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The Way it works:

First Week of the Month: The theme for the month is given; we accept entries for three weeks. April 1 through April 22
Week Two: Accept entries.
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Week Four: Voting for the current theme commences; the next two or three themes are revealed. At the beginning of the next week, winners are announced and prizes are awarded.

Nice use of Occlumency! One story per member per month.
You can just post them here --but do check spelling and grammar. You have 3 weeks to enter.

This two-part story was written by a friend of mine, Kitties_love, whom I met on another Harry Potter roleplaying forum. Found at the following links:
http://www.fanlib.com/s/Different_Species/2ra9kk
http://www.fanlib.com/s/The_Last_Day/3ark79

Part One: Different Species

The guys and the girls must be separate species. If not, then why are they so different?

In essence, a normal day at Hogwarts.

Sirius and Remus were conferring in hushed voices at one of the the tables in the Gryffindor dormitory.

"So, any ideas on who sent James that book?" asked Sirius, watching James and Lily chatting.

"For the six hundred and seventy-seventh time today, no," replied Remus.

"It wasn't Peter or Frank, that's for sure, which means it must be one of the younger guys..." continued Sirius, ignoring Remus' remark.

"Or one of the girls, or someone from another house, or someone outside school," sighed Remus, who was incredibly annoyed by this time. In his opinion, it didn't matter all that much.

A couple months previously, a copy of one of the more popular guides on how to charm witches had turned up at the foot of James' bed. There had been no clue who had sent it. James had started to use some of the tips held within this all important guide to women to woo Lily, and the end result was that they were now dating.

Sirius was the one to notice Shauna and Janelle sitting nearby, grinning and exchanging knowing looks. Having previously learned that women had the uncanny ability to hear everything, he turned to them, "You wouldn't happen to know, would you?"

Their grins broadened. "I still can't believe you haven't figured it out." Janelle shook her head. "Suffice to say it was a certain red-headed flower." They both got up and disappeared to that realm unreachable to the guys, the girl's dormitory.

Sirius and Remus turned to each other, looking confused. There was no way she meant...

Lily?

~*-*~

"I don't think it was that smart to tell them who sent the book," Shauna told Janelle, adopting her elder cousin voice.

"Yes mother," replied Janelle, adopting her whiny teenager voice.

Shauna rolled her eyes, letting the condescending tone drop, and switching back to normal, "You know Lily, she probably didn't want the guys to know. And I am older than you."

"We're in the same year, you're not that much older than me. And besides, I said it, I'll take the blame." Janelle too let the exaggerated voice drop.

"Yes you will take the blame, and I'm still older."

"Knowing guys, they probably won't figure it out anyway. I swear they're a different species."

"A species who has a remarkable knack for remembering every rule in the Quidditch Handbook at that," agreed Shauna.

"And is remarkably inept at remembering what the word homework means," continued Janelle.

That elicited a few chuckles from Shauna. "Guys are insane."

"That they are, that they are."

~*-*~

"Why would Lily send him the book?!" asked Sirius for what was hundredth time.

Remus was getting tired of all this. "You? Not understand the female species? You must be kidding!" he replied with mock incredulity. "Honestly, why don't you ask her yourself." Remus was being more serious now.

"Now who doesn't understand the female species? You do not ask them the whys of what they do. That's the way it is. All guys know that."

"Then why don't you ask Janelle? She might clarify the whys."

"Ah, you really know nothing of women. She won't tell me," countered an exasperated Sirius.

"If I accept that, then women are mad."

"They are."

Part Two: Last Day

It's the Marauders' last day of school. This ought to be fun.

Janelle made her way down the spiral staircase, cursing Peeves with all the expletives she knew. Seven years living in the same House as one Sirius Black made that quite a long list. Speaking of which...

"Morning Sirius." Now why would he be up this early? "Where are you going?"

Sirius turned and saw her. "The Great Hall, where else?"

"Without a shirt?"

Sirius glanced down, and grinned. "So that's why it felt chilly."

Janelle gave an eye roll. "Of course that's why. I'll see you at breakfast." She stepped out the portrait hole before he could make another comment.

~*-*~

Janelle stood to head out of the compartment she was in. As she opened the door, she heard shouting.

"...you've been cheating on me..."

Sirius Black was backing out of the compartment where the yelling was coming from.

Janelle reached out and grabbed Sirius by the collar. She wrenched him backwards into her compartment, where he fell on his butt. The other occupants of the compartment stirred. James Potter was the first to speak, "So you broke up with her?"

Sirius nodded. "Remind me not to date Slytherins again. Ever."

Remus Lupin smiled slightly. "Don't date Slytherins again. Ever."

Sirius got up and sat beside James. "Very funny."

Janelle sat beside Remus. "It is actually. You just aren't in a position to appreciate it."

Sirius glanced around, searching for a new topic. "Why are you all so tired?"

Shauna Stuart, Janelle's cousin, looked at Sirius from her spot leaning against the window. Her hand rested lightly in Remus's. "Peeves got the bright idea to wake up all the Gryffindor girls at 3 in the morning." She yawned, as if to further prove that statement.

Lily Evans, who was resting her head on James's shoulder, noted that James and Sirius exchanged guilty looks. "Well?"

"We might have... jokingly suggested it... We didn't think he would do it!" James blurted.

The girls and Remus rolled their eyes. Lily spoke for them, "It's Peeves. He only listens to suggestions when they regard pranks or what not to do." Lily got up and sat beside Janelle, leaving only James and Sirius at one end of the compartment. She made a point to cross her arms and put a frown on her face.

"So why are you so awake?" asked James, addressing Janelle and attempting to change the subject.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Black pushed me into the lake this morning."

Sirius just grinned. "What? It ended up being good for me. Otherwise I would have been killed by an angry Slytherin."

"Anything from the trolley?" The snack lady had just opened the compartment door.

Found one! =D


By notwolf
From http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3869506/1/Lucius_and_the_Shrink
Lucius and the Shrink
“This sentence is outrageous!” Lucius boomed to anyone who would listen, which didn’t leave a whole lot of people. Already the majority of gawkers at his hearing had meandered off, many of them grumbling precisely because his sentence was outrageously light, not excessive.

Lucius sniffed. Wasn’t that just the way of it? He’d done everything in his power to bring about changes to benefit society by ridding it of undesirables, and he was the one being punished! And not even with Azkaban which, dank and miserable as it was, at least wasn’t uncharted territory. With a little imagination it could seem like a scary, putrid version of home. How in the world was he expected to follow this ridiculous mandate?

“Come on, honey,” Narcissa cooed, smoothing his beautiful locks. “I know it’s unfair, but you get to stay home with your family. That must count for something.”

The man glanced over at Draco, who at the moment was twirling in circles and giggling like a toddler. “I guess,” he moaned.

“Do you want me to make the appointment for you?”

Lucius nodded numbly. He’d been beaten and tortured many times in his life, he could handle a penalty like that. Instead the court had opted for a much more heinous, devious punishment: a minimum of ten sessions with—what did they call him—a si—sycophant. No. Psy—psycho—psychiatrist. A “mind doctor”, he fumed, as if there were anything wrong with his mind!

His seething was interrupted by Narcissa, who wore a positively ghastly look of dismay.

“Lucius, I’ve just been informed there are no wizard psychiatrists.”
He brightened for a second. He wouldn’t have to go after all!

“You, uh,” she hemmed, stepping back and latching onto her wand in the event of a major meltdown. “You have to see a Muggle psychiatrist.”
His horrified screams echoed down the corridors of the Ministry.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“Mr. Malfoy,” sang the receptionist. “You’re right on time.”
“Of course I am, you vermin.” He considered sitting down in the box-like area with chairs, but thought better of it. He was here under protest; protesters didn’t make themselves comfortable in the enemy’s waiting room. “Promptness is a virtue.”

“Oh, I’m not Vermin, I’m Veronica,” she replied, smiling.

“Whatever.”

“You can go in. Dr. Tate is ready.” She pointed at the door clearly labeled Dr. Tate, as if he somehow might confuse the office with the supply closet.

Lucius rolled his eyes, heaved a tremendous sigh, and opened the door. Instantly he understood why the door needed a definitive designation. This place didn’t remotely resemble an office. Where was the desk? The bookcase? And why was there a divan in the middle of the floor? Did these filthy Muggles habitually fall asleep while walking across a room?

Dr. Tate popped out from behind the door, startling the wizard. Had Narcissa not taken the precaution to confiscate his wand, he would have hexed the moron. He felt vulnerable, naked almost, without his wand…and not even his pimp cane to pretend he still had it! Before he could prevent it, the doctor grabbed his hand, pumping his arm up and down.

“Hello, Lucius, I’m Dr. Tate.”

“Mr. Malfoy will be fine,” growled Lucius, yanking his hand away. He rubbed his palm across his pants, grimacing.

“Won’t you sit down?”

Lucius looked around the room, then made a beeline for the only available chair. Tate, perceiving his intention, bolted past him and threw himself forward to land belly first across the seat, then slithered to an upright position with a triumphant smirk.

“My chair,” he said.

Clenching his teeth and reminding himself that Malfoys do not start brawls, Lucius hissed, “You said to sit down.”

“I meant lie down.”

“I’m not tired, thank you,” clipped Lucius. Because there was nowhere else to go, he grudgingly perched on the edge of the sofa.

From somewhere Dr. Tate whipped out a pen and a pad of paper far too large to fit in his pocket. “So, Lucius, what brings you here?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” he reiterated. “Court order.”

“Ooooh,” said Tate, assiduously taking note. “An unwilling patient.”

“Can we get on with it?”

Belligerent he scrawled. “What was your crime? If I may ask.”

“I don’t believe I have a choice in what you ask. And if you must know, I was railroaded by pureblood-hating, traitorous, back-biting disgraces to the name of wizardry.”

Dr. Tate peered over at him, cocking an eyebrow. Pureblood? “So you’re an Aryan?” With that gorgeous long blond hair, it seemed unlikely.
Nevertheless, he jotted down skinhead.

“Aryan?” repeated Lucius, caught off guard. “Since I don’t know what that is, I find it highly improbable that it pertains to me.”

Well, he’d also mentioned wizardry. “You’re a witch?”

Lucius’ eyes narrowed. This ‘doctor’ was definitely cruising for a bruising. He tossed his mane back. “Despite my uncommon attractiveness and my luscious locks, I am not a witch. I am a wizard, you pathetic excuse for dogmeat.”

“I find name calling to be counterproductive,” responded Tate.

“I find it very productive.”

Arguing like children would hardly accomplish much. Taking in his patient’s odd robe-like clothing, he asked, “Did you say you’re a wizard? Like Merlin or the Druids?”

Lucius paused. He had no idea who Merlin might be, but if this Muggle thought him important, he couldn’t be anyone of consequence. As to the Druids, he’d never in his life been in a band, nor did he see how that related to him being a wizard. Finally he said, “You’re an idiot.”

“Name calling,” sing-songed Tate.

“Would you prefer a fist to the face?”

“Name calling is good,” replied the doctor hastily. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning, Lucius. What was your childhood like?”

“It’s Mr. Malfoy, and what difference does that make?”

“Your childhood shapes you, makes you who you are.”

“In that case, I must have had a glorious childhood,” said Lucius smugly.

A withering gaze from Dr. Tate caused him to pull his robes about himself, sulking. He could anticipate ten—or more, God forbid—sessions like this? It was torture, pure and simple. This was inhumane!

“How do you feel about your mother?” persisted the nosy-body.

“I don’t remember her, if you must know. She died when I was quite young.”

Misses mother. Possible transference—must ask about hookers.

“Did you have a good relationship with your father?”

Lucius rolled his eyes again. Nobody he knew had anything resembling a good relationship with their fathers. He and Abraxas had a normal father/son bond: Abraxas told him what to do and he did it. Failing that, he was beaten into submission. Perfectly normal. “It was fine.”

“Was there anyone who ever touched you in ways that made you feel helpless or afraid?”

“Of course, you git!” exclaimed Lucius. “Azkaban isn’t exactly a country club, now is it?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He scribbled down Ask-a-ban to look up later. Probably a web site or something. “I meant, did anyone—an uncle or teacher or someone close to you—ever make advances of a sexual nature?”

Lucius’ eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped for only a second before he remembered who he was and snapped his mouth shut. The gall of these Muggles! “If you’re implying I was sexually molested, I most certainly was not, nor would I confide it to you if I had been! If you’re alluding to my wife, I suggest you back off before my foot becomes lodged in your colon!”

Dr. Tate duly noted on his pad, Threatens bodily harm. Was likely molested. “Let’s approach this in a different way. You tell me what bothered you the most when you were growing up.”

Without noticing, Lucius had slipped down on the divan, staring at the ceiling’s ugly, stained squares of fake tile. What bothered him the most? “You do mean from my childhood?” he confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” There was a conundrum. Muggles, of course, topped the list, particularly this one at the moment, although he didn’t recall being bothered by them as a child. Schoolwork he’d been unable to bully someone into doing for him had been a nuisance. Girls with prettier hair than his—oh, who was he kidding? None of the girls had nicer hair!

“Dobby,” he announced at last.

“Who or what is that?” Dr. Tate dutifully wrote Dobbie.

“The house elf. He hated me,” said Lucius.

House elf wrote Tate, then stopped. “What is a house elf, Lucius?”

“Mr. Malfoy! It’s a servant, Muggle. Anyway, while my father lived, Dobby belonged to him. Father pampered the sneaky little puke, who spied on me all the time and ran back to tell my father everything I did.” He wished Dobby was here now so he could punch the traitor’s grotesque head.

Paranoid delusions of owning treacherous slaves—or perhaps talking animals. Jealous of father’s pet. “How did that make you feel?”

“How do you think? Furious, betrayed, homicidal. I got him back, though. I’d grab him by his big pointy ears and toss him down the stairs or over the balcony.” Lucius chuckled, reminiscing. “For every thrashing I received because of him, I paid him in full.”

Father abusive. Lucius possibly tortured small creatures. “How do you feel about “Dobbie” now?”

Lucius twisted his mouth in disgust. “I despise him. If that Potter brat hadn’t tricked me into freeing him, I’d still be making him suffer as he deserves.”

Enjoys maltreating beasts. Relation to S&M? Enemy or rival a pot maker. “Do you still associate with this potter?”

“Absolutely not! He’s caused so much upheaval, although I guess if it wasn’t for him I’d still be under Voldemort’s thumb. He was good for something.”

“Voldemort?”

Lucius sighed. He was tired of explaining to a retard. “The dark lord who ran my life while I was a Death Eater.”

Voldemort--nickname for father. Death eater--pet name for abuse of animals. “Lucius, the court did the right thing in ordering you here. Apparently you have numerous issues to work through, and I believe we’ve only scraped the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” shrieked Lucius, leaping to his feet. “Call me Mr. Malfoy!” Hands outstretched, ready to throttle the doctor, he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to desist. “The only issue I have is why a loyal, hardworking man whose sole purpose in life was the betterment of society is being subjected to this cruelty!”

Persecution complex. a**l fixation on name. “And I’d like to discuss that in our next session, Lucius. Our time is up.”

As Lucius waited by the elevator he heard Dr. Tate murmur to his receptionist, “We’ll need to schedule additional sessions for this patient. It may take years to straighten him out.”

“Nooooooooo!”

A few moments later a man came wandering up the corridor; he stopped at the front desk. “Hello, Veronica. Who’s that poor man screaming over there?”

“Dr. Tate’s new patient. Seems to be really tormented.”

“Yes, so I see. Pity. If Dr. Tate can’t help him, no one can.”

“Too true,” nodded Veronica. “Go on in, Gilderoy, he’s expecting you.”

The End

Hmm - I'm open to suggestions! Kitsune and the Stylish Nihilist proposed this monthly contest; I was planning to let them suggest the themes. If you have suggestions, how bout posting them in the requests/suggestions sticky and we keep this thread primarily for story submissions? It's still ok to ask questions or make comments here; they'll just get seen quicker in the suggestions thread.

I think you'll be okay...look at your signature. XD

Turning the corridor into a swamp, and setting off fireworks may have been the biggest, most renowned acts of the Weasley twins; Fred and George. Taunting the pompous Professor Umbridge may very well be the life-changing event that set the boys’ minds to business instead of books. But what were they doing when your mind was on Harry and the gang? What other mischievous plots did they preform? Here’s your chance to see:

MISCHIEF MANAGED
A Weasley Twins vs. Professor Umbridge Story

Written by: xTahirux
House: Slytherin
Images from: Google and/or Photobucket .com



The loud speaker squeaked through the halls at a frequency that made the glass vibrate and the students cringe. The glass shook naturally, but the students cringed for another reason: The voice they were about to hear was more than familiar, and always loaded with pleasantries.

“Good morning, students,” the voice of Professor Umbridge piped cheerfully out of the speaker. “Reminder that O.W.L.S. will take place in one week. All fifth years are required to be present. Students caught out of class will be sent to immediate detention, and Mr. Argus Filch and I have been violently snogging each other for the past three months behind the statue of The One-Eyed Witch.”

Should one return to the halls, they’d find them bursting with laughter, a 'do not disturb' sign dangling from the neck of The One-Eyed Witch, and a fuming Professor Umbridge banging on an office door.

“You wretched little heathens!” Umbridge shrieked as she thrust herself at the door! Her face was as red and round as a rotten tomato, while her pudgy fists thumped one after the other against the door!

Behind the office door, a fury of Umbridge-like giggles erupted; followed by the slapping of hands. Fred and George high-fived each other, before Fred put on a mockery face. “Be patient, my dear,” the voice of Umbridge sing-songed out of Fred’s throat which had his wand pressed gently into it. George was snickering behind the palm of his hand, his face red and his eyes watering. “You wouldn’t want your dear, old Arggie to see you in such a state of disposition, would you?”

George’s hand fell away, so did Fred’s wand, and they laughed together in a triumphant roar while Umbridge’s fists and lungs went on a rampage! George fingered Umbridge’s wand after wiping the tears from his eyes, and addressed George in a heave of dying laughs. “Mischief managed?”

“Managed,” said Fred; his normal voice returned. George set Umbridge’s wand on the small desk, and Fred took the microphone away from his lips. Fred slapped the brick with a chip in the corner, and a long, winding staircase descended into the floor! Fred vanished down the stairs, calling to George as he did so. “Take care of the pink slug, will you George?”

“Sure thing!” George followed after Fred and slashed his wand toward the door on the way down. “Alohomora!” he called, and the door’s latch clicked. The staircase was already on it’s ascent by the time Umbridge realized the door had been opened, and when she made it inside; her wand was set patiently on the desk, and there wasn’t a soul in the room! The last, beautiful sound Fred and George got to hear, was the sound of her blood-curdling scream! They laughed as they vanished into the underbelly of the school.

* * *

“Fred, George; you were brilliant!” It was rare for Ron to give his brothers complements, but the morning feat was well deserving.

“Well thank you! Thank you, my brother,” George said, taking a proud swing of his pumpkin juice. “An excellent prank, if I do say so myself.”

Fred nudged George’s side; causing George to almost inhale the drink that was sliding down his throat. “You don’t say so yourself! That one’s for the record books!”

Hermione was listening in on the conversation. Her eyes, previously set in a book on House Elf behavior, darted to the celebrating red-heads. “A voice-changing charm won’t save you from detention,” she advised.

“Ah, but it doesn’t have to,” said George with a smug smile.

"That’s right," added Fred. “Even if she knows it was us, she’s not about to prove it to anyone.”

“Since when does a reason have to be legitimate for you to be punished?”

The group fell grave when Harry spoke. He was quietly plucking away at his steaming plate of food. One of the hands doing so had the branded mesh of words that spelled out: ‘I must not tell lies.’ Harry’s eyes turned to the group. “As soon as she finds you guys, she’ll throw you in detention.”

Fred and George looked slyly at one another, then spoke in unison. “That’s why we’ll be needing your cloak tonight, Harry.”

Hermione’s eyes bulged. “What!?”

Fred and George prompted her to keep her voice down, and waved the trio into a huddle. Other curious Gryffindors tilted their ears and leaned inward.

“We’re going into her office tonight,” Fred whispered.

This time the whole group got eyes as big as saucers and backed away with a unified “What!?”

Fred and George shushed the audience, and brought their voices to an even lower tone. George started the explaining. “We’re breaking into her office tonight.” Fred finished it. “We’re setting up a means of blackmail.”

The faces of the listeners brightened in wicked excitement. Well . . . not all of them. Hermione’s face wrinkled in skepticism.

“There’s no way you’ll get in without being caught,” she said. “She’s got stealth-detection spells all over the door. You can’t even breath on it without setting it off!”

Fred and George listened to Hermione’s ‘witisism,’ as they liked to call it. The listeners sank in their seats, while their heads buzzed with possible solutions to the problem, but Fred and George already had the answers. George and Fred spoke together. “. . .Who says we’ll be using the door?”

The group smiled and snickered. Leave it to Fred and George to have it all thought out. Hermione’s face didn’t waver, but her lips remained closed.

“Since when do doors stop the Weasley twins?” added Fred. “If we can get our hands on Umbridge’s wand,” said George, “her office will be a breeze.”

A few of the listeners gave the twins high-fives and pats of approval before returning to their meals. Fred and George had ate earlier, wanting to get started on the prank without breakfast interfering, so they rose out of their seats. “Don’t worry about the cloak, Harry,” again, they chimed in unison. “We’ll pick it up!”

They left the Great Hall without another word. They had preparations to make.

* * *

Evening came sooner than expected. There were a few narrow escapes when Umbridge stormed by, and they had to be even more careful when she announced that should the Weasley twins be discovered, they should be turned in to the Inquisitorial Squad or herself. But under the invisibility cloak, not a single person caught sight of them all afternoon.

Classes were ending, and students were heading to their dormitories. Fred and George, on the other hand, were weaving through the hidden tunnels of Hogwarts on their way to the office of Dolores Umbridge. They last spotted her having a heated discussion with Professor Snape, so she would be occupied for awhile. In hand, they carried a rather large bucket of water, and a small box that jingled and ticked while they walked.

“Keep ‘em quiet, Fred,” George whispered. George was carrying the bucket, and Fred the box.

“Well at least they’re not growling anymore,” Fred whispered back. “Do you know how long it took me to get them all to sleep? . . . Apparently, they like Mozart.”

“Who’s Mozart?”

“Some Muggle guy, though some people question his magical abilities in music–”

“Shh! Shh! Nevermind! We’re almost there!”

Fred’s eyes gaped over the silhouetted figure of his brother that was at the lead. A few, thin streaks of light were spread onto the floor of the tunnel. It was the back side of the entrance way into Umbridge’s office.

“You don’t think she’s found this passage, do you?” George asked over his shoulder.

“Nah!” Fred assured, “She would have sealed it off, or shoved a nunda down here or something. I think we’re in the clear.”

George’s brow lowered in the darkness. “. . . What’s a nunda?"

“Something Umbridge would appreciate.”

George shrugged, and peeked an eye through the cracks.

“See anything,” asked Fred.

George ducked his head up and down and side to side; trying to get a glimpse of every corner of the room before they made their way inside. He saw nothing but the single, lit lamp that illuminated the room in all it’s pink glory.

“We’re good to go,” George whispered. “Ready?”

“Let’s do it!”

George pushed heavily against the back of the passage. The wall creaked in moaned as it swung into the room. George gave the room another thorough look. Still no one. They filed into the room, leaving the passage open in case the need of a quick escape should arrive. Then the work began.

The boys worked fast. George set the bucket in the middle of the floor, while Fred carefully shoved the box under the desk and withdrew his wand. Fred aimed the wand at the wall lined with millions of little painted kittens; slumbering in their plates. George backed away from the bucket, and pointed his wand at the door as well. The boys looked at each other.

“Let’s get the old broad up here, shall we?” asked Fred.

“Let’s,” said George.

Their wands flickered at the wall and both of them yelled, “Wingardium leviosa!”

The kittens mewed in fear as they were pried away from the comfort of their wall, and flown about the room! Kittens swirled and yowled passed their ears as they screamed and rattled inside their plates! It wasn’t long before they heard the frantic pat of weighty steps heading up the stairs. Umbridge was well on her way!

Fred and George heard the warning steps, and flung their wands towards the bucket of water. The plates careened toward the bucket, but stopped to hover just inches above it! Umbridge’s steps thundered up to the door before it burst open; and her toad-like face exploded in rage!

“Weasleys!” she screamed, her wand exchanging aim between Fred and George. “What in the–”

Her voice fell silent, but her mouth gaped as wide as her eyes. She stared at the passage, but then a look of horror and fear consumed her face as she stared at the mass of plates hovering above the bucket of water. Her usual red color became a pasty, sweaty white.

“My–My babies!” she cried! Her wand was shaking in her hand, before it became rigid and her eyes dashed back to the boys. “What is the meaning of this!?”

Fred and George smiled. George continued to uphold the kittens, while Fred had his wand on the Professor.

“We’re thinking the rules around here are a little tight, Umbridge.” Fred wouldn’t give her the pleasure of the ‘Professor’ title. “Unless you agree to fix things up, you’re little ‘babies’ will be treading water.”

Fred threw a nod at George, who shifted his wand a bit to make the plates move. Umbridge was rife with rage.

“How dare you threaten me!” she screeched. “You’ll be lucky if you’re not expelled, after the stunts you’ve pulled today! The Ministry will hear about you two! I’ll–”

“George. Convince the woman, will you?”

George acknowledged the signal, and shot his wand towards the bucket! Two or three plates were instantly dashed into the water, then shot right back up in the air; now featuring soaked kittens that yowled noisily!

“NO!” Umbridge cried again, and lunged toward the bucket, but Fred aimed his wand and backed her toward the door. Umbridge moaned and huffed in frustration, staring at her wet little ‘poopsies’ that were mewing as if they’d been dipped in acid.

"You . . . MONSTERS!" She panted in anger! They had her helpless! She fumed and stared at them with her watery, blood-shot eyes. Fred grew weary of her stalling.

“Geooorge,” Fred stretched the word, and George raised his wand.

“WAIT! Alright!” Umbridge pleaded! “Let them go. . . . I’ll do what you ask.”

The boys were surprised! Their plan worked! She was crippled at the sight, and had completely given up! Fred lowered his wand. “Right then. Let’s discuss the new terms we–”

“Accio wands!”

Umbridge’s cry was all it took, and the wands were snatched right out from Fred and George’s hands! But just as soon as George’s wand was taken, the plates collapsed out of the air; giving in to gravity, and landing into the bucket with a magnificent splash!

George turned an eye to Fred, putting his hands in the air. "Bad move, mate," he grumbled.

"Shut up, George." Fred put up his hands too.

The water pooled out of the bucket, unable to hold it all, and spread onto the floor; wetting anything that got in it’s path.

Umbridge howled at the chaos, and shot her wand at the boys. She looked about ready to blow off both of their heads! Her veins throbbed, and her wrinkled tightened and multiplied on her purple face! It contrasted terribly with the pink attire. “DETENTION! BOTH of you!” she croaked in all her fury! “You’ll clean up this room without use of magic! I’m contacting the Ministry about you boys! I want this office just the way it was by morning, or I’ll have you sent to Azkaban!!!”

Professor Umbridge gave them both a hot, threatening glare before she shot her wand at the open passage, slamming it tight; then turning out of the room and slamming the door behind her!

Fred and George were left standing in the room. The water was seeping through their shoes, making their socks soppy, and their feet cold. From the bucket, they could hear the gurgling, meowing noises of the soaked little kittens. George and Fred were in complete disbelief and awe at what had happened.

Fred didn’t say anything, as he sighed and went to the bucket of kitten plates. Picking up the bucket, he carried it to the desk and set it on top of it. One by one he started pulling out the kitten plates, and drying them off with his robe.

George sighed too, then wandered to the bucket to help Fred out. “Well that didn’t go well,” said George.”

Fred remained silent until one of the plates slipped from his hands and fell to the floor! It was lucky enough to bounce off his foot before hitting the floor, or it would have shattered for certain. The fine, China plates were terribly fragile. A few of them had cracked on their way into the bucket.

Fred groaned and bent to the floor. The kitten fell under the desk, and the thing hissed as Fred wrapped his fingers around it. . . . That’s when Fred remembered the box. Fred’s original smile returned, as he stood to his feet.

“No George,” said Fred, “. . . but it will.” Fred set the dry plate on the desk with the others, and bent down to pick up the box. As soon as the box hit the desk. George, too, got his smile back.

* * *

Morning arrived. Umbridge was sipping a warm serving of tea from a flower-ornamented cup as she headed up the very same staircase that had with held against the pounding of her feet the evening before. She looked like the stairs: Like nothing nasty had happened to them in the last twenty four hours. She hummed and sighed in a cheery manner as she approached the office door.

She paused for a moment when she reached it. She had many expectations of what would be behind it running through her head when she’d come to check on it in the morning. Now was when she’d find out if her expectations were good . . . or bad.

She held her breath, and the door opened. Walking inside, her breath was stolen from her . . . it looked more beautiful than she could have imagined! Everything was straight, neat and tidy to the “T!” The doilies were white and clean! Not a speck of dust was anywhere to be found! It was the most surprising thing she had ever witnessed!

“Hm!” She piped with a tilt of her head and a smile. Perhaps the imps had learned their lesson.

Walking to her desk, she gracefully sat down in her chair, and raised the tea to her lips. It’s warm, herbal remedy was exactly what she needed to calm the nerves. Her eyes closed to indulge in the sweet comfort . . . until they opened.

“EEP!” She squeaked, and set the tea down on her desk in shock! In front of her, where the colorful collection of kittens usually hung, was a large, black curtain blocking out the wall!

She stared at it curiously for a moment, before slowly rising out of her chair. She removed her wand the closer she got to the curious curtain; and her eyes skimmed for any signs of danger. What in the world could she expect to find behind it? She shuddered to think. Her wand raised and her lips parted before she spoke in a dull, sharp tone:

“Wingardium leviosa!”

The curtain fell away from the wall, and all the plates came to life! But instead of the pleasant little mews that would greet her ears, they were sounds of stress and fright mixed with . . . BARKING! Dogs! Hundreds of little dogs encased in plates of their own started barking at the cats that shrieked and hissed! The ruckus the cats made shook them from the nails on the walls, and they screamed to the floor before shattering into millions of tiny pieces!

Umbridge screamed with rage, and ran out of the room with tears streaming down her perfect, pink cheeks; the dogs barking at her as she did so!

In one corner of the room, a set of twins laughed in victory as they watched the woman leave! The cloak fell away from their bright, red heads; and they clutched their guts!

As their laughter faded, George spoke. “Mischief managed, Fred?”

Fred looked at his brother trying to squeeze words in between his laughter. “Mischief Managed, George. . . . Mischief managed.”

Without another word, the boys high-fived and disappeared through the secret passage; leaving the kitten massacre behind.