.
HONK.
Another.
HONK.
Then twenty.
HONK HONK HONK HONK HONK—
“STOP!”
He fired a spell.
The chickens multiplied.
Fred made a strangled noise from the office.
“George.”
“Yes?”
“I think we’ve discovered something.”
“What?”
“Angry chickens breed when exposed to hostile magic.”
George went silent.
“That’s incredible.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Write that down.”
“I already am.”
The Death Eater sprinted toward the back of the shop.
The floor suddenly became incredibly slippery.
His feet flew out from underneath him.
He landed flat on his back.
A little mechanical voice chirped:
“Thank you for shopping at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!”
He lay there, breathing heavily.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Fred’s voice came through the ceiling.
“Bit rude.”
“You don’t even know who I am!”
“Neither do you, apparently.” George snickered.
The Death Eater slowly sat up.
“What?”
“You broke into a joke shop.”
A pause.
“And you’re losing.”
The Death Eater’s eye twitched.
He stood.
He pointed his wand toward the office door.
“Enough!”
He blasted it open.
Empty.
Just shelves.
A desk.
Two chairs.
And a handwritten note.
He snatched it up.
Dear Intruder,
If you’ve made it this far, congratulations!
You have successfully completed Round One.
Please proceed to the stairs.
Love, Fred & George
The Death Eater crumpled the note.
“I’ll kill them.”
From directly behind him:
“That’s not very customer-service oriented.”
He spun around.
A mannequin wearing a Death Eater mask stood in the aisle.
The Death Eater stared at it.
The mannequin stared back.
Then its mask dropped.
Underneath was another Death Eater mask.
The Death Eater took one step backward.
The mannequin took one step forward.
He raised his wand.
The mannequin raised its wand.
“Stop copying me!”
The mannequin raised its other wand.
The Death Eater screamed.
He fired.
The mannequin exploded into a shower of rubber spiders.
He screamed louder.
The spiders climbed his robes.
One crawled into his sleeve.
“GET IT OUT!”
Fred was wheezing.
George was crying.
Neither of them had stopped laughing for approximately seven minutes.
Finally, the Death Eater found the emergency exit.
He ripped it open.
Cold night air hit his face.
He stumbled outside.
Freedom.
He took one step.
A small sign beside the door lit up.
THANK YOU FOR VISITING!
He ignored it.
Another sign appeared.
PLEASE COME AGAIN!
He kept walking.
A final sign appeared.
YOU HAVE BEEN PRANKED BY FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY.
He stopped.
Slowly, he turned around.
The shop windows lit up.
Every single display mannequin pressed its face against the glass.
All of them waved.
Then the entire building shouted:
“THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE!”
The Death Eater ran.
Inside the shop, Fred emerged from the hidden office.
George followed.
They stood in the doorway watching him disappear down the street.
Fred wiped a tear from his eye.
“Think he’ll come back?”
George considered this.
“No.”
“Shame.”
“Why?”
“We’ve still got the experimental aisle.”
George gasped.
“The experimental aisle!”
They looked at each other.
Then simultaneously sprinted back inside.
“WE NEVER TESTED THE EXPERIMENTAL AISLE!”
“WE HAVE A VOLUNTEER!”
And somewhere several streets away, a very traumatized Death Eater suddenly heard:
DING!
And ran faster.
The morning after the first break-in, there had been a meeting.
A very serious meeting.
Several Death Eaters had gathered around a long table while one very battered man stood at the front and attempted to explain what had happened.
He had described the rubber balls.
The falling traps.
The collapsing floor.
The paint.
The fire.
The fireworks.
The screaming.
He had described the shop itself seeming to turn against him.
By the end of his account, there had been several uncomfortable silences.
Then someone had laughed.
Then someone else had laughed.
Eventually, the entire room had decided that the man had simply panicked.
No one believed him.
Except Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius had said nothing.
He had merely sat at the end of the table, fingers steepled beneath his chin, and thought about Fred and George Weasley.
He had heard all about those boys at Hogwarts.
He had heard about them turn detention into an opportunity for experimentation.
He had heard about them test products on unsuspecting students.
He had watched them sell things that technically should not have worked and somehow worked better than expected.
They were clever.
Creative.
Resourceful.
And, most importantly, completely incapable of recognizing the concept of reasonable escalation.
So when Voldemort finally decided that the first failure required a second attempt, Lucius was not surprised when his name appeared alongside Antonin Dolohov’s.
He was, however, mildly irritated.
Mostly because he had plans for that evening.
And partly because Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had sent him its quarterly investor report that morning.
Fourteen percent.
A very healthy fourteen percent.
Lucius had no intention of allowing Antonin Dolohov to discover that he owned fourteen percent of the business they were about to infiltrate.
That would be unfortunate.
For everyone.
Especially Lucius.
*****
By sunset, the two Death Eaters stood across the street from the brightly lit joke shop.
Dolohov stared at it.
Lucius stared at it.
There was a long silence.
“So,” Dolohov finally said, “this is the place.”
“Yes.”
“The one from the report.”
“Yes.”
“The one where that idiot claimed the shop attacked him.”
Lucius took a slow sip from the silver flask in his hand.
“That is what he claimed.”
Dolohov scoffed.
“Ridiculous.”
Lucius closed the flask.
“They went to school with my son. I’m aware of how dangerous they are.”
Dolohov glanced at him.
“You actually believe that nonsense?”
“I believe the twins are exceptionally inventive.”
“They’re children.”
“They’re adults.”
“Children with a joke shop.”
“That does not make them less dangerous.”
Dolohov rolled his eyes.
Lucius sighed.
He had tried.
That was important.
He had issued a warning.
His conscience was clear.
“Are you coming?” Dolohov asked.
Lucius looked at the flask.
Then at the shop.
Then back at Dolohov.
“Of course.”
They crossed the street.
Dolohov marched directly toward the front door.
Lucius followed several paces behind.
The bell above the door chimed.
DING!
Fred’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs.
“George?”
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got company.”
“Round 2?”
“Apparently.”
A pause.
“Did he bring a friend?”
“Looks like it.”
“Excellent.”
Lucius heard that.
He stopped.
Dolohov didn’t.
The door swung shut behind them.
The shop went silent.
Dolohov looked around.
Shelves packed with colorful products lined the walls.
Boxes of joke items sat neatly stacked.
Display mannequins grinned at them.
Everything looked completely normal.
Dolohov smirked.
“See?”
Lucius looked at the ceiling.
A tiny metal object was embedded above the doorway.
His eyes narrowed.
“Antonin.”
“What?”
“I would advise caution.”
Dolohov waved him off.
Then the ceiling opened.
A dozen mouse traps dropped directly onto him.
“WHAT THE HELL?!”
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Dolohov stumbled backward as enchanted mouse traps bounced off his shoulders, arms, chest, and head.
Lucius stepped neatly to the side.
One trap landed at his feet.
He looked down at it.
Then up at the ceiling.
“Good engineering.”
Dolohov whipped around.
“You knew!”
“I suspected.”
“You could have warned me!”
“I did.”
Another trap bounced off Dolohov’s forehead.
“OW!”
From upstairs came muffled laughter.
“Evening, Mr. Malfoy!”
Lucius looked toward the ceiling.
“Good evening.”
Dolohov stared at him.
“You know them?”
“I know of them.”
Fred’s voice floated down.
“That’s technically true!”
George added, “Very legally accurate!”
Lucius allowed himself the smallest smile.
Dolohov pointed his wand toward the ceiling.
“Come down here!”
There was a pause.
Then George said:
“No.”
Fred added:
“That seems unsafe.”
Dolohov fired a curse.
It hit a display of Extendable Ears.
The ears immediately began screaming.
“INTRUDER!”
“INTRUDER!”
“INTRUDER!”
“INTRUDER!”
Lights flashed.
Shelves slammed shut.
The front door locked.
Dolohov’s expression changed.
Lucius took another sip of brandy.
“Mr. Malfoy!”
“Yes?”
“You seem unusually calm.”
“I am assessing the situation.”
“You aren’t helping.”
“I’m not certain that would be wise.”
Dolohov charged forward.
His foot landed on a small red button.
Lucius noticed it.
Dolohov did not.
Fred’s voice came over the shop’s enchanted speaking tubes.
“Oh.”
George sounded delighted.
“He found the button.”
“What’s the button do?” Dolohov demanded.
“Nothing.”
A beat.
“Probably.”
The floor dropped out from beneath him.
Dolohov disappeared.
A net caught him.
He swung beneath the floorboards.
Lucius peered over the edge.
Dolohov glared upward.
“HELP ME!”
Lucius considered this.
“Are you certain?”
“YES!”
Lucius sighed and helped pull him out.
Dolohov scrambled to his feet.
“I hate this shop.”
From upstairs:
“Customer feedback!”
“Write that down!”
Dolohov raised his wand again.
Lucius caught his wrist.
“Do not.”
Dolohov stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because I suspect they want you to.”
Lucius released him.
Three seconds later, Dolohov fired.
The display exploded into glitter.
Thousands of tiny enchanted particles filled the air.
Dolohov coughed.
Lucius calmly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose.
“You could have warned me.”
“I did.”
“Before?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I told you don’t fire.”
Dolohov looked murderous.
A rubber ball shot out of a wall.
THWACK.
Straight into his stomach.
Another hit his shoulder.
Then another.
Then six more.
The shop erupted into rapid-fire chaos.
THWACK. THWACK. THWACK. THWACK.
Dolohov threw himself behind a shelf.
The shelf immediately tipped over.
He rolled away.
A box fell from above.
It burst open.
Hundreds of tiny fireworks shot across the room.
POP! POP! POP!
Dolohov screamed as his robes smoked.
Lucius watched from behind an intact display.
He checked his watch.
“Efficient.”
“You are enjoying this!”
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to!”
Another firework exploded behind Dolohov.
Lucius took another drink.
They finally reached the back corridor.
Dolohov was covered in glitter.
His hair was smoking.
Three mouse traps were still attached to his robes.
Lucius had acquired exactly one speck of glitter on his sleeve.
He brushed it away.
“We’re getting close,” Dolohov said.
Lucius looked at the corridor.
“No.”
Dolohov frowned.
“No?”
“We are approaching the part where they stop being funny.”
“Good.”
“No. I meant they stop being funny to us.”
Dolohov ignored him.
The corridor stretched ahead.
A single red line crossed the floor.
Dolohov stopped.
Lucius stopped behind him.
“Pressure plate,” Lucius said.
Dolohov looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s glowing.”
“That’s obvious.”
“Apparently not to you.”
Dolohov carefully stepped over it.
Then over another.
Then another.
He grinned.
“See?”
Lucius said nothing.
Dolohov reached the end.
He opened the door.
The entire ceiling came down.
Paint cans swung forward on enchanted ropes.
WHAM.
One hit Dolohov squarely in the chest.
Another clipped his shoulder.
A third smacked him in the back of the head.
Paint exploded everywhere.
Lucius stood untouched in the doorway.
Silence.
Dolohov slowly turned.
His entire face was covered in bright purple paint.
Lucius stared.
“…That is a striking color.”
Dolohov’s eye twitched.
From upstairs came hysterical laughter.
“THAT ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BLUE!”
“Purple works!”
“PURPLE WAS THE BACKUP!”
Dolohov roared.
He charged.
The floor beneath him transformed into a trampoline.
He bounced.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he hit the ceiling.
BOING.
He came back down.
BOING.
Up again.
BOING.
Lucius watched.
“Fascinating.”
“MAKE IT STOP!”
“I don’t know how.”
“YOU’RE USELESS!”
“Apparently.”
The trampoline finally launched Dolohov through another doorway.
He disappeared.
There was a crash.
Then silence.
Lucius followed at a leisurely pace.
The room beyond was the back office.
A desk sat in the center.
On it was a single red button.
Lucius stared at it.
“No.”
Dolohov staggered upright.
“We press it.”
“No.”
“We press it.”
“Antonin.”
Dolohov slammed his hand onto the button.
The lights went out.
The entire shop went silent.
Then a cheerful voice echoed from every wall.
“DELUXE DEFENSE PROTOCOL ACTIVATED.”
Lucius closed his eyes.
“That was unfortunate.”
Every shelf in the shop began moving.
Doors slammed.
Paint cans swung.
Rubber balls fired from hidden compartments.
Fireworks erupted.
A staircase folded itself into the wall.
A giant enchanted mouse trap snapped shut around Dolohov’s ankle.
He screamed.
Lucius simply stepped backward.
“Fred?”
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”
“Is there an off switch?”
“Of course.”
“Where?”
“Absolutely no idea.”
George added:
“We’ve never actually turned it off.”
Lucius stared at the ceiling.
“I see.”
The shop erupted again.
Dolohov flew past him.
A second later, a paint can followed.
Lucius stepped aside.
The can continued down the corridor.
WHAM.
Dolohov disappeared behind a cloud of glitter.
Lucius checked his flask.
Empty.
He sighed.
That was the real tragedy of the evening.
Eventually, the shop fell quiet.
Dolohov lay sprawled across the entrance hall.
His robes were scorched.
His hair was singed.
He was covered in purple paint and glitter.
Several mouse traps hung from various parts of his clothing.
Lucius looked down at him.
“Finished?”
Dolohov groaned.
“We haven’t found it.”
“No.”
“We need to keep looking.”
Lucius glanced toward the upstairs office.
Then toward the locked displays.
Then toward the enormous sign above the register.
THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT WEASLEYS’ WIZARD WHEEZES!
“No.”
Dolohov slowly sat up.
“We can’t go back empty-handed.”
“We are.”
“We’ll be punished.”
“Almost certainly.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
Lucius adjusted his sleeve.
“I’ve had worse evenings.”
The upstairs window opened.
Fred leaned out.
“Night, Mr. Malfoy!”
George appeared beside him.
“Sorry about the paint!”
Fred added, “The purple was an accident.”
George corrected him.
“Mostly.”
Lucius looked up.
“Good work.”
Dolohov’s head snapped toward him.
“GOOD WORK?!”
Lucius ignored him.
Fred grinned.
“Tell Narcissa we said hello!”
“I will.”
George waved.
“See you next quarter!”
Lucius paused.
Dolohov looked at him.
“Next what?”
Lucius didn’t blink.
“Next quarter?”
George’s eyes widened for half a second.
Fred immediately coughed.
“Next quarter… of the moon.”
“Yes,” Lucius said smoothly. “Astronomical nonsense.”
Dolohov stared at them.
He was too exhausted to question it.
Lucius opened the door.
The bell chimed.
DING!
They stepped outside.
Dolohov limped after him.
Neither man had retrieved what Voldemort had sent them to find.
Lucius reached into his robes.
His fingers brushed the folded investor report.
He smiled faintly.
Fourteen percent.
Still intact.
Worth every bloody Knut.
By the third night, Lord Voldemort had reached a conclusion.
A very confident conclusion.
Fred and George Weasley were idiots.
He had written it down.
Literally.
In his own hand.
FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY: FOOLISH. IMPULSIVE. EASILY MANIPULATED.
He had even underlined easily manipulated.
It was, in Voldemort’s mind, an important distinction.
The first Death Eater had failed because he was incompetent.
The second had failed because Dolohov had been careless.
Lucius Malfoy had been irritatingly unhelpful.
But Voldemort?
Voldemort would succeed.
Because the twins were idiots.
And idiots could be frightened.
Idiots could be threatened.
Idiots could be made to reveal information.
Most importantly, Voldemort had reason to believe the twins knew where Harry Potter was.
They had connections to the Weasley family.
They had connections to the Order.
They had connections to half the magical world.
And they ran a shop that seemed to attract everyone from Hogwarts students to Ministry employees.
Somewhere in that ridiculous building, Voldemort was certain, was the information he needed.
He simply had to take it from them.
*****
At 11:47 p.m., the door to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes opened.
DING!
Fred looked up.
George looked up.
They were sitting in the control room surrounded by diagrams, tools, empty snack wrappers, and several objects that had been explicitly labeled DO NOT TOUCH.
George stared at the monitor.
“That’s Voldemort.”
Fred leaned closer.
“Yep.”
“Actual Voldemort.”
“Looks like it.”
Fred looked at the day’s modifications.
George looked at him.
Fred looked back.
“Do we use the new stuff?”
George’s smile grew.
“We absolutely use the new stuff.”
*****
Voldemort stepped inside.
The door closed behind him.
The lights remained on.
No screaming.
No fireworks.
No immediate trap.
Voldemort smiled.
“Interesting.”
He walked farther into the shop.
“Fred Weasley.”
Nothing.
“George Weasley.”
Silence.
“I know you are here.”
A speaker crackled.
Fred’s voice came through.
“Yeah.”
George added:
“Hi.”
Voldemort stopped.
“I want information.”
Fred whispered to George through the control room microphone.
“He’s here for information.”
George nodded.
“Very observant.”
Voldemort’s expression darkened.
“Where is Harry Potter?”
Silence.
Then:
“Who?”
Voldemort’s eye twitched.
“Harry Potter.”
Fred and George looked at each other.
Fred shrugged.
George shrugged.
Fred pressed the microphone.
“We know several Harrys.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Harry Smith?”
“No.”
“Harry Jones?”
“No.”
“Harry Potter?”
Voldemort’s patience snapped.
“WHERE IS HARRY POTTER?”
George leaned toward the microphone.
“Have you checked his house?”
Fred snorted.
Voldemort raised his wand.
“I know you know where he is.”
“We don’t.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
Voldemort fired.
The curse hit the ceiling.
Nothing happened.
He frowned.
Fred stared at the monitor.
George stared at the monitor.
“That was supposed to do something?”
“No.”
“Then why did we leave that hole?”
“Atmosphere.”
*****
Voldemort advanced.
“I know you have information concerning Potter.”
George pressed a button.
A display case opened.
A tiny enchanted wand pointed at Voldemort.
It fired.
A stream of bubbles hit him in the face.
Voldemort froze.
Fred whispered:
“That was supposed to be the confetti cannon.”
George shrugged.
“Close enough.”
Voldemort wiped bubbles from his face.
“You think this is amusing.”
Fred’s voice came through the speaker.
“Immensely.”
Voldemort blasted the display.
The entire shelf exploded.
Fred and George looked at each other.
“He’s destroying inventory.”
George looked horrified.
“That’s coming out of our profits.”
Fred’s expression hardened.
“Get him.”
George slammed his hand onto the first switch.
DEFENSE PROTOCOL: STAGE ONE
The shop exploded into motion.
Rubber balls fired from the walls.
Fainting Fancies shot across the room.
Extendable Ears began shrieking.
Trick wands rotated from hidden compartments.
Fireworks shot across the ceiling.
A crate of enchanted Pygmy Puffs rolled down the stairs.
Voldemort shielded himself.
The rubber balls bounced off.
The fireworks dissolved against his shield.
The Pygmy Puffs bounced harmlessly off his robes.
Voldemort looked around.
“Pathetic.”
Fred stared at the monitor.
“He’s not impressed.”
George nodded.
“Stage Two.”
*****
The floor shifted.
Voldemort’s feet moved six inches sideways.
He stopped.
The floor shifted again.
A staircase rotated.
A wall folded inward.
A shelf slid across the room.
Voldemort turned.
A boxing glove shot out.
THUNK.
It hit him squarely in the chest.
Voldemort staggered.
Fred pumped a fist.
“YES!”
George slapped the desk.
“Direct hit!”
Voldemort’s wand flashed.
The boxing glove exploded.
Fred’s smile disappeared.
“He blew it up.”
George frowned.
“That’s rude.”
Voldemort advanced again.
“Where is Potter?”
Fred pressed the microphone.
“We told you.”
“You are lying.”
“Nope.”
“Then you are hiding something.”
George leaned toward the microphone.
“We’re hiding several things.”
Voldemort paused.
Fred grinned.
“Mostly merchandise.”
George added:
“And snacks.”
Voldemort fired another curse.
The twins ducked behind the control panel.
The curse tore through the wall.
George stared at the hole.
“That was load-bearing.”
Fred nodded gravely.
“He’s paying for that.”
*****
Voldemort stepped over the debris.
“You believe yourselves clever.”
Fred whispered:
“He’s starting to sound offended.”
George whispered back:
“Good.”
Voldemort continued.
“You are children playing at war.”
Fred’s eyebrows rose.
George slowly reached for another switch.
“You know,” Fred said through the speaker, “everyone keeps saying that.”
Voldemort looked toward the ceiling.
“Because it is true.”
George flipped the switch.
A dozen mouse traps fell from the ceiling.
CLACK! CLACK! CLACK!
Voldemort shielded himself.
The traps bounced harmlessly off his magical barrier.
He smirked.
Fred stared.
George stared.
Voldemort looked almost smug.
Then one of the traps bounced off the shield, hit a wall, and landed on a pressure plate.
CLICK.
Voldemort looked down.
Fred’s eyes widened.
George whispered:
“Oh, that’s new.”
The floor opened.
Voldemort dropped.
He landed in a giant enchanted net.
He immediately blasted through it.
Fred frowned.
“That worked better on Dolohov.”
George nodded.
“Voldemort is definitely overqualified for the net.”
*****
Voldemort climbed out.
His patience was gone.
His dignity was also beginning to show structural damage.
He raised his wand.
The entire front display exploded.
Boxes flew through the air.
The twins watched their carefully arranged merchandise scatter across the shop.
George gasped.
“He broke the Skiving Snackboxes.”
Fred looked murderous.
“Okay.”
He reached for a large red lever.
George grabbed his wrist.
“Are you sure?”
Fred looked at the destruction below.
“No.”
George nodded.
“Excellent.”
They both grabbed it.
“Together.”
They pulled.
EXTREME DEFENSE PROTOCOL: STAGE THREE
The shop went dark.
Voldemort stopped.
Then the emergency lights came on.
Red.
Every window sealed.
Every door locked.
The shelves began sliding.
The walls began rotating.
Voldemort turned slowly.
A cheerful voice echoed through the building.
“WELCOME TO YOUR EXECUTIVE CUSTOMER EXPERIENCE.”
Voldemort stared upward.
Fred whispered:
“George?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you program that?”
“No.”
They looked at each other.
Neither had any idea where the voice had come from.
The shop suddenly became a war zone.
Rubber balls fired from every direction.
Paint cans swung from the ceiling.
Fireworks erupted from the walls.
A giant enchanted Bludger launched down the corridor.
Voldemort blasted it.
It split into four.
He blasted those.
They split into eight.
George’s jaw dropped.
“That’s incredible.”
Fred grabbed his shoulder.
“Write that down.”
Voldemort destroyed the eight.
They split again.
“He’s making them stronger!”
Fred grinned.
“Even better!”
*****
Voldemort finally reached the back office.
He kicked the door open.
Fred and George were nowhere to be seen.
A single chair sat in the center of the room.
On it was a piece of parchment.
Voldemort approached.
He picked it up.
Written in enormous red letters:
HARRY POTTER
Below it:
NO IDEA.
Voldemort stared.
His eye twitched.
Then the chair exploded into glitter.
Voldemort roared.
Fred’s laughter echoed through the speakers.
George was nearly crying.
“You should see your face!”
Voldemort pointed his wand toward the ceiling.
“I WILL FIND HIM.”
Fred’s voice answered:
“Probably.”
George added:
“Eventually.”
“I WILL DESTROY HIM.”
Fred:
“Bit dramatic.”
“I WILL KILL EVERY PERSON WHO HIDES HIM.”
George:
“That’s a lot of people.”
Voldemort’s nostrils flared.
“YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE HE IS.”
Fred paused.
Then:
“Honestly, we don’t know.”
Voldemort stared upward.
For one tiny moment, he seemed genuinely confused.
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
George answered:
“We literally don’t know.”
Fred added:
“Harry doesn’t tell us everything.”
George:
“He’s actually pretty bad at returning owl mail.”
Fred:
“Terrible communicator.”
George:
“Very inconsiderate.”
Voldemort stared at the ceiling.
He had come expecting frightened idiots.
Instead, he had spent nearly an hour being pelted with children’s toys.
And he still had no location.
He raised his wand.
The shop shook.
Fred looked at the final switch.
George looked at it too.
It was enormous.
It had never been tested.
It was labeled:
ABSOLUTELY FINAL DEFENSE
DO NOT USE
Fred slowly smiled.
George slowly smiled.
Fred whispered:
“Last one?”
George nodded.
“Last one.”
Fred pulled the switch.
*****
There was a pause.
Nothing happened.
Voldemort lowered his wand slightly.
Then the back wall opened.
A massive wooden contraption unfolded from inside it.
Voldemort stared.
It had ropes.
Springs.
Enchanted pulleys.
A gigantic wooden arm.
And, most importantly, a sling.
Fred looked at George.
George looked at Fred.
Fred whispered:
“We built a catapult.”
George shook his head.
“Technically, it’s a trebuchet.”
Fred considered this.
“Even better.”
Voldemort looked at them.
For the first time all night, he seemed to understand that perhaps his original assessment had been flawed.
The machine locked into position.
Fred pressed one final button.
The sling snapped forward.
FWOOOOOOOOOMP.
Voldemort went flying.
Straight through the front window.
Glass exploded outward.
The Dark Lord sailed over the street.
He disappeared behind a hedge.
Silence.
Fred and George stared through the broken window.
George blinked.
“…We just launched Voldemort.”
Fred nodded.
“Yep.”
George looked at the destroyed shop.
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
Fred considered it.
“Probably.”
George nodded.
“Should we upgrade the catapult?”
Fred’s grin returned.
“Absolutely.”
*****
Three days later, an official Ministry notice appeared on the shop door.
NOTICE
Due to repeated incidents involving unauthorized magical traps, projectile devices, explosive merchandise, structural alterations, and the unauthorized aerial displacement of Lord Voldemort, all known Death Eaters are prohibited from entering Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.
Fred read it.
George read it.
They looked at each other.
“Had to be Mr. Malfoy’s doing.”
George pulled out a hammer.
By noon, the notice had been framed.
By one, they had added a sign beneath it.
OFFICIALLY BANNED BY LORD VOLDEMORT
ASK US HOW WE DID IT
Sales tripled.
*****
Somewhere in a hidden location, Harry Potter received an owl.
The letter contained one sentence.
Apparently Voldemort really wants to know where you are.
Harry stared at it.
Then at the second piece of parchment.
It contained a drawing of Voldemort being launched through a window.
Harry started laughing.
And back at the shop, Fred and George began designing Catapult 2.0.