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Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Fred and George decided, was a retched place. First off, it dim, damp and dingy so much unlike the Burrow or Hogwarts that at times it felt like another planet. Whatever dark magic had been used in the place decades before still clung the house’s very frame like some stubborn fungi. Nextly, there was Kreacher who had a bad habit of snooping through their things when they weren’t around. Seeing as there was a fair bit of gold—kindly donated to their cause by the Magnificent Harry Potter—tucked among their things, several projects-in-progress that were still too finicky to be mucked with by the untrained or unobservant and more than a few borderline illegal ingredients Molly needed to never ever find out about, house elf proof locks and booby traps were quickly set up on their door. And lastly, they were livng with an escaped, though mostly innocent, convicted criminal who spent a good part of his time either holed up with the hippogriff or picking petty disputes with Order members.
Most important about this last fact though, was that Fred and George were positive they had heard Remus Lupin refer to the grumpy convict as “Padfoot” at least twice in the week since they had moved in, and both times, Sirius Black had replied by referring to the ex-Professor as “Moony”. And wasn’t that just food for thought?
Because Mr. Moony and Mr. Padfoot? Along with the apparently missing Messrs. Wormtail and Prongs, Fred and George owed nearly their entire pranking career to those two. But the life-riddled men did not seem like the sort to make jokes like the ones that used to pop up in the margins of the Marauder’s Map. Though they often smiled at the twins’ verbal banter with their family members or the odd Order member, Remus and Sirius never joined in. Their childhood (and perhaps also adulthood) idols spent too much time with lifeless eyes.
And that was unacceptable.
The plot was simple, but had to be put into action carefully. Molly was already on their tails about putting away their “childishness” so that they could focus on earning some real careers (during the third rendition of that lecture, Fred had theatrically yawned and George pretended to doze off altogether). She was watching them uncomfortably closely these days and a distraction was necessary. Wasn’t it lovely that they had such a helpful little sister?
Arming her with Crookshanks, dungbombs and three ton-tongue toffees, they sent Ginny off to the kitchen to keep Molly contained, knowing that she would be able to come up with something all on her own. After all, they had taught her well.
For once, they didn’t take advantage of their newly won apparition licenses. Instead, they crept quietly throughout the house, opening every widow that hadn’t been spelled shut and letting the barely-there summer breeze waft through the curtains. As a consideration to their fellow housemates, they also put cooling charms on each window, turning the muggy outside air soothingly cool. Their plan wouldn’t do any good if everyone was too hot and sweaty to enjoy it.
The final step was the release. They took the small contraption from their now carefully warded bedroom down into the drawing room and camouflaged it among the many (likely cursed) baubles and priceless heirlooms that cluttered up the room. Fred tapped the top of the fist sized box with the tip of his wand and a soft humming alerted them to its activation. Sneaking back upstairs, they waited until Molly’s shrieks could be heard throughout the four-story townhouse.
“You two,” their mother demanded when she caught sight of them on the stairs. “What have you done?” The chaos was better than they had thought it would be. They hadn’t had much time to test the prototype while still at Hogwarts, this was the most recent version’s maiden voyage and she was doing swimmingly.
The ground floor of the house was filled with bubbles, the smallest at least a foot in diameter with that one floating by the chandelier at least four times that, and no one who had come out to observe the ruckus could take more than a step or two before they had to duck around the floating obstacles. Better yet, they had finally succeeded in making the bubble solution unpoppable, but instead of bouncing of furniture, knick-knacks and people, the bubbles absorbed them. The priceless heirlooms Molly and Sirius both looked forward to throwing in the rubbish bin were now floating near the ceiling, sticking to walls or drooping by the floor. Two portraits who had escaped being permanently stuck to the wall were screaming themselves hoarse from within their respective spheres, all sound trapped inside. One bubble had attached itself to Walburga Black’s portrait and though she was red in the face from shouting her now repetitive insults, no one could hear a word.
Hermione was chasing one particular bubble that had captured her cat. Crookshanks was clawing at his transparent cage as it floated higher and higher out of his mistress’ reach, his poor tongue now too long for his flat head and pooled around him like a next. Kreacher was bobbing in a too-small bubble, stuck in an unreachable corner of the ceiling and even Ginny was dancing on her tip-toes, her fingers, hand and forearm trapped in a bubble that apparently wanted to go up despite Ginny’s weight. There was a smile stretched across the girl’s face. Ron had fallen over on the stair where he watched Hermione run back and forth uselessly, her cat now too far for anyone to reach and was laughing so hard tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. When a series of piano keys passed by her ear, tinkling happily, Hermione finally stopped her frantic chasing and giggled, trying to catch them instead. Now attached to a wall with bubble and claws, Crookshanks looked safe enough. Molly’s wand was caught by an especially playful bubble and she sat down in defeat, shaking her head.
But most importantly, Sirius and Remus stood in the doorway leading from the small back garden and were looking around in awe, eyes lit. Remus grinned as he caught a small houseplant that floated by, his hands passing straight through the bubble’s skin to hold the pot itself. Another bubble joined the first, then another and another, stringing themselves together until both Remus’ arms were covered in a chain of bubbles that lifted him two feet in the air, his head thrown back and the old prankster laughing. Not smirking or chuckling or even giggling. Loud guffaws and snorts came from the werewolf and Fred and George congratulated themselves for making their former professor laugh louder than they had ever heard him.
Beside him, Sirius stood, anchoring his best friend with a hand on the man’s jumper and his eyes flashing about the room. He watched the younger three laughing—Ron collapsed on the staircase, Hermione chasing bubbles like she was a little kid again and Ginny heartily dancing about ten feet above them all—and a shocked huff of air escaped him. He saw Fred and George lithely sauntering through the mess towards their contracting and expressed himself with an impressed hum. He noticed Molly seated with her wand drifting close, dodging away when she tried to grab it, then repeating its game until she had given up with a wide smirk. He saw Kreacher stuck with his feet to the ceiling and his small, claw-like hands balled into fists and a dark chuckle rolled past his lips. But when his mother’s now rage-purple face caught his attention, he broke. He dropped his hand from Remus’ jumper, leaned against the wall and cackled. Eyes squeezed tight, arms crossed and holding his stomach, voice howling with mirth, for just a moment, Sirius Black dropped his guard and enjoyed the ruckus he had found in his parents’ stoic, high ceilinged, joyless home.
Fred and George shared a look, marking this plan a success.
Of course, the moment couldn’t hold forever. The bubbles eventually wore out, some popping with loud BANGs, some sprung leaks, slowly lowering their occupants to the ground. Kreacher’s wheezed loudly as it ran around the room haphazardly like an untied balloon, finally releasing the dizzy house elf one foot above the ground. Hermione gently coaxed Crookshanks down from the wall he had welded himself to and, with the help of Molly and her recaptured wand, returned his toffee-addled tongue to its proper size. Ginny collapsed to the ground, still grinning and claiming to be too dizzy to stand. Remus drifted down from the doorframe he had desperately been cling to after Sirius’ “uncaring lack of support” and lightly smacked his friend upside the head. Ron was wise enough to pull Walburga’s curtain closed before her bubble popped.
With everyone more or less alright, Molly turned on the twins who had already tucked their prototype into George’s spell-proof pocket. “What did you two think you were doing?” she hissed.
“It’s been too boring—”
“—and bloody well depressing—”
“—here so we thought we would lighten—”
“—things up a bit.” Their innocent smiles had ceased to charm their mother long ago.
“You two will clean this whole mess up this moment,” Molly said, “without magic and I’ll be telling your father about this when he gets home from work.” Fred had to remind himself not to roll his eyes and George carefully refrained from shrugging. They had lived at home for seventeen years without using magic; they used it so incessantly since their birthday because they liked it, not because they needed it. And Arthur had been the one to show them muggle bubbles that had given them the idea in the first place. He would be pleased as punch.
Within a few more minutes, the others had cleared out and Fred and George got to work. Fred was stacking silver jewelry boxes back onto a spindly side table and George was collecting scattered piano keys when they heard footsteps behind them and turned to find Remus righting a vase that had been knocked over and Sirius returned traumatized portraits to their places on the wall.
“You two don’t have to do that,” George said, surprised. “It was our mess after all.”
“That show was well worth it. Cleaning up is the least we could do,” Remus disagreed. His eyes were bright and his smile light. With raised eyebrows, the twins nodded and the four worked silently until the last lace doily had been put back in its place.
“So,” Fred began motioning them all into chairs.
“Mr. Moony—”
“—and Mr. Padfoot—” the twins’ delighted in their predecessors’ shocked alarm.
“We have to admit to being huge fans of yours.”
“We wouldn’t have been able to accomplish half of what we have without your rather insightful map.”
“And we wouldn’t have found nearly such helpful teachers anywhere else.”
“So you’re the ones who gave Harry the map?” Remus leaned back in his seat with a wide smile. “I should have known.”
“Filch confiscated the Marauder’s Map in our seventh year! How in the world did you get it?” Sirius demanded, half impressed, half jealous because he, James, Remus and the traitor had never been able to retrieve it themselves.
“Picked the lock in Filch’s office the muggle way,” Fred shrugged.
“All the way back in our very first year.”
“Why didn’t we ever try that?” Sirius turned on Remus.
“Because you and James rarely had the patience to sit still long enough to try,” Remus pointed out dryly. Sirius pretended he hadn’t heard.
“Anyways,” George said. “We were thinking.”
“See, we have a few more projects in the works and thought—”
“—enlightened individuals such as yourself might have a few pointers—”
“—for lowly disciples such as us.”
Remus’ expression twisted into a mischievous smirk and Sirius rubbed his hands together with unsuppressed anticipation. “Lead the way.”