Xenophilius Lovegood finished reading his letter at about the same time that Luna finished reading the article in the day's Daily Prophet. She was a precocious little girl; Xeno proudly declared her the only ten-year-old to read the newspaper every day-- if the Daily Prophet could be called that. He personally believed that the publication was nothing better than a rumour-mongering rag that denied what stared it in its face and published speculative, pernicious codswallop, but Xeno still subscribed to it because he supposed it was worth knowing what the competition was up to. (Comparing The Quibbler to something as undignified as the Ministry's pernickety little mouthpiece left a bad taste in his mouth, but in terms of readership he supposed that the Prophet could possibly be considered competition.)

Luna came scurrying to him, paper in hand, eyes wide, almost knocking over the statue of The Glorious Three-eyed Plink that, curiously enough, didn't go plink, but ploink when it preyed on unknowing flies in Northern Africa.

“Daddy,” she said. “Look.” Xeno's eyes ran quickly over the article that she was gesturing towards, and he smiled knowingly.

“I know, love,” he said, running his hand down his daughter's dirty-blond hair. The article was about the break-in at a vault at Gringotts. As he had just read in a letter from a highly placed goblin contact at the bank, and as he now told Luna, the break-in had been at vault seven hundred and thirteen.

He had made many enemies by exposing sometimes unpalatable truths in his publication, but he had made friends too. This goblin, for instance, had communicated to him through a glowing letter that he believed firmly in the article about how a combination of political and personal reasons had caused Cornelius Fudge's vendetta against not only goblins but also the fine bank that they had created (through incredibly tricky and potentially life-threatening investigation, Xenophilius Lovegood had uncovered the truth about a young goblin bella donna who had once spurned the Minister's spurious and rather questionable advances.)

Interestingly enough, Xeno had run an article about the vault when his goblin friend had first given him information that Albus Dumbledore had opened it. Xeno Lovegood firmly believed that Dumbledore was a great man and was the only check that existed against a hostile takeover of the entire of Wizarding population by the Ministry of Magic ... but at the same time, Xeno couldn't let his personal beliefs come in the way of publishing clever investigative journalism that gave his readers the bare truth. Dumbledore had said in response to his repeated queries that the vault housed his spectacular pair of spotted earmuffs, but Xeno had a nagging suspicion that he had been lied to.

And now someone had tried to break into the vault. But the mysterious, incredibly valuable item that had been inside of it hadn't been taken ... not by the criminal, at least. Xeno's contact told him in his most recent letter (as was corroborated in the Prophet's article) that the vault had been emptied earlier, and the contact went a step further and confided in Xeno that Albus Dumbledore had personally removed the contents of the vault. Where was it now, though? It was ... missing, and Xeno couldn't give up on a chance to uncover the story of the decade.

“Luna, I'm going to show you how reporting is a lot like sleuthing,” said Xeno. “I'm going to solve this mystery and be the first to break the news in the Quibbler.”

“The mystery of who broke into Gringotts?” asked Luna.

“Not that, love. What was in the vault that was so precious that it had to be broken into ... and where is it now?”

“You're going to be a detective, like Cholomondoley the Cheeky Chimpanzee, father?” she asked, referencing the column in the Quibbler that followed the fictional sleuth that travelled around the world, trying to catch the dastardly agents of the Corn Fudge.

“Not nearly as active, it's getting quite difficult to move these knees,” he said, chuckling. “I need to get myself checked for Nargles, shouldn't I?” Luna nodded brightly, and continued reading the newspaper.

He would solve the case. Determinedly, Xeno wrote up a little article and managed to sneak it into that month's Quibbler before it went to press.

BREAK-IN AT GRINGOTTS: ENOUGH ABOUT THE CRIME, WHAT ABOUT THE VAULT!?

As disclosed by undisclosed sources inside Gringotts, the break-in at the Wizarding bank attempted to steal from the vault numbered seven hundred and thirteen-- owned, as previously reported by this publication, by the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore!! The contents of the vault, rumoured to be a small, light package, had been removed by the owner previously. What is this mysterious possession!? And where is it now!!?? Readers are requested to write in with any information that they may have related to the aforementioned item, which is not a pair of spotted earmuffs.

(also in this issue: CELESTINA WARBECK—IS SHE WHO SHE SAYS SHE IS OR SOMEONE ELSE!?  Page 4.)

*

It was an entire month and a new issue of the Quibbler before anyone sent in any information relating to Xeno's pet case. He had come up with plenty of theories in the meantime and had tried to contact not just Albus Dumbledore but also the Ministry of Magic, the Minister for Magic and the Head of Gringotts, all to no avail. His theory was that the item, whatever it was, was now hidden at Hogwarts. Was there a safer place for it?

He had, therefore, published a slightly more urgent advertisement (with an even more generous splattering of exclamation marks) in the Quibbler, requesting readers-- particularly those at Hogwarts-- to keep their eyes open for information about the item. Two days after the September edition of the Quibbler had been sent out, Xeno received a letter.

Dear Sir,

This is in regard to the most fascinating article in this month's Quibbler. Being an earnest reader of your esteemed magazine, I perused your analysis of the curious malady affecting the Muggle leader Qaddafi of Libya (I have a theory myself that names beginning with the letter Q generally tend to point to a curious mental affectation and I am involved in research about it myself, but you, sir, will be the first to know if I make a breakthrough), your write-up about the Heliopath army that the Ministry is training and the rest of your informative and interesting reports to come to the article about the curious contents of  Dumbledore's vault.

I am a student at Hogwarts and would like to help you out with your investigations. You asked about anything out of place at Hogwarts, and here you are:

–        I suspect that the infestation of Wrackspurts in Dumbledore’s beard is getting steadily worse. I received a detention and a right talking-to from Minerva McGonagall for wearing my purple Spectrespecs in the Great Hall and trying to reach the High Table in order to take a look inside Dumbledore's beard.

–        Trelawney has been behaving in an odd manner of late, walking up and down corridors, smelling of sherry, muttering to herself ... but looking back, she was behaving just like the batty bint that she is. Scratch that.

–        The third floor corridor of Hogwarts has been declared out-of-bonds for any students who do not want to die a particularly gruesome and slightly painful death. I am not sure why, but it may have something to do with the presence of a hive of Fibbing Scubbers in the upper right corner of the portrait of Quezacotl the Queer Doing Battle with Humely the Hungry Horntail.

I hope this may help further your investigations and hope to work with you in the future.

Yours sincerely,

A green Goddfre

Xeno had taken instantly to the unknown writer from Hogwarts, who had chosen to use the name of the Goddfre, a small, black, invisible being that is about the size of a piece of wood a foot long. Goddfres are known to fly around, bringing messages from afar. Xeno assumed that the green in the writer's name implied that he was from the house of Slytherin. The fact that the third floor had become forbidden was very intriguing...

Dear Green Goddfre,

Thank you for your letter. I look forward to communicating with you!! Be assured that if we do manage to break through this case, you will get your due credit by being honoured with your name in the Quibbler.

I would like to know who the teachers at Hogwarts currently are. Try to ask around and find out what there is in the third floor corridor. It does seem likely that Albus Dumbledore's possession is now at Hogwarts!!

You could also, perhaps, take a look around the corridor yourself. Anything out of place?! Anything suspicious?!?!

Yours quibblingly,

Xenophilius Lovegood

Dear Mr Lovegood,

You can call me Green. Or Goddfre, or even A, for that matter. I'm not too fussed. I took your good advice and walked surreptitiously into the third floor corridor (had to dodge Filch, but I told him that Irma Pince was cleaning the bottom shelves of the library and bending lo-o-ow; he was off in a flash). The corridor was empty and the only sign of recent human visit were some blue beads lying scattered on the floor. Could've been anyone's, though.

Re: your request for information about the teachers. Only too happy to acquiesce. There's the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, but then you know all about him. Battier than a room full of bats, but then they say there's only a thin line between being brilliant and being off-your-rocker mental (I disagree, personally. I mean, there's an ocean of a difference between Nicolas Flamel and that neighbour of your aunt who wears his underwear on his head and does handstands in her petunias).

Then there's Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor house. Can stare down a rock and still have some stare to spare. She's old, she wears her hair in a bun-- you can figure out the kind of person she is. 

Severus Snape is the Head of Slytherin and, as I mentioned previously, the Potions Master. He's greasy, he's sadistic, he's a bad teacher. He committed the crime. (Not that there has been a crime yet, but if there is going to be one, he committed it).

Whatshername Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff. Frumpy, plump and kind. Reminds you of that kind relative who gets you sweets every time she visits. Teaches Herbology.             

Filius Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw and Charms teacher. I think he's got some goblin blood in him, and possibly some clown blood as well. He's friendly and kind and you can do pretty much anything you wish to in his class.

Then there's Quirrell. He's our new, nutty Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He wears a turban, stutters a lot and you can kick him about all you want. He's probably more scared of you than you are ... not just of him, but also of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, vomit flavoured Bertie Botts' Beans and that Indian woman down the street who shouts at you all put together.

Sybill “I can see the future but not what's in front of my oversized spectacles” Trelawney. Divination teacher and a right comic. She's an old drunk who claims to be able to see the future in palm leaves, playing cards and toilet bowls, but I doubt she can even See what happened yesterday, leave alone tomorrow. She docked points for bothering the class when I stood up and asked her to predict whether I would drop my teacup or not (naturally, whatever she predicted, I would have done the opposite. I took her class because it seemed a breeze to get through, simply by waffling on about Death and Darkness-- two words that you can hear her spell with capitals even when she speaks).

Professor Vector, the bird who teaches Arithmancy. Don't know her too well, but she's supposed to have a biting attitude that backs up her face. Her pretty, pretty face. She's probably old enough to be my mum, but the difference is that I'd happily allow Professor Vector to hug, kiss and slobber all over me.

Professor Babbling, who teaches Runes. She's bent-over, wrinkly and probably only slightly more ancient than the Runes that she teaches. Keeps to herself, mostly. I doubt she has anything to do with anything, she can barely even walk.

Professor Sinistra teaches Astronomy. Doesn't normally leave her haunt of the Astronomy Tower, where she hides in dark corners and pulls up innocent students who come up to have a quick snog. There's a Hogwarts tale that she takes pictures of the snogging (and what comes after) sessions that go on top of the tower, and the stash of those photographs is the ultimate Holy Grail. (It doesn't exist. I've looked all over for it.)

Professor Kettleburn, another ancient, hunch-backed prune of a teacher. He's fairly good at what he teaches, Care of Magical Creatures. I do suspect, however, that he's secretly bonking the aforementioned Babbling. If you knew what they looked like, the mental image would scar you forever. I do not want to even attempt to confirm my suspicion.

Professor Dashwood teaches Muggle Studies. He's supposedly a good teacher, but I wouldn't know. I doubt anyone even takes his class. I think he may be in a relationship with Professor Vector, but that's only based on appearances.

Finally, there's Professor Binns. He's a ghost and wouldn't notice a Nundu rampaging through his class, right under his nose. He'd probably continue to lecture on about Oldred the Gross Goblin who defeated the dreadful Snot, which lead to the signing of the Declaration of Something or the Other That No One Really Cares About or Wants to Study, Up for a Game of Noughts and Crosses? or whatever.

Other than these teachers, there are a bunch of other random people who hang around the castle, doing jobs that they'd probably rather not be doing. Argus Filch, the caretaker, Irma Pince, the librarian, Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher and referee, Madam Pomfrey, the healer and Rubeus Hagrid, the Seeker of Keys and Lands at Hogwarts, or some other such long-winded title which means he's the school buffoon that does the odd work around the castle.

I hope this helped you. I shall keep my eyes peeled and my ears even more so peeled.

Yours informatively,

Green

Xeno read the letter excitedly. Which of the teachers could his contact get the information out of about whether it was Dumbledore's possession that was in the third floor corridor?

Dear Green,

As it stands, I do believe that Mrs Trelawney and Mr Quirrell seem to be the most obvious people to approach!! Try to glean information from them.

Yours quibblingly,

Xeno Lovegood

The reply arrived a few days after.

Dear Mr Lovegood,

I followed your instructions to the Q, and here is what I have to report:

–                     Quirrell can't possibly know nowt. I walked up to him at the end of class today and he scurried away in fear. It might have been, however, because of the fact that I had pulled my robes up over my head and I was chuckling evilly as I walked.

–                     This is where it gets interesting. When Trelawney came to class today, she was wearing a necklace that had beads exactly like the ones I found on the third floor corridor. I accosted her after class on the pretext of asking her a question about what dreaming of the Quidditch captain bonking Cedric Diggory in the bushes outside Hogwarts actually meant. She denied at first that she'd been anywhere near the corridor, and then, when I showed her the glass beads, tried to loom above me and said “O-o-o-o-o! I see Darkness in the future for Hogwarts castle and Darkness for you-u-u-u!” or something of the sort. When I pushed on, ignoring her oh-so-scary warnings about the portents of my death, she finally broke down and admitted that she had simply been following Severus Snape, who had gone past the door. She then shoo-ed us away.

Yours conspirationally,

Green

Dear Green,

This is getting interesting, indeed!!

A person suffering under the influence of the Flimmers is bound to behave suspiciously and possibly even try to get to places that they are not supposed to go!! As I wrote in the January edition of the Quibbler, try to look out for the tell-tale buzzing that you may hear when you get close to the person, especially around their ears and their head-- but then you, being a regular reader of the Quibbler, know that already.

It seems patently clear that Severus Snape is suffering from a dreadful infestation of these Magyckal and Moste Fearfulle Flimmers, as described in Annika “Mad as a Hatter” Antebellum's Anthology of Actual (I Swear They're Real, I Don't Need a Healer!) Animals.

It would, however, be prudent to check and confirm my carefully calculated, informed guess. Please write back with what you find!!

Yours quibblingly,

Xeno Lovegood

Dear Mr Lovegood,

You do have the most brilliant ideas, I say!

I dared go close enough to Severus Snape to find out that there is quite a loud buzzing about his person. I could even spot the small, black Flimmers flying over his head. I do suspect, however, that they may just be fruit-flies attracted to all the grease. I daren't approach him about anything, though. He's quite the unsocial, unloved arse.

But here's something else that might interest you. Yesterday, during the Halloween feast, a troll broke into the castle. No one knows how it came in, where it came from, and why girls are so difficult to approach, but it happened.

Now, I managed to give the teachers the slip (and Prefect Percy was too busy ogling Penelope Clearwater, so he wasn't really a problem) and I actually managed to glimpse the ugly brute as it trolled its way through the castle-- and here, drawing on my experience reading the Quibbler, I think I must say that it wasn't a troll but a RED FANGED OGRE. Yes. One of the sub-species of the deadly beings, the ogres, described in last November edition of the Quibbler.

Another little item of interest: it was the Potter boy, apparently, who went on to knock out the ogre. He looks like a little runt, but then he managed to kick He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the metaphorical nads when no one else could, so I probably shouldn't pass judgment.

But that's not the most important thing; I've been saving the best for the last. Guess who I saw approaching the troll's unmistakeable stink? (And what a stink it was! It rivalled even the fetor of a dozen Dabberblimps decomposing to their death, and we all know what a rank that rises).

Yes, the inimitable Severus Snape.

He did it, the greasy rascal, I swear. I'll let you draw your own conclusions about it.

Yours suspiciously,

Green

PS: I know there hasn't been a crime yet. Severus Snape still did it.

Xeno's hands shook with excitement as he read the letter. There was something precious at Hogwarts ... but the question remained whether it was what had been previously in vault seven hundred and thirteen at Gringotts. Meanwhile, though, other questions were cropping up ... Questions that needed to be answered.

Dear Green,

My, my, my!! An ogre!? I must confess that I haven't head of this particular breed, but to borrow a phrase, quidquid Latine dictum sit, altum videtur*. Or something of the sort!! The plot is, as they say, thickening. I am fairly sure that Professor Snape knows what is in the third floor corridor, but you say he is unapproachable ... Keep an eye on him, though! He seems rather suspicious.

But what is intriguing me the most is the behaviour of the young Mister Harry Potter. It seems utterly bewildering that an eleven-year-old could take down an ogre, and that too a RED FANGED OGRE on his own. An idea is tumbling about in my head like a large Gulping Plimpy in a pond far too small for it!! 

And hear this theory out. What if … Harry Potter didn't kill the Dark Lord? What if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was killed somehow else (I'm not sure yet, but I did hear on the grapevine that he was trying to crossbreed Heliopaths with giants, and we all know how that generally works out, don't we?) but the Ministry … the Ministry decides to plant the story of a young boy, this Harry Potter. Why? That's why this is brilliant, isn't it!? Cornelius Fudge is trying to get entry into Albus Dumbledore's higher and more private echelons, make Dumbledore place his full trust in one of the Ministry's servants … and when Fudge has all the information he needs, he moves in for the STRIKE!!!

But now Fudge is realising that the Potter boy may come to some other use as well … in this case, for stealing whatever it is that's in the third floor corridor. I shall write to the Minister and inform him that I know of his nefarious plans. Try to find out if the boy is up to anything particularly dangerous at the moment, but be safe.

In the meanwhile, let's not forget the true motive behind our investigations … finding out what it was that was in vault seven hundred and thirteen and if it is currently at Hogwarts. Awaiting your letter.

Yours quibblingly,

Xeno Lovegood

Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, Xeno wrote out a letter to the Minister for Magic.

Dear Mr Fudge,

I would like to know, in public interest, if the rumours are true that Harry Potter is a spy planted by the Ministry of Magic in order to get entry into Albus Dumbledore's private and close spheres!? I'm not saying you did, I'm not saying you didn't. I'm simply a crusader for justice, demanding the truth!

Yours truthfully,

Xenophilius Lovegood

Editor of the Quibbler      

PS: Oh, and I almost forgot-- was the Ministry responsible for the sudden outbreak of the dreaded Knumples into the United States of America? We all know that the Knumples get into people's bellybuttons and make them stupid and fat!! Are you planning to invade that poor country next, after sending an Italian succubus to infiltrate India!?

Couple of days later. No letter from Fudge yet; a letter from the mysterious Mr Green.

Dear Mr Lovegood,

I swear to God, can we get you the Order of Merlin, 1st Class right now!? This is a   breakthrough! I visited Harry Potter's common room, did a little snooping, and found out that on the day of the break-in, Potter had left two mugs of some drink on the table by the fire. I'm not sure what drink this is yet, and one was obviously for him ... but what about the other one!? Who was that for!?

So I decided to tail the boy. He spends an awful lot of time at the library with his friends, but then he's a scrawny, bespectacled git, his boyfriend is a ginger and the girlfriend is a bushy-haired know-it-all. Those kinds generally don't do much other than sit in libraries. I shall remain on their watch, though...

Yours anticipatingly,

Green              

Xeno’s chin was tingling, and when Xeno’s chin tingled, it meant that something was about. He prided himself as something of a particularly talented delineator of character and Fudge’s character reeked like a steaming pile of Hippogriff dung. The Minister seemed to be putting off writing to Xeno, refusing to reply to the letter… There was only one obvious conclusion: Fudge had a guilty conscience. A conscience that pricked him the way the memory of that one time you accidentally knocked over and killed a hippopotamus while skinny-flying on a broomstick through Ireland pricks you every now and then.

But why would Harry Potter let the RED FANGED OGRE into the castle, and then capture it? It didn’t make sense … unless … Yes! He was simply trying to reach further into Dumbledore’s trust! That made sense, didn’t it? But what about the boy’s friends, how did they fit in? Xeno cursed under his breath and started to write out yet another letter to Green.

The next few months passed like poo—sometimes agonizingly slowly, sometimes speeding along like diarrhoea. He sent out the usual editions of the Quibbler, but he couldn’t help but feel that he had to solve the case soon—or else something bad would happen. Yes, he was definitely feeling that—he was surely not just looking for a scoop because sales were low. Definitely.

And then, out of the blue, the breakthrough came in June. It was a bright morning—the sun was shining, the birds were chirping and the Gulping Plimpies in the river were going about their regular morning routine (which, on the whole, consisted of being caught and made into some delicious soup). All of a sudden, an owl burst in through the window, looking oddly ruffled up. A piece of parchment was tied to it, and Xeno recognised the distinctive handwriting of Green.

            Dear Mr Lovegood,

We bring you, live from Hogwarts castle, breaking news. Last night, Harry Potter and his two little henchmen (one of whom is, in the loosest sense of the term, a woman, and the other a scrawny, irritating twat) broke into the room on the third floor corridor, accosted a professor who was trying to steal the magical item that had been in it, and went on to kill the teacher.

Who was he? You may gasp now, Mr Lovegood, because he was Professor Quirrell. Yes! The stuttering, scared little sod.

I have painstakingly pieced together the news I head on the grapevine, going to great dangers to make sure that the information I am now giving you is true. Let me start. The artefact hidden in the secret room was a very old, very magickal, very striped pair of Salazar Slytherin’s skivvies, giving the wearer Great Powers—great powers, but Dark ones. They apparently turn you into an apparition of the devil himself (tsk, tsk, and I thought it would be easier to become a Potions master), but at the same time give you horrible sores in your unmentionables. Oh, and people also say it slaughters your sanity and then pushes it off a cliff … but forget that, I think Albus Dumbledore probably didn’t want an outbreak of sores in the school.

But I personally believe … that Quirrell was placed in the ranks of Hogwart’s professors by the Ministry, so that he could try to steal the undies and then Harry Potter could go and stop him, thus worming his way into Dumbledore’s trust. I must confess, I didn’t believe that Fudge was capable of plotting out such a deviously devious plot, but he probably got help from his Secret Society of Scaly and Scary Stepdaughters, as you reported a few months ago.

Mr Lovegood, it has been a pleasure working with you. My work here is, however, done. Though I am now a friend, please do not attempt to contact me again, for I will not be reachable (and I have my exams, but honestly, who cares about those?). I am the phantom, and I will send you a letter if I have anything to say. If you mention me in your report in the Quibbler, I simply might have to let my Heliopath on you.

Burn the letters I have sent you.

I leave you with the words of a much aged and famous philosopher: Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Having a friend is like pissing in your pants. Everyone can see it, but only you can feel the warmth.

Yours scholarly,

A Green Goddfre

Xeno’s hands shook with excitement as he put down the parchment. He had done it. He had solved the case. The Daily Prophet would run a report, of course, but no one would have access to the intimate, juicy details that he had, thanks to Green. It would be on the front page of July’s Quibbler, of course. He could imagine it in his mind’s eye: “SLYTHERIN’S SKIVVIES: HOW IT GOT EVERYONE’S KNICKERS IN A TWIST”. But before he wrote up that article, before he sent strongly-worded letters to the Minister, to Albus Dumbledore, to Tony Blair (Xeno remembered with a sense of satisfaction how he had meticulously tracked Salazar Slytherin’s family tree. Slytherin’s family started with his torrid affair with his housekeeper—a big German woman named Eva Müllergrübberschmidt-Schlytherin—all the way down to (gasp!) a Muggle descendant of his).

But before he wrote out the article, he had something far more important to do. With a satisfied, happy smile, he called out: “Luna!”

*

Albus Dumbledore chuckled to himself as he put down the last of the letters on to the table before him. Ever since that advertisement had appeared in the Quibbler, Argus had been watching the Owl post that came in. Albus didn’t believe in reading personal letters; he considered the practice wholly immoral and utterly abhorrent. Most of the time, at least.

But ever since the Philosopher’s Stone had come to the school, he had had to cross a few lines. For the greater good, he had told himself. So ever since Argus had brought in the first letter from this mysterious individual, the Green Goddfre, Albus had been tracking the exchanges with immense interest. He had copied the letters and sent off the originals—if Xenophilius Lovegood was trying to find out what was in Hogwarts castle, then Albus himself would never need to indulge in spreading misinformation, the old Lovegood would do enough of that himself. It seemed petty to stop the letters from being sent when they weren’t doing any harm to anyone.

At the same time, however, Xeno Lovegood respected him and had, in fact, helped out in the First War. Albus sighed, popped a lemon drop in his mouth and decided that he would write to him, tell him the truth—not the whole truth, but definitely enough of it, and request Xeno to keep it silent. He was a good man; Albus had a feeling that he would listen.

Before doing that, though, he had another little matter to see to. A sharp knock sounded on the door to Albus’ room, and he requested the visitors to enter. Two young boys walked in—freckled, red-haired and identical. They had similar expressions of nervousness on their faces—an expression Albus had seen so many times when he summoned students to his room. Argus Filch, who had led them to his room, had probably scared them with tales of hanging students by their eyelashes and feeding them ferrets.

Albus would have recognized the handwriting on those letters anywhere—the last time he had seen it was when the words “SNAPE NEEDS SHAMPOO” had been written in wildly psychedelic, flashing colours on the second floor wall. No one had been able to find out who had done that little bit of mischief, but Albus had had a pretty shrewd idea.

It also helped that both A Green Goddfre and RED FANGED OGRE were perfect, if slightly contrived anagrams of the words “Fred and George”.

“Mr and Mr Weasley,” he said, smiling warmly. “You’re not in trouble; do take a seat. Would you like a lemon drop?” Almost as if they were too scared to refuse, they took one each.

“The two of you should know that I do not condone making fun of teachers,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Or at least, being caught making fun of teachers. Professor Snape has expressed his utter inability to make the two of you write complete sentences in your essays, and you still manage to amuse me with your eloquence in this letters …”

“Oh,” said Fred Weasley, realization slowly dawning upon him that the two of them didn’t seem to be in trouble. “We saw Xenophilius Lovegood’s advertisement in a copy of the Quibbler that was lying around the Gryffindor Common Room. We thought it would be a lark, Professor. We tried to talk very stuck-up, like Perce does, and at the same time talk about … you know, adult things like we’ve heard Charlie and Bill do. We … we aren’t in trouble, are we?”

Albus Dumbledore chuckled. “You’re not in trouble, not this time,” he said. “But I may be if that infestation of—what were they, Wrackspurts?—in my beard gets any worse.”