Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

'Never shun a woman wise in magic.
Seldom do those cold hearts who are silent make mistakes -
What's good is often forgotten, what's bad is often hidden.'

- The Eddas

Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

Prologue
Stick, Stock, Stone, Dead

oOo

'Long, long ago, there lived a powerful witch who ruled a bare and barren land far in the North. The witch, who was called Gudrun, and sometimes the Snow Queen, lived in a large castle with only her mirrors and servants to amuse her; for Gudrun was a cold woman whose heart was as bitter and barren as the land she ruled, and she cared nought for the triviality of companionship.

On her twenty-first birthday, Gudrun was presented with the magical mirror Ouroboros, forged by the skilled fingers of Nogg the Nefarious. Nogg was a foul and wicked Goblin who hated Muggles with a passion, and spent his hours devising new and wicked charms in which he could trick them with. Amongst these charms was the sword Blackabar, who, in the midst of battle, would grow so heavy that his owner could no longer hold its weight and therefore perish in the fight; the silver bell Isil, whose sweet notes caused the listener to hear the death cries of loved ones who had suffered terrible fates; the ring Storge, whose wearer was turned pale with rage and envy, and saw only treachery and deceit in the actions of those around them.

But Nogg's greatest treasure was the magic mirror, Ouroboros, whose silver frame was coiled to form the world serpent devouring its own tail. The mirror's reflective surface was said to be composed of three scales stolen from the snake whose home was made in the legendary World Tree. Ouroboros was said to have so many spells cast upon it that even Nogg did not know its full wicked power.

Despite its beauty, the mirror was as rife with dark magic and mischief as its creator, for it trapped and fed upon the hearts of little Muggle girls and boys who had the unlucky misfortune to pass it. When these poor wretches caught their reflection in the mirror, they would feel so happy that they would dance, dance, dance, and dance some more until their little feet were bruised and raw. It was then, while their souls were tired and weary, that the mirror would seize the child's heart, and leave them with the unhappy fate of seeing their gruesome deaths reflected.

Gudrun loved her gift at once and swore an oath that she would not marry less she find a man who matched the beauty of her mirror. Until then she would entertain herself with her reflection or steal away the hearts of Muggle children to feed her mirror. As briefly mentioned before, Gudrun was a very beautiful woman with hair as white as snow and lips so red they looked painted with blood. But while there was no malice in her expression, her eyes were as hard and cold as black ice. And every time a suitor rode in from far and wide to ask her hand in marriage, the Goblins gathered on her order and cast him down to the rocks.

Every day the witch would go to the mirror Ouroboros and ask,

"Tell me glass,
Tell me of,
In all the worlds,
Who deserves my love?"

To which Ouroboros would always reply,

"Nae indeed,
Thou Queen may'st fair,
No love dost seed
in lands dwell there."

To this the witch would smile and retreat to her chambers, for she was happy in her cold heart. But as the years went by and her power grew, and grew, Gudrun began to wonder what would become of her after her death. What would be her legacy? And so she returned to the mirror and begged it to answer:

"Tell me glass,
and tell me true,
In all the worlds
In all the lands
Who deserves my love?
Tell me who!"

And this time the glass replied,

"Thou Queen may'st fair and beauteous bee,
The Knight Pythios of Slytherin, is he."

Soon thereafter, a magical portrait of Pythios Slytherin appeared on the wall of Gudrun's castle. Like the witch, the Knight was very handsome, but he had a dreadful face which looked very capable of dreadful things. The witch decided that she loved the man very deeply and so cut off her little finger and dropped it into a leather pouch all tied up in red string. Then she called to Nogg and said, "Make a wedding present of this to my Knight of Slytherin. And then, perhaps, I shall have a happy heart."

And so it was that the Knight of Slytherin and the witch Gudrun were married, and Gudrun soon bore them two twins: Sol and Salazar.

These twins were as different as the sun and moon. Where Salazar was proud and studious, Sol was kind and carefree, but his mother and father came to detest Sol for they saw in him a compassion for the race of Muggles which they so detested. Their rage was all the more so when Sol declared his love for a Muggle. When she heard this, Gudrun instructed Salazar to take Sol away into the wide wood, and take his life. And Salazar obliged his mother, for while he loved his twin dearly, he loved his mother all the more, and so led Sol deep into the fens and slit his throat so that it would appear the work of rogues.

The wicked deed was never spoken of and Salazar went on to found the first school of witchcraft and wizardry with the three greatest witches and wizard of the time. And with him, Salazar carried his family's abhorrence for Muggles and Muggle-borns. But his beliefs clashed violently with that of Godric Gryffindor's and he left the school in a rage.

After her second son's failing, Gudrun flew into a terrible fury. Her legacy was lost, and her youth was spent, and all that remained were her cold, hard eyes of black ice. So Gudrun returned to the mirror, Ouroboros, and begged for help. The mirror obliged and a bargain was struck where by the witch's soul was split into seven equal parts and hidden away for two millennia...'

The twins sat on their beds, staring and blinking stupidly at Percy and the book in his hands.

"Is that it?"

"That's how it ends?"

The twins folded their arms in one synchronized movement and snorted, scornfully.

"What a rotten story," said George.

Fred nodded. "A troll with a boulder in its gob could tell a better tale than that."

Percy huffed impatiently and dropped the picture book with its moving illustrations onto his lap. "I don't see what you two are griping about. It's Ginny's favourite story and I never hear her complaining."

"Yeah, but Ginny's a girl, isn't she?"

"Do you see pigtails on our heads, Perce?"

"We like battles -"

"...and giants -"

"...and werewolves -"

"...and Dark Wizards!"

"Well, Gudrun was a Dark Wizard," Percy retorted with annoyance. But the twins were ignoring him in favour of jumping enthusiastically up and down on their beds.

"Tell us one about Robin Hood!"

"Nah, give us one of Puck's ballads, Perce!"

"The Fox's trick!"

"The Vampire Cat of York!"

"The Hand of Glory!"

"You've had your story, you ungrateful wretches!" Percy hollered, leaping to his feet. "Now stop jumping on your bed and be done with it, otherwise I'll send mother up and she can put you to sleep!" Without another word, Percy snatched up his book and stormed towards the door in a terrible sulk, flicking the light switch off on his way out the room.

The twins sat cross-legged on their beds, facing each other in the dark.

"Merlin, Percy is such a stick in the mud," said Fred. "We should take it upon ourselves to teach him how to loosen up, right, George?"

"Absolutely, Fred. I think a couple of garden gnomes in his pants will do the trick."

Grinning wickedly, they each slid under their bed covers and closed their eyes. But it wasn't soon before the cold night and the snow falling outside on the window ledge began to fill George's highly imaginative mind with ghastly images of the spindly Snow Queen. A shadow passed close to the door and he let out a little cry of fright.

"George? That you squeaking like a little girl?" asked Fred with a tone of amusement.

"Don't be a daft prat," George muttered ruefully, but nonetheless crawled out of bed and over to his twin's, creeping under the covers.

"You think all that's true?" George asked once they were both settled.

"What's true? Percy being a total and utter git?"

"No, we know that's true," said George. "I mean about the Snow Queen."

"Don't know." Fred shrugged. "There's loads of stories about her flying around. Suppose they've got to come from somewhere, haven't they?"

"Charlie told me that she rides a chariot pulled by seven white stags."

Fred scoffed. "That's just stupid. You're getting mixed up with Santy Claus, Georgie."

"No, it's true!" said George adamantly. "And she nicks little kids from their beds, too. Probably feeds them to that mirror of hers." He shivered a bit at the image it provoked. The darkness of their shared bedroom suddenly seemed impenetrable.

"You're not scared are you, Forge?" asked Fred, mockingly.

"Fat chance!" George snapped, but he didn't sound all that convincing. After a moment he turned around to face his twin. Fred's arms were crossed behind his head and he was staring out the window at the softly falling snow.

"I'd give her hell if she tried to nick you, you know," said Fred abruptly.

George looked at his twin in amazement then, slowly, he smiled. He suddenly felt a lot safer knowing Fred always had his back. "Good." He pressed his finger into his twin's cheek and grinned toothily. "Otherwise, you know, I'd have to come back and haunt you until you'd grown old, and bearded, and wreaking of mothballs like Auntie Muriel."

"Well that'd be better than nothing at all, right?" said Fred seriously. "I mean it's not like you can bugger off without me, is it? Being twins and all that."

George thought about it for a moment, but the idea of being one twin, and not two, left an unpleasant taste in his mouth (rather like the time he'd fallen face first into a pile of gnome dung in the garden), so he decided to push the thought and the story of Gudrun, the Snow Queen, and her mirror, far out of his mind. He'd leave those kinds of thoughts for another time and place, years and years in the future when they were both bearded and wrinkled like prunes, and smelling of mothballs like Auntie Muriel.

He slung a lazy arm around Fred's shoulders, who grumbled irritably but didn't bother to move it off him.

"G'night, Gred."

"G'night, Forge."

oOo

Three weeks had passed since the battle at Hogwarts. Farewells and last goodbyes had all been wept, and now the Weasleys had returned home. The Burrow always had been cramped and stuffy, but it also carried the unmistakable scent and feel of home. Sibling rivalries, pranks taken too far, dark wizards: all had come and gone, but George had always believed that nothing in the world could ever happen to make the Burrow feel anything less than the secure Weasley family stronghold it had always been.

Right now, however, George couldn't wait to get out of the place. It felt stifling and unlived in, and the grandfather clock was a cold reminder of their loss.

George had never felt so guilty before. Every time he met his mother's eyes, he saw a flash of hope and relief before the terrible, dawning of realisation hit her when the small dark hole in the side of his head came into view. George knew his mother wasn't consciously avoiding him, but it hurt all the same.

So he left the Burrow early one Thursday, arriving in Diagon Alley before a brightly enchanted shop window around four o'clock in the morning. A few weeks back the shop windows had been buzzing and dazzling with a multi-coloured assortment of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. Several of the enchantments had now worn off and the popping, revolving, shrieking, and bouncing had become slow and feeble and covered in a layer of dust and cobwebs.

On the right hand window, a purple poster scrolled with yellow letters flashed half-heartedly:

Why are you worrying about you know who?
You should be worrying about u-no-poo!
The constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!

George opened the door of the shop and trailed inside. The grey light seemed to suck all the cheer from the place. It felt as if he were playing host to a Dementor. He rubbed his tired eyes and headed towards the stairs and up into the little apartment he had shared with Fred above the shop. He could have waited for Verity to open up, but he wanted the place to himself a little bit longer.

Their beds were still unmade, the sheets thrown around and left in piles on the floor. 'Mum would have a fit.' He smiled, but it quickly faded. On Fred's side table were scattered bits of parchment scribbled with ideas and prototypes for new Weasley's Wizard Wheezes products. His knees buckled and George dropped to the bed, tears silently rolling down his cheeks. He lifted the top sheet in one trembling hand and brushed his thumb over one illustration, smearing the ink there.

George paused. "It's wet..."

"Stop crying, you stupid git," a familiar voice rang out.

George sucked in a breath, which caught in his throat like a piece of glass.

"I'm not really in the mood to laugh," he replied at length, but he couldn't turn around - not if it meant the discovery of yet another trick of the mind.

"That's not like you."

George gripped the sheet of parchment between them. "Shouldn't you be pushing up the petunias?"

"Thought about it. Then I thought 'can't very well leave Georgie to look after the place. He'd turn it into a crèche or something'. And just look at it! Not far off," the voice sneered. "You big lummox."

George swallowed. The lump in his throat was growing harder, but he smiled despite this. "You could've tidied up a bit. If you can pick up a quill, after all..."

"That's gratitude for you!" Fred hollered, throwing his transparent arms in the air, enraged. "I stick around for your great ugly mug and all you can say is-" he stopped short. George was grinning at him, beaming from ear to hole. His eyes were wet, swollen and filled with relief. Fred tossed a bed sheet in his face. "Oi, I told you to stop crying. Blimey, you'd think somebody had died," he smirked, "Get it? Some body?"

"Pathetic!" George groaned. "Of all the death jokes you could make! Dying has really stuck a cork in your humour, mate."

"Better than your ear jokes, Lugless!" Fred taunted. He grinned at his twin's tear-streaked face. "Hey, think of the pranks we can pull now. 'Master Peeves', eat your heart out!" His eyes, though transparent and barely visible in the dark, still held the wicked, mischievous spark of the notorious prankster.

George frowned. "Where've you been? Since... you know... Hogwarts?"

Fred shrugged his silvery shoulders nonchalantly. "Wandering around, chatting with Nick, hanging with dead-beats." Fred smiled and picked up a piece of parchment. "Getting used to things, really. This isn't as easy as it looks, after all."

An uncomfortable silence settled over them.

"Why'd you really come back?" George asked at last.

"Dunno." Fred turned away from him, shrugging his shoulders again. "I can't really leave you alone, eh? You might've turned into another Perfect Prefect Percy. Couldn't very well let that happen. I'd be rolling in my grave!"

"Ah, right." George nodded. "Well... I always wanted a Guardian Gred."

The twins smiled at each other, but it was nothing like the smiles they had shared before. Something told George those would never be the same again. But did that matter? He studied the ghost sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Georgie?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't think I'm a coward, do you?" asked Fred, quietly. "You know, for coming back, I mean."

A little surprised, George did not know how to reply at first, but he quickly found himself shaking his head adamantly. "Course not!" he said. "Why'd you ask a daft question like that?"

Fred didn't answer him, and George didn't dare venture to ask again.