The Trial

"Ah, that's fine quality workmanship, that is. You won't be disappointed."

"Thanks for visiting, come again."

"I assure you, Madame, all our products are one hundred percent safe. We tested them ourselves."

"Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!"

"Fred!"

Fred grinned at his twin as the final customer in the large rush left the shop. "Okay, I think we have a bit of a break before the heavy crowds start coming in."

"Thank heavens." George made a show of collapsing into the nearest chair. "This is one of our busier days."

Fred nodded, sitting down opposite George. "But I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world."

"Amen, brother."

The bell over the door chimed suddenly, and both of them jumped up with identical grins, ready to meet their latest customer. But there was no one there. A spotted owl soared across the shop and landed on the counter in front of them. It clutched a letter addressed to both of them in its beak.

Gently, George tugged the letter out of the owl's beak, slit open the envelope, and unfolded the letter. His eyes widened as he read. Suddenly, things no longer seemed so rosy. "Fred. Listen to this." He read the letter aloud.

I have captured your brother Ronald. Come to the centre of the catacombs beneath London (entrance in the hole in the wall behind Borgin's in Knockturn Alley) upon receiving this letter or he will be dead in two hours.

The letter was unsigned. George looked up at Fred, pale and trembling. "This is bad."

"This is beyond bad," Fred agreed. "Close up shop. We've got to go save Ron."

~~~

It took them a good hour to find the centre of the catacombs, which twisted and wended so much one often felt like one was going in circles. Finally, though, they emerged into a large chamber, with a high, cracked ceiling. The door slammed shut behind them.

"Ron?" George yelled.

"Ron!" Fred called loudly.

"He ought to be in here, the letter said he'd be here," George said frantically. "Or at least implied as much."

"On three, we try together, ready?" Fred said nervously. "One...two...three!"

"RON!" they both bellowed.

Harsh, high, cruel laughter echoed through the chamber. Fred and George clutched each others' arms in fright.

"Fools!" a harsh voice shouted. Obviously it belonged to the laughter. "You honestly thought your darling brother would be here?"

"What have you done with Ron?" Fred yelled furiously.

"If you've harmed one hair on my little brother's head..." George threatened.

"Oh, your brother is fine," said the voice, obviously amused. "No, it is you two, not Ron, who will be dead within the hour."

An ominous rumbling came from overhead. George looked up and saw huge cracks in the ceiling. "MOVE!" he bellowed. He and Fred both scrambled to get out of the way.

A chunk of rock hit George in the arm. He yelped, hit the ground, and rolled, covering his face and hugging the wall as he waited for the noise to stop.

Finally, it did. He rose shakily to his feet. "Fred?" he called, looking around him. Then he saw something that made his heart stop--a single shoe emerging from the rubble. "Fred!"

Terrified, he ran towards where he guessed--or knew--his brother to be. He began digging frantically through the rubble, trying to free him. By the time he saw Fred's red hair, he knew he was too late. "Fred, oh, Fred," he sobbed out.

George pulled his brother's broken, bleeding body out of the rubble and held him, sobbing. Fred was undeniably dead.

He heard an awful sound as he did so. It was cruel, cold laughter--the evil laughter he had heard earlier. Only now it was joined with a new laugh, one that George was sure he recognised--and hoped to God he was wrong, though in his heart of hearts he knew he wasn't. A single name formed silently on his lips.

"Ron..."