Holes to Heaven

Given the state of things, Elsie should have been thrilled to death when she came to a letter towards the last quarter of her second inbox that would get her out of the office. She had never been one to take fresh air for granted. But the nature of the visit didn't excite her at all. She reread, perhaps for the fifth time, the outraged letter she'd just received.

Forwarded to Elspeth Bobbit, Prosecutor, Major Offence Squad, Department of International Magical Law

Addressed to: Messieurs Fred and George Weasley

Re: Reckless Neglect

Dear Sirs:

I am writing this letter while experiencing rage like I've never felt before, so you'll excuse me if I'm short with you.

While it's clear that you both find yourselves dreadfully funny, and have done rather well with marketing your talent for trouble, neither of you seem to have developed a capacity for abstract thought.

I say this because NEITHER ONE OF YOU gave even the first thought to the SAFETY, dare I say the very LIVES, of your customers.

My eight-year-old son recently purchased one of your ingenious Skiving Snackboxes at a ridiculous price, even while he assures me they were on sale. But I'm not writing you because you're taking advantage of children.

I'm writing because of the near-fatal allergic reaction my child had to your oh-so-clever Puking Pastilles, simply because you FAILED to list the ingredients of your product. My son is highly allergic to gelatine, and knows to always check the ingredients - but how to check when they're OMITTED COMPLETELY?

Don't either of you doubt me when I say I'm pressing charges, as many as I can, until both of you rot in Azkaban for your stupid jokes. I WILL NOT LET THIS REST.

Sincerely,

Esmeralda LaLone

Attached was a square bit of parchment, with, "M.M. Fred and George Weasley request immediate counsel," scrawled across it in a small, neat hand.

There was nothing for it. Leaving the rest of her paperwork for later, she sent a message with one of the office owls to her supervisor and was on her way.

Diagon Alley was slow at this time of the day; that is, slower than what it usually was. The cobbled streets maintained a healthy flow of customers, tempted by the increasingly impressive advertisements hanging just about everywhere. The outdoor seats at many of the cafés were mostly full, and business witches and wizards darted between shops in a hurry. Unfortunately, Elsie hadn't the time for shopping.

The joke shop wasn't hard to find; with the glittering golden letters perched above the door, not a single young mischief-maker could miss it. She stepped inside, hearing a bell sound somewhere in the back of the shop; while she waited, she took a moment to take in the richly coloured whimsicality of it all.

"I can't help but think you look very out of place in here," a voice came from behind Elsie.

The source of the voice was a pleasant-looking young man, one whom was immensely freckled and (if it was possible) even more immensely redheaded. He was smiling congenially at her, though she couldn't help but notice the note of mischief laced within it.

She grimaced when she realized this was one of the 'alleged offenders' and she wasn't allowed to be on his side. But there was something about him that made her want to be.

"I feel out of place," she answered, suddenly realizing the silence that had stretched between them.

"Well, don't. We all deserve a good laugh," he extended a hand as she approached him, "George Weasley, co-owner, at your service."

"Alas, I'm not at liberty to have a laugh at the moment. I do hope your brother is here, as I need to speak with both of you."

She regretted her words immediately, as they had caused his pleasant expression to pucker with concern, his lips forming a brooding line.

"Oi, Fred!" George shouted over his shoulder. "Get in here! They've called the law on us."

An identical young man appeared from around the corner, his expression falling at the sight of her much as his brother's had. Suddenly, Elsie felt really rotten.

"I'm Elspeth Bobbit, a representative Prosecutor from the Major Offence Squad. To be honest, I really just need your side of the story - "

"Hear that, Fred? Major Offence Squad. I told you that woman was serious!"

Fred looked annoyed. "That woman is barking, George. She didn't keep a close enough eye on her precious baby boy, and we're the prime scapegoat."

George addressed Elsie. "Miss Bobbit, will you please convince him that this is serious?" he asked, aiming the last word at his brother as if it were a Bludger.

"I'm afraid it is, Mr. Weasley. Even if no actual crime took place, civil court can be a real downer."

Fred (she was grateful for gold-embroidered names on their shirts) scrubbed his face with his fists, flexing his jaw and blinking a few times before speaking.

"What exactly is she accusing us of?" he asked sceptically, as if sure the woman was completely incredible.

"Didn't you read the letter? She holds the two of you responsible for her son's allergic reaction because you failed to list the ingredients of your product."

"The hag," growled George. "We're not required to list anything. Look - " he held up a tin of Skiving Snackboxes and pointed to something printed on the lid," - Use at your own risk. With purchase, buyer accepts full responsibility for any incidents, mishaps, catastrophes, or bodily harm caused by this product," he looked up at her, as if to make sure she was paying full attention. "But here's the kicker, ladies and gentlemen," he said, pointing to the bottom line of the disclaimer, "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes will not assume liability for this product once it leaves the store."

Fred nodded firmly. "You forgot to mention this bit," he added, turning the box on its side. "In plain, bold print: for queries regarding nutrition, please consult the register."

Elsie read it for herself, nodding. "You seem to have covered all your bases."

"We most certainly have," said George. "As soon as we opened the second store in Hogsmeade, the first thing we hired was a solicitor. We've been assured that it's iron-clad."

"It is," sighed Elsie "In theory."

"What d'you mean, in theory?" demanded Fred, looking furious. "We paid twice the Galleons that slimy git was worth!"

"Probably three times it," said Elsie, "all I can say right now is that you can't possibly be proved guilty of a crime. And it's likely she'll have to buy off the Magistrate if she expects him to settle in her favour."

George ran all ten fingers through his fiery mop, hardly consoled. "You can't possibly understand how hard we've worked for this. I'll be damned if I let some old cow blame us for her own stupid mistakes."

"Mr. Weasley, I know. I know it's unfair, and I know it's inconvenient. But it just comes with the territory. Right now, I suggest you sit tight until we hear something new from Mrs. LaLone."

"Like hell," objected Fred. "I'm calling that good-for-nothing solicitor to give him a good bollocking."

"Don't," pleaded Fred. "I can't stand him. Him and his delusions of adequacy."

"You needn't drive yourselves out of your minds with worry yet. Mark my words, this will all come to nothing when Mrs. LaLone calms down and comes to her senses."

Neither of them looked convinced.

"Once I've got a better idea of the situation, I'll schedule a meeting with you. In the meantime, I'll need a complete list of your products - "

" - What for?" Fred interrupted.

"Procedure," Elsie told him firmly. "Trust me; if anyone is going to find something dodgy around here, you want it to be me."

They seemed to take affront to the suggestion that they might be up to something.

"Miss Bobbit, I assure you that all our dealings here are purely fun, and nothing else. We're upright gentlemen, we are. I am insulted by the insinuation that our genius for jokes isn't sufficient to provide us with a good income," Fred told her, drawing himself up proudly.

"I'm sure you're completely clean," Elsie assured them both, "but you must understand, it isn't my job to trust people. Quite the opposite, really."

"We know, and we thank you for taking our side, Miss Bobbit," said George, nudging his brother so slightly Elsie almost missed it.

"Call me Elsie, will you?" she asked, smiling at the both of them. "I'll be in touch within the next couple of days. In the meantime, don't worry too much."

They assured her that they wouldn't, and it was at that moment that a pair of boys walked in, looking dumbstruck by the utter joy that surrounded them. It provided Elsie with the perfect opportunity to slip away.

She wished she had the time to resolve this quickly for the Weasley twins; they seemed like nice people, and she knew they didn't deserve a lawsuit. Alas, she had more important things to attend to: like Malfoy's hearing. No matter how much she liked the Weasleys, nothing could knock Malfoy out of the first position on her priority list. Easy as it was certain to be to send him head over heels back to Azkaban, she was not going to allow him an inch of breathing room.