"Y-yeah. Thanks, Susan!" I giggled into the phone. George was poking my ribs and Fred was to my left, attempting to tickle my side. Terry was attempting to do the same to my feet, and I heard Susan's slightly amused reply as she hung up. I dropped my phone onto my stomach and let the belly-laugh loose, throwing my head back as the three boys descended onto me, tickling relentlessly. 

"Guys, guys, guys, chill for a sec!" I yelped breathlessly. Terry and George backed off, still snickering and snorting, but Fred grinned, launching at me a final time; I jabbed him right in the armpit, and he let out a huge, "ARGH?!" as he flopped back onto the bed. The rest of us erupted into laughter. 

"Take THAT, Freddie!" I cried, pointing at him triumphantly. 

"Ah, so we're using personal nicknames instead of Insurgent nicknames, now, huh?" Terry smirked. 

"It's because those two have a special bond, you see, Hopper." George explained with a grin. Terry nodded solemnly. "It seems we're the only two true members of the clan left." 

"Shut up, Forge." 

"Oh, back to that old chestnut, Softpaw?" 

"I suppose Red can't call her Softpaw anymore like you, Bushy. He can only call her honey-bunny-pumpkin-pie -" 

"Shut the fuck up, Hopper -" 

I rolled my eyes, grinning, as Fred continued to playfully back-and-forth with the lads, and picked up my phone again, noticing the amount of notifications popping up on my lockscreen. 

I opened up Facebook. 

Ron Weasley: can't fuckin sleep because daisy and terry and my brothers are being so LOUD upstairs ffs 

46 likes 

Replies: 

Lee Jordan: Wonder what theyre doing up there? 🤔 

12 likes

Seamus Finnigan: probs something very naughty 😏🥴 

17 likes

Harry Potter: shut up Seam that's my sister you're talking about there u wee dickhead 

15 likes

Draco Malfoy: Wouldn't be Terry with them then Seamus. He's very loyally taken ;) 

11 likes 

Susan Bones: I would certainly hope not, Finnigan! I was just talking to Daisy on the phone - that would be quite rank 😌 

7 likes 

Seamus Finnigan: no need to gang up on me! everyone can see the chemistry between those twins and daisy. its not just me who has eyes 😉 

23 likes 

I looked up from my phone. Terry had gone into the bathroom and the twins were on either side of me, still bantering across me. I shifted. Fred's bed was slightly more comfortable than mine. And maybe that's because I'm beside him. 

And George... 

Those comments were making me feel some type of way. They're both hot. Both so hot... 

"Chat with Susan okay, Softpaw?" Fred said casually next to me. I turned my head to him, letting my gaze flit across his attractive face. His dark eyes scanned mine, his small grin quirked, his flaming hair falling slightly over his forehead. Those cheekbones... that jawline... those sexy eyes boring into mine... 

"Softpaw?" 

I turned my head to George, my eyes scanning his almost identical face, the sly smirk creeping across his face, his - 

Terry burst out of the bathroom, the sound of the toilet flushing amplified by the door opening. I jumped. 

"Uh... yeah, fine. She says she's already chatted to her aunt. She talks about me all the time, apparently." I flipped my hair over my shoulder. 

"Nice." The twins chorused, as Terry leaned over to high-five me. 

"So, where were we..." I pulled the Snakes 'n' Ladders game back towards me across the bed as the boys got back into position. 

~~~

I awoke at half-past five the next morning as abruptly and completely as if somebody had yelled in my ear. For a few moments I lay immobile as the prospect of being argumentative and insolent at the disciplinary hearing filled every particle of my brain, then, excited at the thought of sassing Fudge, I leapt out of bed. 

Mrs Weasley had laid out my freshly laundered jeans and sleeveless shirt at the foot of my bed. I scrambled into them. Beside my bed, Terry was lying sprawled on his back with his mouth wide open, fast asleep. The twins were spread-eagle, blankets tangled in their legs. None of them stirred as I crossed the room, steadying myself on every piece of furniture I came across, stepped out on to the landing, and closed the door softly behind me. 

I met Harry on the stairs, my head still spinning due to my shitty morning problem. 

'Hey, how're you feeling, bro?' I sent to him. 

'Not good. Fuck these Ministry wankers, honestly.' Harry sent back. I nodded in agreement, and we both walked quietly down the stairs together, past the heads of Kreacher's ancestors, and down into the kitchen. 

I had expected it to be empty, but when we reached the door we heard the soft rumble of voices on the other side. I pushed it open and saw Mr and Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Emily, Lupin, and Tonks sitting there almost as though they were waiting for us. All were fully dressed except Mrs Weasley, who was wearing a quilted purple dressing gown. She leapt to her feet the moment Harry and I entered. 

"Breakfast." She said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire. 

"M-m-morning, Daisy, Harry." Tonks yawned. Her hair was blonde and curly this morning. "Sleep all right?" 

"Yeah." Harry said. 

"Like a baby." I said. 

"Emily and I've b-b-been up all night." She said, with another shuddering yawn. "Come and sit down..." 

She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process. 

"What do you want, twins?" Mrs Weasley called. "Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?" 

"Ohh, can I have muffins and toast, please?" I said, resting my elbows on the table. 

"Just - just toast, thanks." Harry said. 

Lupin glanced at us, then said to Tonks, "What were you saying about Scrimgeour?" 

"Oh... yeah... well, we need to be a bit more careful, he's been asking Kingsley and me funny questions..." 

I chatted to Harry and sprinkled in some banter to distract him from the nerves that were probably jangling inside him. He had always been the more nervous twin. Mrs Weasley placed a couple of pieces of toast and marmalade, and a plate of muffins in front of us; I scoffed my share down while Harry picked at his. 

Mrs Weasley sat down on his other side and started fussing with his t-shirt, tucking in the label and smoothing out the creases across his shoulders.

'I wish she wouldn't.' Harry sent to me. 

'It's okay, everything will be fine.' I sent back reassuringly. 'Don't panic now.' 

"...and I'll have to tell Dumbledore I can't do night duty tomorrow, I'm just t-t-too tired." Tonks finished, yawning hugely again. 

"I'll cover for you." Mr Weasley said. "I'm OK, I've got a report to finish anyway..." 

Mr Weasley was not wearing wizards' robes but a pair of pinstriped trousers and an old bomber jacket. He turned from Tonks to me and Harry.

"How are you two feeling?" 

Harry shrugged as I said, "I'm alright. Can't wait to stick it to them. Harry's a more mellow fellow." 

"It'll all be over soon, Harry." Mr Weasley said bracingly. "In a few hours' time you'll both be cleared. The hearing's on my floor, in Amelia Bones's office. She's Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she's the one who'll be questioning you." 

"Amelia Bones is OK, Daisy, Harry." Tonks said earnestly. "She's fair, she'll hear you out." 

"I know." I grinned. "I know her niece. She called me last night to see how I was getting on, she'd heard from her auntie about me. She was telling me how she'd put in a good word for me." 

"Well, that's good." Sirius said with a small smile. I grinned at him. 

"Don't lose your temper." Emily said abruptly. "Be polite and stick to the facts." 

Harry and I nodded. 

"The law's on your side." Lupin said quietly. "Even underage witches and wizards are allowed to use magic in life-threatening situations." 

Something very cold trickled down the back of my neck; for a moment I thought someone was putting a Disillusionment Charm on me, then I realised that Mrs Weasley was attacking my hair with a wet comb. She pressed hard on the back of my head. 

"Doesn't it ever lie flat?" She said desperately. 

Harry shook his head, a slight grin on his face as I sniggered. 

"Good luck trying to get it to." I said. "My hair cannot be tamed." 

Mr Weasley checked his watch and looked up at me and Harry. "I think we'll go now." He said. "We're a bit early, but I think you'll be better off at the Ministry than hanging around here." 

"Alrighty." I said cheerily as Harry said, "OK," automatically, dropping his toast and getting to his feet. 

"You'll be all right, Harry." Tonks said, patting him on the arm. "Look at your sister. Be like her." 

"Good luck." Lupin said. "I'm sure it will be fine." 

"And if it's not," said Sirius grimly, "I'll see to Amelia Bones for you..." 

"Padfoot!" Emily said, slapping him lightly on the arm, grinning. Harry smiled weakly as I laughed. Mrs Weasley hugged me, then Harry. 

"We've all got our fingers crossed." She said.

"Thanks!" I said. 

"Right." Harry said. "Well... see you later then." 

We followed Mr Weasley upstairs and along the hall. I could hear Sirius's mother grunting in her sleep behind her curtains. Mr Weasley unbolted the door and we stepped out into the cold, grey dawn. 

"You don't normally walk to work, do you?" Harry asked him, as we set off briskly around the square. 

"No, I usually Apparate," said Mr Weasley, "but I think it's best we arrive in a thoroughly non-magical fashion ... makes a better impression, given what you're being disciplined for..." 

Mr Weasley kept his hand inside his jacket as we walked. I knew it was clenched around his wand. 

The run-down streets were almost deserted, but when we arrived at the miserable little underground station we found it already full of early-morning commuters. As ever when he found himself in close proximity to Muggles going about their daily business, Mr Weasley was hard put to contain his enthusiasm. 

"Simply fabulous." He whispered, indicating the automatic ticket machines. "Wonderfully ingenious." 

"They're out of order." Harry said, pointing at the sign. 

"Shut up, Harry, let him enjoy his broke machines." I hissed. 

"Yes, but even so..." Mr Weasley replied to my brother, beaming at the machines fondly. 

We bought our tickets instead from a sleepy-looking guard (Harry and I handled the transaction, as Mr Weasley was not very good with Muggle money) and five minutes later we were boarding an underground train that rattled us off towards the centre of London. Mr Weasley kept anxiously checking and re-checking the Underground Map above the windows. 

"Four stops, Daisy, Harry ... three stops left now ... two stops to go, twins..." 

We got off at a station in the very heart of London, and were swept from the train in a tide of besuited men and women carrying briefcases. Up the escalator we went, through the ticket barrier (Mr Weasley delighted with the way the stile swallowed his ticket), and emerged on to a broad street lined with imposing-looking buildings and already full of traffic. 

"Where are we?" Mr Weasley said blankly, and for one joyful moment I thought we had got off at the wrong station despite Mr Weasley's continual references to the map; but a second later he said, "Ah yes... this way, Daisy, Harry," and led us down a side road. 

"Aw, I thought we were lost and would be able to fuck around the centre of London like old days." I pouted. 

"Sorry," Mr Weasley said, "but I never come by train and it all looks rather different from a Muggle perspective. As a matter of fact, I've never even used the visitors' entrance before." 

The further we walked, the smaller and less imposing the buildings became, until finally we reached a street that contained several rather shabby-looking offices, a pub, and an overflowing skip. I had expected a rather more impressive location for the Ministry of Magic. 

"Makes sense they're beside rubbish." I whispered to Harry, who let out an unnaturally high-pitched giggle. 

"Here we are." Mr Weasley said brightly, pointing at an old red telephone box, which was missing several panes of glass and stood before a heavily graffitied wall. "After you, Daisy. Ladies first." 

"Why, thank you, Arthur." I said in a posh voice, and Mr Weasley's jaw dropped open slightly as Harry snickered into his hands. I opened the telephone-box door and stepped inside, wondering what on earth this was about. 

Harry followed, and Mr Weasley folded himself in beside Harry and closed the door. It was a tight fit; I was jammed against the telephone apparatus, which was hanging crookedly from the wall as though a vandal had tried to rip it off. 

Mr Weasley reached past me for the receiver. 

"Mr Weasley, I think this might be out of order, too." Harry said. 

"No, no, I'm sure it's fine." Mr Weasley said, holding the receiver above his head and peering at the dial. "Let's see... six..." He dialled the number, "two... four... and another four... and another two..." 

As the dial whirred smoothly back into place, a cool female voice sounded inside the telephone box, not from the receiver in Mr Weasley's hand, but as loudly and plainly as though an invisible woman were standing right beside us. 

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business." 

"Er..." Mr Weasley said, clearly uncertain whether or not he should talk into the receiver. He compromised by holding the mouthpiece to his ear, "Arthur Weasley, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, here to escort Daisy and Harry Potter, who have been asked to attend a disciplinary hearing..." 

"Thank you." The cool female voice said. "Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes." 

There was a click and a rattle, and I saw something slide out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. I picked it up: it was a square silver badge with 'Daisy Potter, Disciplinary Hearing' on it. 

"Nice." I said. 

Another badge slid out, and I gave it to Harry and pinned mine to the front of my shirt as the female voice spoke again. 

"Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium." 

The floor of the telephone box shuddered. We were sinking slowly into the ground. I watched apprehensively as the pavement seemed to rise up past the glass windows of the telephone box until darkness closed over our heads. Then I could see nothing at all; I could hear only a dull grinding noise as the telephone box made its way down through the earth. 

After about a minute of me jabbing Harry in the darkness and him saying, "Ow," in a monotone voice, a chink of golden light illuminated our feet and, widening, rose up our bodies, until it hit me in the face and I had to blink to stop my eyes watering. 

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day." The woman's voice said. 

The door of the telephone box sprang open and Mr Weasley stepped out of it, followed by me and Harry, whose mouth had fallen open. 

We were standing at one end of a very long and splendid hall with a highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock blue ceiling was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. The walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart. 

Halfway down the hall was a fountain. A group of golden statues, larger than life-size, stood in the middle of a circular pool. Tallest of them all was a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air. Grouped around him were a beautiful witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. The last three were all looking adoringly up at the witch and wizard. Glittering jets of water were flying from the ends of the two wands, the point of the centaur's arrow, the tip of the goblin's hat, and each of the house-elf's ears, so that the tinkling hiss of falling water was added to the pops and cracks of the Apparators and the clatter of footsteps as hundreds of witches and wizards, most of whom were wearing glum, early-morning looks, strode towards a set of golden gates at the far end of the hall. 

"What a misogynistic, non-human-hating, egocentric statue." I said in a pondering voice to Harry as I stroked my non-existent beard, and he nodded. 

"Because as we all know, the wizard is the one to look up to. Out of literally every single other human and animal that exists." He stroked his non-existent beard too. 

"This way." Mr Weasley said. 

We joined the throng, wending our way between the Ministry workers, some of whom were carrying tottering piles of parchment, others battered briefcases, still others were reading the Daily Prophet while they walked. As we passed the fountain I saw silver Sickles and bronze Knuts glinting up at me from the bottom of the pool. A small smudged sign beside it read:

'All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries' 

'If we're not expelled from Hogwarts, I'll put in ten Galleons.' Harry sent to me desperately. 

'I'll match it, bro.' I sent back. 

"Over here, Daisy, Harry." Mr Weasley said, and we stepped out of the stream of Ministry employees heading for the golden gates, some throwing a second glance back at me. I flipped my hair over my shoulder. Yes, I get it, I'm famous and pretty. What about it? 

Seated at a desk to the left, beneath a sign saying 'SECURITY,' a badly-shaven wizard in peacock-blue robes looked up as we approached and put down his Daily Prophet. 

"I'm escorting visitors." Mr Weasley said, gesturing towards me and Harry. 

"Step over here." The wizard said in a bored voice. 

Harry and I walked closer to him and the wizard held up a long golden rod, thin and flexible as a car aerial, and passed it up and down mine and Harry's fronts and backs. 

"Wands." The security wizard grunted at me and my twin, putting down the golden instrument and holding out his hand. 

We produced our wands. The wizard dropped mine on to a strange brass instrument, which looked something like a set of scales with only one dish. It began to vibrate. A narrow strip of parchment came speeding out of a slit in the base. The wizard tore this off and repeated the process with Harry's wand, then read the writing on them. 

"Both eleven inches, phoenix-feather core, been in use four years. That correct?" 

"Yeah." We chorused. 

"I keep these." The wizard said, impaling the slips of parchment on a small brass spike. "You get these back." He added, thrusting the wands at us. 

"Thanks, bro." 

"Hang on..." The wizard said slowly. 

His eyes had darted from the silver visitor's badge on my chest to my forehead, then over to Harry. 

"Thank you, Eric." Mr Weasley said firmly, and grasping me and Harry by the shoulders he steered us away from the desk and back into the stream of wizards and witches walking through the golden gates. 

Jostled slightly by the crowd, a lot of which were turning to stare and point and whisper about me, we followed Mr Weasley through the gates into the smaller hall beyond, where at least twenty lifts stood behind wrought golden grilles. Mr Weasley, Harry, and I joined the crowd around one of them.

Nearby stood a big bearded wizard holding a large cardboard box which was emitting rasping noises. 

"All right, Arthur?" The wizard said, nodding at Mr Weasley. 

"What've you got there, Bob?" Mr Weasley asked, looking at the box. 

"We're not sure." The wizard said seriously. "We thought it was a bog-standard chicken until it started breathing fire. Looks like a serious breach of the Ban on Experimental Breeding to me." 

With a great jangling and clattering a lift descended in front of us; the golden grille slid back and Mr Weasley, Harry, and I stepped into the lift with the rest of the crowd and my twin and I found ourselves jammed against the back wall. Several witches and wizards were looking at us curiously; I tossed my hair back, smiling charismatically at them, and several wizards immediately turned away, looking at their feet. Some witches beamed back at me. 

The grilles slid shut with a crash and the lift ascended slowly, chains rattling, while the same cool female voice I had heard in the telephone box rang out again. 

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office." 

The lift doors opened; I glimpsed an untidy-looking corridor, with various posters of Quidditch teams tacked lopsidedly on the walls. One of the wizards in the lift, who was carrying an armful of broomsticks, extricated himself with difficulty and disappeared down the corridor. The doors closed, the lift juddered upwards again, and the woman's voice announced: 

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparation Test Centre." 

Once again the lift doors opened and four or five witches and wizards got out; at the same time, several paper aeroplanes swooped into the lift. I stared up at them as they flapped idly around above my head; they were a pale violet colour and I could see 'MINISTRY OF MAGIC' stamped along the edge of their wings. 

"Just inter-departmental memos." Mr Weasley muttered to me. "We used to use owls, but the mess was unbelievable... droppings all over the desks..." 

"Nice." I said, and snatched one down. It said some shit about regulations of magical cauldrons being sold in Muggle Halloween shops. I sniggered as I used my Grace to change the words on the parchment, now making it say that Terry Boot was the youngest magical terrorist ever, and that he was going to attack the Ministry with Stinkbombs. 

"You're fucking wild, Daze." Harry shook his head beside me as I let the paper airplane back up into the air. As we clattered upwards again the memos flapped around the lamp swaying from the lift's ceiling. 

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law, and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats." 

When the doors opened, two of the memos zoomed out with a few more of the witches and wizards, but several more memos zoomed in, so that the light from the lamp flickered and flashed overhead as they darted around it. 

"Level Four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau." 

"'S'cuse." The wizard carrying the fire-breathing chicken said, and he left the lift pursued by a little flock of memos. The doors clanged shut yet again. 

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, including the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, Obliviator Headquarters, and Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." 

Everybody left the lift on this floor except Mr Weasley, me, Harry, and a witch who was reading an extremely long piece of parchment that was trailing on the floor. The remaining memos continued to soar around the lamp as the lift juddered upwards again, then the doors opened and the voice made its announcement. 

"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." 

"This is us, Daisy, Harry." Mr Weasley said, and we followed the witch out of the lift into a corridor lined with doors. "My office is on the other side of the floor." 

"Mr Weasley," said Harry, as we passed a window through which sunlight was streaming, "aren't we still underground?" 

"Yes, we are." Mr Weasley said. "Those are enchanted windows. Magical Maintenance decide what weather we'll get every day. We had two months of hurricanes last time they were angling for a pay rise... Just round here, twins." 

We turned a corner, walked through a pair of heavy oak doors, and emerged in a cluttered open area divided into cubicles, which was buzzing with talk and laughter. Memos were zooming in and out of cubicles like miniature rockets. A lopsided sign on the nearest cubicle read 'AUROR HEADQUARTERS.' 

I looked surreptitiously through the doorways as we passed. The Aurors had covered their cubicle walls with everything from pictures of wanted wizards and photographs of their families, to posters of their favourite Quidditch teams and articles from the Daily Prophet. A scarlet-robed man with a ponytail longer than Bill's was sitting with his boots up on his desk, dictating a report to his quill. A little further along, a witch with a patch over one eye was talking over the top of her cubicle wall to Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

"Morning, Weasley." Kingsley said carelessly as we drew nearer. "I've been wanting a word with you, have you got a second?" 

"Yes, if it really is a second." Mr Weasley said. "I'm in rather a hurry."

They were talking as though they hardly knew each other, and when I opened my mouth to say hi to Kingsley, Mr Weasley stood on my foot. We followed Kingsley along the row and into the very last cubicle. 

I received a slight shock; blinking down at me from every direction was Sirius's face. Newspaper cuttings and old photographs - even the one of Sirius being best man at the Potters' wedding - papered the walls. The only Sirius-free space was a map of the world in which little red pins were glowing like jewels. 

"Here." Kingsley said brusquely to Mr Weasley, shoving a sheaf of parchment into his hand. "I need as much information as possible on flying Muggle vehicles sighted in the last twelve months. We've received information that Black might still be using his old motorcycle." 

Kingsley tipped me an enormous wink and added, in a whisper, "Give him the magazine, he might find it interesting." Then he said in normal tones, "And don't take too long, Weasley, the delay on that firelegs report held our investigation up for a month." 

"If you had read my report you would know that the term is 'firearms.'" Mr Weasley said coolly. "And I'm afraid you'll have to wait for information on motorcycles; we're extremely busy at the moment." He dropped his voice and said, "If you can get away before seven, Molly's making meatballs." 

He beckoned to Harry and I, and led us out of Kingsley's cubicle, through a second set of oak doors, into another passage, turned left, marched along another corridor, turned right into a dimly lit and distinctly shabby corridor, and finally reached a dead end, where a door on the left stood ajar, revealing a broom cupboard, and a door on the right bore a tarnished brass plaque reading 'Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.' 

Mr Weasley's dingy office seemed to be slightly smaller than the broom cupboard. Two desks had been crammed inside it and there was barely space to move around them because of all the overflowing filing cabinets lining the walls, on top of which were tottering piles of files. The little wall space available bore witness to Mr Weasley's obsessions; there were several posters of cars, including one of a dismantled engine, two illustrations of postboxes he seemed to have cut out of Muggle children's books, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. 

Sitting on top of Mr Weasley's overflowing in-tray was an old toaster that was hiccoughing in a disconsolate way and a pair of empty leather gloves that were twiddling their thumbs. A photograph of the Weasley family stood beside the in-tray. I noticed that Percy appeared to have walked out of it. 

"We haven't got a window." Mr Weasley said apologetically, taking off his bomber jacket and placing it on the back of his chair. "We've asked, but they don't seem to think we need one. Have a seat, guys, doesn't look as if Perkins is in yet." 

Harry squeezed himself into the chair behind Perkins's desk and I plopped down onto his lap, kicking my feet up onto the desk while Harry lounged back, scrolling through his phone which he was holding out to the side of me. I watched while Mr Weasley riffled through the sheaf of parchment Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him. 

"Ah." He said, grinning, as he extracted a copy of a magazine entitled 'The Quibbler' from its midst. "Yes..." He flicked through it. "Yes, he's right, I'm sure Sirius will find that very amusing - oh dear, what's this now?" 

A memo had just zoomed in through the open door and fluttered to rest on top of the hiccoughing toaster. Mr Weasley unfolded it and read aloud, "'Third regurgitating public toilet reported in Bethnal Green, kindly investigate immediately.' This is getting ridiculous..." 

"A regurgitating toilet?" I said. "Lmao." 

"Anti-Muggle pranksters." Mr Weasley said, frowning. "We had two last week, one in Wimbledon, one in Elephant and Castle. Muggles are pulling the flush and instead of everything disappearing - well, you can imagine. The poor things keep calling in those - pumbles, I think they're called - you know, the ones who mend pipes and things." 

"Plumbers?" Harry supplied. 

"- Exactly, yes, but of course they're flummoxed. I only hope we can catch whoever's doing it." 

"Honestly sounds like Gred and Forge's work." 

"Will it be Aurors who catch them?" 

"Oh no, this is too trivial for Aurors, it'll be the ordinary Magical Law Enforcement Patrol - ah, Daisy, Harry, this is Perkins." 

A stooped, timid-looking old wizard with fluffy white hair had just entered the room, panting. I made no move to remove my feet from his desk. 

"Oh, Arthur!" He said desperately, glancing at me for a second before looking back to Mr Weasley. "Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home but you've obviously missed it - an urgent message came ten minutes ago -" 

"I know about the regurgitating toilet." Mr Weasley said. I sniggered. 

"No, no, it's not the toilet, it's the Potter twins' hearing - they've changed the time and venue - it starts at eight o'clock now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten -" 

"Down in old - but they told me - Merlin's beard -" Mr Weasley looked at his watch, let out a yelp, and leapt from his chair. 

"Quick, you two, we should have been there five minutes ago!" 

Perkins flattened himself against the filing cabinets as Mr Weasley left the office at a run, Harry and I close on his heels. 

"Why have the fuckers changed the time?" I said breathlessly, as we hurtled past the Auror cubicles; people poked out their heads and stared as we streaked past. I felt as though I had left all my insides back at Perkins's desk. 

"I've no idea, but thank goodness we got here so early, if you'd missed it, it would have been catastrophic!" 

Mr Weasley skidded to a halt beside the lifts and jabbed impatiently at the 'down' button. 

"Come ON!" 

The lift clattered into view and we hurried inside. Every time it stopped Mr Weasley cursed furiously and pummelled the number nine button. 

"Those courtrooms haven't been used in years." Mr Weasley said angrily. "I can't think why they're doing it down there - unless - but no..." 

A plump witch carrying a smoking goblet entered the lift at that moment, and Mr Weasley did not elaborate. 

"The Atrium." The cool female voice said, and the golden grilles slid open, showing us a distant glimpse of the golden statues in the fountain. The plump witch got out and a sallow-skinned wizard with a very mournful face got in. 

"Morning, Arthur." He said in a sepulchral voice as the lift began to descend. "Don't often see you down here..." 

"Urgent business, Bode." Mr Weasley said, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing anxious looks over at me and Harry. 

"Ah, yes." Bode said, surveying me and Harry unblinkingly. "Of course." 

I barely had emotion to spare for Bode, but his creepy, unfaltering gaze did not make me feel any more comfortable. 

"Department of Mysteries." The cool female voice said, and left it at that. 

"Quick, twins." Mr Weasley said as the lift doors rattled open, and we sped up a corridor that was quite different from those above. The walls were bare; there were no windows and no doors apart from a plain black one set at the very end of the corridor. I expected us to go through it, but instead Mr Weasley seized us by the arms and dragged us to the left, where there was an opening leading to a flight of steps. 

"Down here, down here." Mr Weasley panted, taking two steps at a time. "The lift doesn't even come down this far... why they're doing it down there..." 

We reached the bottom of the steps and ran along yet another corridor, which bore a great resemblance to the one that led to Snape's manky dungeon at Hogwarts, with rough stone walls and torches in brackets. The doors we passed here were heavy wooden ones with iron bolts and keyholes. 

"Courtroom... ten...  I think... we're nearly... yes." 

Mr Weasley stumbled to a halt outside a grimy dark door with an immense iron lock and slumped against the wall, clutching at a stitch in his chest. 

"Go on." He panted, pointing his thumb at the door. "Get in there."

"Aren't - aren't you coming with -?" 

"No, no, I'm not allowed. Good luck!" 

"We won't need it." I winked at him, and turned to Harry. "Let's go!" 

I took Harry's hand, turned the heavy iron door handle, and stepped inside the courtroom.