Paying Your Dues

Their parents were there. Not that he'd doubted they would be. No. Never, he told himself firmly, even in his direst moments in the cell, had he doubted. He'd been hallucinating obviously. Obviously.

"They came," Fred said, making George jump. It was the first time Fred had spoken directly to him since they'd left the cellar of the IRD.

"You OK?"

"Depends, don't it?" said Fred.

"On?"

"On whether or not they send us to Azkaban."

George's momentary hopefulness shattered on the flagstones. He looked around the room. There were more people here than he'd ho... expected. The entire clan was there, although Percy was there as court scribe, of course. Stupid git. Harry had come, both to support them, and make it obvious to his enemies that he wasn't going to desert anyone. Ron was standing beside Harry, twitchily looking round the room. Harry was just staring at where they stood. He supposed Harry had seen enough of the room the last time he was here. And wherever Harry and Ron went, Hermione was sure to follow, so she was standing beside Ron. It looked suspiciously like she was holding his hand. Huh. Oliver Wood and Lee Jordan were standing behind his parents, looking angrily at the judicial stands.

Others he recognised included Flitwick and Hooch, neither really a surprise. They'd been tacit supporters of the twins' escapades for years. McGonagall and Snape, however, seemed out of place. He assumed they had come to see justice finally served. A smile twisted his face as he contemplated handing the purloined notes back to Snape in front of his colleagues. Which made him wish they had the notes here. They were still stuck in some room full of confiscated equipment.

A chair in the centre of the room caught his eye. Heavy chains dangled from the arms. That would be the chair that Harry had sat in nearly a year ago. That chair was getting to be an important part of his family's memories. Maybe they could ask to take it away as a keepsake?

Murmured hushing noises spread through the crowd, and George looked up to see the Interrogators filing in to their places, their plum coloured robes billowing slightly as they walked. Dumbledore took centre seat. George blinked. In his self-pity, he'd completely forgotten that Professor Dumbledore was the Chief Warlock. Dumbledore looked him straight in the eye, and George felt his innards curdle. The Professor may act like a fool, but he wasn't one, and right now he was examining George's insides, he was sure of it. Wait, wasn't Dumbledore a Legilimens? Was he looking into George's mind right now? Reading his thoughts? Ergh. Think penance, think remorse. Be penitent, be remorseful. Don't think about Enid Tucker and the broom cupboard. Dumbledore turned his head to look at the crowd of supporters and smiled at someone he saw there. George followed his gaze, to find himself looking at Enid, who'd obviously turned up in support. George felt his face suddenly match his hair colour. Dumbledore looked back and turned his creepy insight on Fred. After a minute, Dumbledore turned to look into the crowd again, and narrowed his eyes at Oliver, then looked back at Fred. Fred's face flamed. George raised his eyebrow at his brother. "Oliver?" Fred just shrugged. George filed it away for later interrogation.

Without anyone saying or doing anything, the room hushed as if the sound had been turned down. Dumbledore, Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Greatest Wizard of the age, was about to speak. He pulled thoughtfully on his beard for a moment, then said, "You two are very lucky young men indeed."

George blinked. That can't have been right, surely?

Dumbledore continued, "Under usual circumstances, this court would have had no choice but to sentence you both for tax evasion, breaking and entering, and attempted theft. This would have meant an extended stay in prison." He stopped to shuffle through some scrolls in front of him.

"However," he said, just as whispering was beginning in the crowd, "these are not normal circumstances. Despite several youthful indiscretions..." George sincerely hoped he wasn't talking about broom closets there, "you have not previously been found guilty of any serious crime. As your family is well respected and liked within the community", there was some hissing from the crowd at this, from Death Eaters presumably, "and as the requirement to file these particular tax returns is considered by the general public to be both antiquated and draconian, a petition was raised on your behalf, to have all charges dropped. Unfortunately as you are most certainly guilty of the charges raised against you, we are not in a position to be able to find you innocent."

George exchanged a horrified look with Fred. This wasn't the deal they had cut with that smarmy lawyer.

"However, it is certainly within the realms of this jury, to hand down such sentence as it sees fit. The matter has been discussed at length. It is the great pleasure of this court to deliver a verdict of guilty."

"What?" yelled Fred, packing lots of astonishment into one word.

Dumbledore pinned Fred to the spot with a simple but devastating Look. Fred subsided. George practised being meek, and waited for the inevitable. So much for their expensive solicitor, the bastard.

Dumbledore spoke again. "Alas, all crimes must receive a sentence, and this is it. As the crime was one against the greater community, so the punishment shall be for the good of the community. Recent months have seen an increase in violence, and a general slump in public morale. Plans have therefore been made to bolster our good humour. Many such activities have already been organised, most notably the forthcoming Hogsmead Street Festival. Sadly, the festival committee has thus far been unable to find anyone to provide suitable entertainment for the evening. However it has come to the attention of the festival organisers, that you two young men may be able to rectify the problem."

George felt his brow wrinkle. What on earth was the old guy on about? Scratch that. What on earth was he on? Had someone dosed his lemondrops?

"Many attendees of Hogwarts have quite vivid memories of the days preceding your departure from the school. I am assured by both students and faculty alike, that your firework display was quite marvellous."

Oh! George's brow unwrinkled and widened to cover half his scalp. His eyes were threatening to pop out of his head. Dumbledore wanted them to do fireworks? Dumbledore wanted them to do fireworks!

"As the Festival is in one week, you are being released, under supervision, to begin preparation for your penance, the results of which, I expect, will be enjoyed by everyone who will be attending." George noted the statement sounded like more like a threat than a promise. " I sincerely hope that this has been a lesson to you both, and that I will not have to see you in front of me again." He began to rise, paused, and added, "Unless of course you are delivering to me some of your most excellent Canary Creams." He nodded, and continued in his dignified exit. The rest of the jury followed him out.

George didn't know what to do. It seemed they'd won after all. What a marvellous man their solicitor was! He turned to Fred, as the murmuring in the courtroom rose to cheering, and quickly became applause and wolf whistles.

"Holy shit!" said Fred. "Did we just win?" He flinched as someone hit him hard on the back of the head.

"Language, Fred!" shrilled Molly, who had probably apparated the 10 feet across the room to be with them. She didn't seem too angry though, as she enveloped Fred in a bone-crushing hug. Arthur appeared beside George. For a moment he thought his Father might hug them too, but after a moments hesitation Arthur punched him lightly on the shoulder, then shook himself.

"Well, I won't say I'm proud of you son. What you've put your Mother and I through was utterly inconsiderate, but I'm glad you'll both be OK."

George ignored his Father's hesitation and took the hug initiative himself. "Sorry Dad. Didn't think."

"Yes, well, that much was obvious." said his Mother from somewhere just left of him. "We'd best be going then. You two have a lot of work to do before the end of the week."

"Shouldn't we wait for our court-appointed guardian?" asked Fred, looking round for a sign of an authority figure.

"That's your father and me," said Molly. "The Ministry put us in charge of your supervision till the completion of your sentence." She fussed with George's collar.

"What!"

Molly turned and fussed with Fred's collar, brushing off the sort of dirt specks that can only be seen by housewives. "The jury decided that as we had a lot of experience at keeping an eye on you, and as your Father's now got his job back, no thanks to the two of you I might add, you should move back home with us till the Festival is over."

"What!" they both yelled again, astonishment changing to horror.

"S'true lads." Arthur nodded, a dismal expression flitting across his face. "Don't worry. I'll clean out my old shed, and you can work in there. Plenty of bench space, and you won't upset the neighbours with the explosions." He looked at his pocket watch. "We'd best be going."

"Damn," George said as quietly as he could to Fred, "looks like we didn't win after all."

"Language, George!" Molly thundered, and slapped the back of his head, just before they all disapparated to the Burrow.