Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives by Starkiller
Summary: Five years after DH, George and a ghostly Fred purchase a new house in London, one that's been missing from Ministry records for a 100 years. What links the twins new home to Salazar Slytherin? And how can Fred escape its curse? Fred x OC, George x Luna

Beta read by the wonderful BloodRayne, and dedicated to Caith and BloodRayne.
Categories: Mystery Characters: None
Warnings: Character Death
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 3 Completed: No Word count: 11417 Read: 5548 Published: 08/25/07 Updated: 12/04/07

1. Prologue :: Stick, Stock, Stone Dead by Starkiller

2. Over the Threshold by Starkiller

3. Casebook 01: Twins by Starkiller

Prologue :: Stick, Stock, Stone Dead by Starkiller
Author's Notes:
Many years ago, long before Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry was even a concept in the minds of Godric, Salazar, Helga and Rowena, there lived to the north a terrible witch, who had in her possession a terrible mirror.

‘Never shun a woman wise in magic.’
- The Poetic Eddas

Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives
Prologue
Stick Stock Stone Dead



Long, long ago, there lived a powerful witch who ruled a bare and barren land far in the North. The witch, who was named Gudrun, and sometimes Mab, or simply 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 not 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 ends; 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 taken from the snake whose home was made in the 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 lest 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. 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 the Knight of Slytherin and Gudrun 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-born witch. 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 he lead Sol deep into the forest of Sherwood 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 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 the witch’s soul was split into seven equal parts and hidden away for a millennia.

And that is where our story begins.

xXx


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 feeling anything less than the secure Weasley family stronghold it had always been. But right now, George couldn't wait to get out of the place. It felt stifling and unlived in.
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 brightly 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 at nine, 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. 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 wet 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," George finally replied.

"That's not like you."

His fingers 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',” the voice sneered. “And just look at it! Not far off, 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. "But 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. "But where've you been since Hogwarts?"

"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 nonchalantly. "I can't really leave you alone, can I? You might’ve turned into another Perfect Prefect Percy. Couldn’t let that happen now, could I?"

“Ah, right.” George nodded. “Well… I always wanted a Guardian Forge.”

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.

---------------------
Back to index
Over the Threshold by Starkiller
Author's Notes:
In which a Detective discovers the house of Weasley Manor.

Beta Read by the ever patient BloodRayne ^_^

'There’s no knowing where they’re rowing,

‘There’s no knowing where they’re rowing,
Or which way the river’s flowing!
Not a speck of light is showing,
So the danger must be growing...’

- Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971

Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

Over the Threshold

oOo

“Phenomenon, abnormal occurrences, magic... Muggles are never satisfied with seeing, and their ears are never filled with hearing, and so they spend their lives chasing the wind. Because, to a Muggle, something that cannot be seen or heard is simply something that happens.

That is why, of all the strange creatures and prophecies of the world, Muggles are amongst the strangest of all.”

-- Sir Hector Archimedes Oddness, 1759

oOo

“Weasley Manor, Junction of Pentonville Road, City Road and Upper Street,” detective Nox repeated, reading off the hastily scribbled napkin in her hand. “I was right.” She frowned. “No number.”

‘This family is probably so wealthy that the ruddy house only needs a title…’ she thought wryly. ‘Rich bastards.’

Chewing agitatedly on an apple stem, Nox scanned the instructions on the napkin carefully once more. The Junction was famously renowned as the location of Lyon’s Angel Hotel, a beautiful old structure sporting a rather striking external dome which had become an Islington landmark in London city.

Therefore - ‘The rent’s going to be sky-high,’ Nox groaned. ‘Knew it was too good to be true. I’m wasting my sodding time.’ But as Nox re-read the scribbled handwriting a third time, she felt inexplicably drawn towards the place and suddenly realised her feet hadn’t stopped their progress through the bustling streets. ‘I guess,’ she reasoned, ‘it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do. Might as well check it out at the very least…’

It had all started when Nox had been approached by a peculiar man a week earlier while eating lunch in her favourite hot spot just off Leicester Square. He was an oddity in his mauve top hat and velvet tailed coat, but no one appeared to notice him (this was central London, after all). He reminded her a bit of a bird, with all his bobbing and excitable hopping about.

“Excuse my terrible rudeness, dear lady.” He approached her. “But it appears to me that you are on a quest to discover a safe abode, am I correct?”

The detective blinked rather stupidly, a fork-full of sheppard’s pie stuffing her mouth. “An abode?” she replied, spraying pieces of food across his moth-eaten purple cravat.

“A dwelling! Dear miss, a domicile in which you can hang your hat!” the man proclaimed cheerfully.

“Oh.” She laughed a bit nervously, unsure whether the man was a raving lunatic or just a friendly eccentric. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“And quite right, too! Quite right! Everyone needs a place where they can hang their hat. Very wise of you miss, very wise,” he said. “Excuse my rudeness for poking my metaphorical nose into your very private business, but might I inquire into your progress?”

The detective shook her head and smiled. “No luck yet I’m afraid. At this rate I’ll have to sell my soul before I can afford anything. This place here,” she pointed to a photograph of a derelict looking apartment block - its windows were boarded up and tufts of grass protruded from underneath the main door, “is £450 a month and that’s not including gas or electricity bills.”

“Alas! This fair city is ruthless in emptying the pockets of its loyal underdogs.” He put a hand to his heart and shook his head sadly, then, as if he had received a great shock, his head shot up and turned to her, aghast. “Gracious me, how rude you must think I am! We haven’t been properly introduced.” Before she could protest he had clasped her hand in both of his and was shaking it vigorously. “My name is Diggle, dear lady, Dedalus Diggle. And what might yours be?”

“N-Nox,” replied Nox shakily, as Dedalus was still throwing her arm up and down with terrific force.

“Ah, a Greek name. Excellent! First rate! Very lovely,” he flattered. “And now that proper protocol has been made and we are such good acquaintances, I might be of service to you in your great search for a humble dwelling.”

Nox grimaced. There had to have been an angle somewhere. She had written his instructions down out of politeness and let him on his way without harbouring any real intentions of visiting the place.

And yet…

“Here I am,” Nox muttered ruefully, spitting the apple stem she had been chewing onto the pavement.

An old sign stuck out of the building at a jaunty angle, swinging on its rusty hinges. Its swirling maroon letters read, ‘Weasley Manor’.

Nox pursed her lips and whistled appreciatively. She’d passed this way many times before on her way to Camden market, but in all her years Nox had never seen this building. And it was pretty hard to miss. Weasley Manor was immense, dark and gothic in its grand architecture, and contrasted dramatically with its bright and friendly neighbour, the Angel Hotel.

If she had had any sense (or been any good sort of detective), Nox would have listened to the tiny voice in her head that instructed her to turn around and walk away. Unfortunately, she was a bit deaf to that voice.

A little hesitant, Nox opened the gate and stepped into a small overgrown garden situated at the front of the house and began to walk the little path that cut a narrow channel through the tangle of weeds and rose-bushes towards the main entrance door. The walk seemed to take a great deal longer than she had expected “ after all, the distance between the high street and the house could only have been a few feet.

‘Must be my imagination,’ she mused, and placed her hand around the large brass doorknob, pushing it gently.

The door swung open.

She mentally swore. ‘What am I thinking, just barging in like this? Landlord’s going to have a bloody field day with me!’ Nox grimaced, visualizing the Mr Weasley of the Manor as a tall, dour gentleman resembling an old Victorian Bell-ringer.

There was no visible doorbell anywhere, so she cleared her throat noisily and waited on the front step. She could hear what sounded like a pair of voices coming from one of the rooms deep inside the murky house, but the speakers did not appear to have heard her.

The main entrance hall was simply, but elegantly, decorated. A pair of floral covered armchairs stood on either side of an elongated cabinet across from which stood a tall grandfather clock. Nox poked her head further through the door for a better look. Above the cabinet hung a large portrait whose features smiled down at her from behind a pair of half moon glasses with sharp, intelligent eyes.

Again she felt that same unfathomable attraction, as though thousands of tiny invisible ropes were pulling her further into the holds of Weasley Manor: an overactive imagination in action of course - her insatiable curiosity had been the culprit of many a misadventure. But being nosey came with the territory, Nox justified. She was a detective, after all. Not your ordinary sort, of course, but a detective all the same.

Nox hovered about on the doorstep for a minute or two longer before it became clear no one was coming to welcome her in anytime soon. She glanced at the crumpled up napkin in her hand: ‘noon’. No specified day, just ‘noon’.

She glanced again at the portrait hanging above the cabinet. Social etiquette declared it unfit for a young lady to intrude upon a house in which she had no real business, no fixed appointment, and no real intention of renting, but it was too late. Her imagination, or some other equally powerful force, had already sunk its claws in, and Nox was finding it increasingly hard to look away from the eyes behind those half-moon glasses.

‘Well, what do Scots know about social etiquette, anyway?’

She took a breath and strode purposefully across the threshold.

The entrance hall was so much darker than she had anticipated. The only light came from the front door (which she half expected to slam shut behind her, the cornerstone rule of every horror movie). The thought sent a shiver of fear crawling up her spine and her hand instinctively went to the mobile phone in her trouser-pocket. Outside, a red Double Decker was stopped at the traffic lights while shoppers, and tourists, and students carried on their business up and down the street. Nobody gave Weasley Manor a second look.

“What a day to give up smoking,” Nox muttered.

Swallowing her fear, she crept further into the murky halls. It hadn’t looked so large from the doorstep. Indeed, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, it became apparent the room opening up around her was not the room that she had seen from the doorstep. The floor was chequered in white and purple marble slabs and a huge, iron-railed staircase wound its way up from the centre of the room to the second floor. It was as if in that one flitting moment where she had crossed the threshold between London and Weasley Manor, she had stepped into another world completely.

Nox whistled again despite herself. “Hell's bells, it’s like Dali fell down the rabbit hole and became an interior decorator…”

Then, as if somebody had turned on the lights, Nox could suddenly see that the hallway in which she was standing was in fact circular in shape, its great upward curving walls meeting around a glass dome which reminded her of the old Victorian greenhouses her father had taken her to visit when she had been a child. The circular wall was frequently broken by thirteen doors, each one a different colour and each one more bizarrely labelled than the last:

Bottoms Up

Black is White

Up is Down

Short is Long

Rabbit’s Foot

All Beans, Has-bins

Entity Aquaticus

Mortal Peril

Halls of Fortitude

Phineas Codex

P.S. PPPPPP

Room NO. 54, Balderdash

GLEIPNIR

Nox came to the last door and paused. Unlike the other brightly colour-coded doors, this one looked rather ordinary and out of place. “Gleipnir?” she read. “Funny… that rings a bell.”

“Is conversing with yourself an overtly Scottish thing...”

“...or are you just a bit nuts, Nox?”

Nox spun on her heel towards the source of the voice.

Leaning against the curling iron rail at the bottom of the staircase stood an extraordinary looking man. He wasn’t too tall, and he wasn’t too short; his face wasn’t incredibly handsome, but it certainly wasn’t unattractive either. He wore a bottle-green tailed coat and a smile more befitting a Cheshire Cat than a human being. Crowning his head of thick red hair sat a black top hat, the rim of which he had clasped between two gloved fingers. The hat was tipped and he smiled, but it wasn’t, Nox thought, an altogether friendly smile - more the keen leer of a cat who had found a lonely mouse in the dead of night.

He was certainly an oddity, and not quite in the same way Dedalus Diggle was an oddity. There was something far more striking about the man before her. The very air around him seemed to crackle with excitement. Nox felt drab in his presence: she was gangly and short, and her messy chin-cropped hair often flopped stubbornly in her face. Her only redeeming feature, she supposed, were her clear grey eyes which she raised to meet the gaze of the Cheshire Cat before her.

“Sorry for barging in on you like this,” said Nox, “but I couldn’t find a doorbell.”

“There’s a knocker,” he replied, beaming. “Always knock three times.”

“Right…” Nox replied, not bothering to store that piece of information away. There wasn’t a chance in Hell she’d be coming back. “Is there someone else here? I thought I heard two voices.”

“I solemnly swear there are only two living souls in this house,” he replied, the grin on his face never faltering for a second. “You and I. That’s the complete truth.”

Nox didn’t for a moment believe the man before her had ever told a complete truth.

“Nox Gertrude Wolfe, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes…” She didn’t remember giving her full name to Dedalus.

Suddenly, the man sprang to life. “Excellent! I was beginning to think you weren’t coming. That’d put a stopper in things. Rile him right up, that would.” In three long strides he was in front of her and shaking her arm with enormous force. “Anyway, glad you could make it, enchanted! Overjoyed! Right, let’s get on with things then. The Weasley tour is about to begin! Don’t wander off, wouldn’t want you to lose anything just yet.” He laughed and began to lead her by the hand across the marble slated floor.

Utterly perplexed, Nox tossed a last glance over her shoulder and saw the main door slowly closing behind her. “Here now, what’s this all about?” she cried.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he replied. “It’s just a draft. Nothing to worry about. Now, which door do you want to choose? Take your pick! They won’t bite...” He presented with one arm flung towards them, beaming with pride. “Well, that one will a bit.”

Nox looked at him uncertainly. She was loathe to trust anyone with that much confidence in themselves.

“No, no!” he pushed her forwards gently. “Go on! No tricks, no surprises, I promise you…” He stopped and hesitated. “Well, there might be a few surprises. Can’t help those, not in this house.”

Nox gave him a piercing stare. “You are Mr Weasley, aren’t you?”

He stopped and looked at her as if she’d suddenly grown another head. “Yeah. But that’s a bit formal, though, don’t you think?”

‘No, I don’t think it’s formal enough,’ thought Nox severely.

“You can call me George,” said George, grinning. “Now, go ahead and choose your destination!”

Nox sighed, defeated, and pointed towards the plainest door closest to the main staircase: “GLEIPNIR”

“Oh, not that one,” said George.

“But you said any door,” she retorted.

“Yeah, any door but that one,” he replied.

Nox raised an eyebrow, curious. “Why?”

“Like dogs?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Guess so. Not the ones the size of rats with dead fancy names though. Always wanted an Irish Wolf Hound myself.”

“What about dogs with three heads?”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind. Go on, choose another!”

Nox scanned the other doors until she came across a pale blue door with magenta writing: Mortal Peril.

“How about that one?”

“Ah, not that door, either.” He shook his head. “Really, you’re rubbish at this.”

“Well, you did say any door,” she sniffed, a bit put out. “What’s behind that one, then?”

“A tenant,” George replied.

His answer surprised her. “But you said we were the only ones here?”

George leered at her, that same Cheshire Cat look which sent shivers up her spine. “I know what I said.”

He took her arm again and began to hurry down a broad corridor hidden behind the staircase. “Seeing as you’re sodding awful at picking directions, I’ll lead the way,” said George in a tone which told her he had always intended to do just that.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’ve put you out, Mr Weas-“

“George.”

“George. An acquaintance of yours directed me here, Dedalus Diggle,” Nox told him.

“Daft git in a top hat?” George asked.

She glanced at the top hat crowning her host’s own head and stifled a laugh. “That’s the one.”

“Know all about it; Dedalus said you’d be perfect for the place,” said George, grinning with delight. “You’re a bit on the dowdy side, but you can see past your own nose.” He smiled at her. “And that’s got to count for something.”

Soon they were running down corridors and squeezing through narrow passageways, taking a left, then a right, then a left, then a right. All along the walls there hung beautiful portraits of ladies, and bishops, and pirates, and kings. Nox knew she was moving at a brisk trot and therefore couldn’t fully trust her eyes, but she was almost certain a couple of the figures in the paintings had moved.

“Halt!” cried her host, who stopped so suddenly that Nox went crashing headlong into his back. “Reflexes of a sloth, you have,” grinned George.

“Cheers,” Nox grunted, rubbing her nose. A startled gasp left her throat as she looked around at their new surroundings. A labyrinth of lush green gardens was spread out before them under a star-spattered night sky. An enormous yellow moon was bobbing in the air as though suspended by invisible threads and its smirking face reminded her all too much of her flame-haired companion.

Exquisitely carved stone arches separated each green avenue, upon which were headed such strange titles: Fire Weed; Aquatic Herbology; Vermicious Knids; Mandrake Farms.

“Where are we?” Nox asked in alarm. “Are we outside? It can’t be getting dark already; it’s only noon for crying out loud!”

“Huh? Oh, no. This is the greenhouse,” George informed her. “Wouldn’t go poking around in here much by yourself, mind. You’re liable to lose a buttock.” He shook his head sadly. “Poor Grendell.”

George began to lead her down one sweet smelling arbour, where hundreds of deceptively beautiful pearl-shaped blooms grew in enormous purple bushes.

“Take a deep breath and hold it,” George ordered.

“They’re beautiful,” Nox commented from behind her collar.

“They’re Violent Violets - send you into a deep coma where you live out your worst nightmares,” replied George. “Nasty way to go.”

“Live out?” she asked, puzzled. “You can’t really live your nightmares.”

“The power of the unconscious mind is a force to be reckoned with,” answered George, his Cheshire Cat grin fading a little. But his change of mood was short-lived. “Well, come on then!”

He grabbed her arm again and began to twist in and out of the leafy avenues until they had made their way across the greenhouse and into another winding corridor. The place was like a rabbit warren with all its twists and turns and directions going this way and that. She couldn’t help but smirk at the Alice analogy.

“Right, here we are!” George announced at long last.

Nox looked around. “But we’re back in the main hall again,” she said, looking around them.

“Yeah, I thought we’d take the scenic route,” chuckled her companion.

“Please tell me it’s the scenic route to the pub,” Nox pleaded, pushing her flopping hair away from her face.

“Nah, we’ll get to that later. We’re heading up the staircase. You’ve got the first floor, remember?” He laughed at her. “Bit slow, aren’t you? Come on!”

Nox began to climb the staircase, wondering what on earth she would find on the first floor considering her first glimpses of the ground, when a green and red coloured blur shot by her at an incredible speed.

“Why are you taking the stairs?” cried George as he whizzed past. “The banister’s much faster!”

Nox watched him fly up the iron rail with wide grey eyes. “No, thanks,” she murmured faintly. “The stairs look safer.”

“Fine, be a miserable git, but skip the middle step,” pointed George. “I don’t want to have to come looking for you in Peru! Don’t like the place much.”

Nox took his advice and skipped the middle step, and thanked her lucky stars that she did when one of her bangles slipped off and fell straight through the step into nothingness.

‘It can all be rationally explained,’ Nox assured herself, despite the giddiness in her stomach. ‘There must be some mechanism on the banister and indoor greenhouses are the thing of the new millennium.’ She cast a wary glance back at the middle step and frowned. An explanation for that currently escaped her.

Swallowing thickly, Nox climbed the remaining steps to the first floor. George was nowhere to be seen.

The first floor looked remarkably normal in comparison to the rest of the house. Polished wooden floorboards gleamed beneath the afternoon sunshine, which was streaming in through a domed skylight, smaller than the one in the main entrance hall and panelled around the edge with smaller squares of brightly coloured stained glass. On the left side of the hall three rooms had been prepared: a bedroom, a dining room, and a bathroom. Nox peered around at the large oak door to her right. Ingrained into the doorframe were two identical “II” and the words:

Twin Vice Paranormal Detective Agency

Nox tried the handle, but the door was locked.

“I have a proposition for you,” George suddenly said, two inches from her ear.

“Hey!” growled Nox in warning, trying to slow her pounding heart down after the scare he’d given her. “My boyfriend knows I’m here, so don’t try anything funny,” she said, wagging a long finger in his face.

George gave her a withering look. “Well, that’s a whopper of a lie.”

Nox felt her cheeks flush red in her annoyance. “What?” she exclaimed.

“Well, you’re single, aren’t you?” stated George casually.

She didn’t know how to answer that exactly. He’d called her bluff. “I don’t see how, I mean…that is…it’s none of your bloody business!”

“You don’t say half of what’s on your mind,” said George suddenly, crossing his arms and fixing her with a steady gaze. “Not unless you think no one’s around.” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Put it together from that really. You’re not around folk much, are you?”

Nox shifted her gaze to the floor. “Never mind that, it’s not your business.”

George just beamed at her, propping his hands on his hips. “Always say what’s on your mind. Even if it’s not what people want to hear. After all,” he spread his arms wide, “you can’t live in your head in a place like this.”

Nox raised her palms to him. “Look, I don’t think I can afford the rent here,” she said, forgetting the fact that she didn’t know where ‘here’ was. “I’m sorry but I’m probably wasting your time."

“There you go again!” cried George, entirely amused. “’Probably.’ ‘Don’t think.’ If you don’t think and you probably all the time then what are you doing here in the first place?” George asked a sterner tone to voice now. He stuck a finger in her face. “Be more assertive. Now, what do you want to say?”

“I think you’re a raving lunatic!” Nox covered her mouth in shock at her frankness, but the man only hollered with laughter.

“Rent’s fifty quid a month,” he chortled. “You can move in right away.”

“Fifty quid a month? But how? How can you afford to charge that?” asked Nox, taken aback. “What's the catch; have the last five tenants mysteriously disappeared or something?”

“And your blunt personality finally makes its appearance! Nah,” George said, and plunked a hand on her head. “Disappearances are the least of your worries here.”

Nox narrowed her dark eyes in suspicion. “You’re a bit cryptic yourself.”

“I bloody hope so!” cried George, looking somewhat offended. “I’ve never tried to be anything but! Now, back to my proposition.” He produced a large, intricately designed key from his pocket and locked it into the keyhole, turning it first to the right, then twice to the left, and then back again to the right before the door opened with a click.

“Come on, come on! I reckon we’ve wasted enough time running about the place with your stumpy Muggle legs,” George huffed and pushed her inside.

“Muggle?” she frowned. “What’s a Muggle?”

“I don’t have time to answer all your questions.”

“So far you haven’t answered one!” Nox retorted.

The large office curved at one end and split into three separate factions with a little room at the back, visible through a long plain glass window.

“That’s the secretary’s room,” George explained.

“Then what’s the rest?” Nox asked, utterly perplexed by the grand interior of the office room.

“Well, that,” he pointed towards a large rosewood desk situated in front of the room’s broad curving window, “is your desk. And this,” he leaned against a desk carved of pale green rosewood, “is mine.”

She squinted at the large golden “G” painted on the front of the desk. “Just in case you forget your own name?”

George shrugged. “It happens occasionally.”

Nox turned to acknowledge the desk’s red twin. A large golden “F” adorned its front. “Who’s that for then?” she asked, curiously.

“You’ll meet him soon enough,” he replied, a little too cryptically for her liking.

“And your proposition?” She couldn’t help it, her interest was piqued now.

George grinned. “If I told you I could help get your dad’s old business off the ground in return of a small favour,” he said, “what would you say?”

Nox chewed her lip and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets. “I’d say that’d depend on the favour.”

George swiftly caught her gaze; his eyes were no longer bright and cheerful but dark and deadly serious.

“Hire me.”

“H-hire you?” spluttered Nox. “Why would you want me to do a thing like that?”

George’s grin returned and he laughed heartily. “Dunno, a Muggle job sounds like a laugh! So go on, what do you say?”

“I say you’re barmy!” Nox clutched her head. “I’ve already got a secretary. What do you need with a job anyway? You’re loaded.”

George just leaned back on his desk and smiled. “It’s like I said, for kicks. And believe me when I say it’ll be in your best interests. I reckon I’ve got something that’ll come in very handy in your field of expertise.”

“How do you know about my work?” asked Nox, suspicion creeping into her voice again.

“Paranormal Detective?” George snorted. “Yeah, London’s really swarming with those. You stand out like a Muggle at a pure-bloods' reunion party!”

Nox wasn’t even going to ask what that meant. “How is it exactly that you think you can help me out?”

“Put it this way,” started George, “if I were a Paranormal Detective solving the crimes and mysteries of the dead, it’d come in handy if I could, you know, see the dead, don’t you think?” he placed a round object into the palm of her hand and stepped away. “Scarf that and you’ll be top of your league… uh, or whatever competitory fields Paranormal Detectives run in anyway.”

Nox stared at the object in the palm of her hand, incredulously. It looked like a Jammy Dodger. And on further inspection, she said, “It’s a Jammy Dodger.”

George watched her, placidly.

“You really think I’m going to eat this?” asked Nox, arching her eyebrows. “After everything I’ve seen here?”

George just shrugged. “Everything you’ve seen here is exactly why you shouldand you will eat it.”

Nox thought back to the excitable Dedalus Diggle, the night-garden with its Violent Violets, the portrait of the old man with the half-moon glasses, and of the room labelled Mortal Peril. Curiosity gripped Nox like a vice, and her heart skipped a beat.

She swallowed the biscuit whole.

“Well?” George inquired an eager light in his eye.

“Tastes a bit mouldy,” Nox grimaced.

“Sorry about that,” said George. “He prefers them that way.”

“Who does?” asked Nox.

“I does,” replied a new voice.

Her eyes darted towards the red rosewood desk with the gold painted “F”, the owner of whom was leaning casually against the wood as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the ghost of a dead man to do.

“Hi.” He waved cheerfully. “The name’s Fred.”

Nox could only gawp at the transparent figure for a moment or two before falling heavily to the ground in an unconscious heap. The twins stared at her body for a long moment before George cursed loudly.

“Damn it,” he groaned. “She didn’t scream.”

“But she did faint!” Fred countered. “That’s five Galleons. Cough up!”

oOo

Back to index
Casebook 01: Twins by Starkiller
Author's Notes:
In which the Weasley twins have a business proposition to make.

Beta read by BloodRayne.

'There is more in this world than Humans.
More than what Humans can sense.
But...
Every now and again
A Human will come up against those things
That Humans can't sense.'

- Yuuko, xxxHoLic


Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives
Casebook 01: Twins

oOo

Distantly, Nox could perceive several voices conversing beyond the smog in her vision and the pounding in her ears. Her legs felt numb, like blocks of ice weighted to the floor, and for a moment an irrational fear gripped her like a vice: what if she had taken a bad fall and broken her legs? Or maybe she had she been tied up and taken prisoner in that strange Weasley house where day was night and fashion fell beyond all comprehension, not that she had any right to criticise another person’s wardrobe.

Nox wondered vaguely when she had turned into such a pessimist.

“Yep, still out cold,” a familiar voice proclaimed from above.

“You don’t say,” echoed its twin in a wry tone.

A pair of footsteps rushed noisily into the room, each thunderous stride causing Nox’s head to pound with a dull pain. She kept her eyes closed and listened intently.

“Fred, George!” cried a flustered woman. “I heard from Dedalus that you… Oh, Heavens above!”

“Hello, Hermione,” said George with a small sigh of dismay. “Fancy seeing you here. Again. Just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. Anybody would think Mum’s paying you to spy on us. So go on, what’s Dedalus said then?” he asked her irritably. “I knew the stupid prat couldn’t keep his trap shut for long.”

“Only that you were busy on a new business venture with a Muggle,” the woman called Hermione replied anxiously, “but never mind that now, what on earth have you two trouser-ferrets done to the poor girl?”

“Nothing much,” replied George airily, “just the usual.”

“Dare I ask what the usual entails?” Hermione asked him suspiciously and Nox felt a soft, cool hand gently press against her forehead.

“Only a tour and a formal introduction,” a younger, craftier voice answered the question this time, and Nox was positive the owner had been the one responsible for scaring her half to death.

“And a Jammy Dodger,” added George.

“Those were mine, by the way,” grumbled the other. “Hope you plan on reimbursing me.”

“One biscuit! You can live without one mouldy biscuit, Fred.”

“Cheers, mention the ‘L’ word,” Fred lamented melodramatically.

“Sod off.” George groaned. “Dead or not, I won’t have an over-emotional cry-baby for a twin.”

“Stop it, the pair of you!” the woman ordered hotly. “Now what is it exactly that you plan on doing with her? She is a Muggle, after all. The pair of you could get into a lot of trouble if you aren’t careful.”

“We’re keeping her. I like this one. Daft as a brush, mind!”

“She is not a pet, Fred,” the woman protested. “She is a human being.”

“She’s a funny looking Muggle. Look at her squinty eyes,” said George, and Nox felt a finger prod her cheek non-too gently. “Her name’s Nox.”

“Nutty Nox,” Fred corrected. “Collapsed the moment she saw me. Frankly, I’m a little offended.”

“Saw you?” the woman asked in alarm. “That can’t be possible.”

“Well, Dedalus got it right for once, didn’t he? He’s finally found a Muggle suited for the job,” George declared with a note of satisfaction, and perhaps Nox was mistaken, but he sounded quite relieved in addition.

“And what job is that, exactly?” Hermione inquired hesitantly. “In any case, is it not up to her to decide? You’re hardly going to convince anyone of anything by scaring them witless. I doubt she’ll be very pleased with you when she wakes up. I certainly wouldn’t be.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hermione,” said Fred despairingly. “We’ve already got Percy in the family.”

“Speaking of which, we’re your brothers now,” George reminded her. “And as such, we can treat you with the same decorum and level of respect we treat our other dear siblings ““

“- and legally get away with it,” Fred added.

“You’re both terrible!” Hermione hissed indignantly.

With a pained grunt of displeasure, Nox began to stir.

“Look now, she’s coming around,” said Hermione. “Fred, get back.”

“Oh, cheers very much!” snapped Fred icily. “Donated all your sympathy to house-elves and kept none for the dead, ay?”

“Shhh!”

Nox slowly opened her grey eyes, wincing as the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window stung her vision. The newcomer was leaning over her and looking very concerned. She was a pretty girl, and younger than Nox had expected. Her bushy brown hair was gathered into an attractive, albeit slightly haphazard, bun at the back of her head, and her brown eyes revealed an intelligent but fiery character. Nox was relieved to find no trace of the deceptive Cheshire Cat leer in this person’s face.

“Where am I?” she muttered gruffly, not daring to look anyone in the eye lest they shove another Jammy Dodger, or another equally delectable confectionary, under her nose.

“Weasley Manor,” grinned George. “Remember me?”

“Weasley…” She elicited a dry chuckle and propped herself up on her elbows. “Of course. Guess I should be grateful, thought I might have passed out at the King’s Ransom again.”

George’s grin grew wider. “Great! We’re renting the place out to a detective with a drinking problem. That’s good stereotyping for you.”

Nox covered her face with one hand and swore. “No, I must be having a bad dream.”

“Come on, you can do a bit better than that, can’t you!” cried Fred suddenly, leaping forwards. “Give us something a little less cliché.”

Nox peeked through a gap in her fingers at the ghostly head poking through George Weasley’s chest. Despite its silvery and translucent appearance, she could not help but notice the family resemblance between the specter and the flame-haired landlord of Weasley Manor. Nox squinted at the protruding head, and her heart sank. Yes, there it was - the same Cheshire Cat leer. As she stared, her senses suddenly came back to her. In her sudden panic, Nox attempted to scramble across the floor on her backside, and winced when a crooked nail in the floorboards tore the back of her tights.

“Christ’s sake, what are you?!” she demanded, pointing a trembling finger at the peculiar trio, one of which was still content to sit astride her legs.

Hermione tangled her fingers in her bushy hair and moaned, “Oh, for crying out loud, I just knew there would be a situation the moment I talked to Diggle. You two are in a lot of trouble with the Ministry!”

“You’re in trouble with the Police is what!” cried Nox furiously. “Is this some sick joke? Are you a ““

“Trick?” George supplied. “No. Light effect? No.”

“Prank pulled for a BBC daytime game-show? No,” Fred added, and shrugged his silvery shoulders. “I don’t even know what a BBC is. One of those nutty things on the telly-box, I guess.”

“How did you know what I was going to say?” asked Nox, bemused.

George only chuckled casually and said, “Trust me; we’ve been through this a few times.”

Nox couldn’t think of an intelligent reply, and instead remained on the floor, opening and closing her mouth and blinking quite stupidly.

“You look like a guppy,” Fred remarked, raising his eyebrows, apparently unimpressed. “I thought you were supposed to be a Paranormal Detective. Shouldn’t you be used to stuff like this?” he asked in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Don’t be rude!” Hermione warned him severely, before turning back to a fairly terrified detective. “I am Hermione Granger,” the young woman introduced herself, holding her hand out, “and I’m deeply sorry for the mess these two heathens have gotten you into.”

She leant forward in a somewhat conspiratorial whisper. “Believe me, from one woman to another, I know how it feels.”

But Nox did not feel convinced. “Really? Frankly, I’m caught between wanting to scream and wanting to pass out again “ though God knows what you lot would try if I did! What gives you the right to lock someone in a house, terrify them out of their wits and then sit on them!” she shouted, glowering at George who was still sitting comfortably across her legs. “You rich folk think you can get away with anything!”

Fred beamed proudly. “See, isn’t she great? Nutty Nox!”

“I told you why,” George answered her, climbing to his feet. “We’ve got a business proposition for you.”

“You know I could have you arrested just for saying that,” Nox replied dryly.

George didn’t look the least bit threatened. “You could, but then, you’ve already proved yourself nosey beyond all doubt. It’s not like we dragged you in here, is it? Came of your own accord, didn’t you?”

Fred’s laughter was near hysterical now. “Honestly, who just walks into a gothic old mansion and eats a dodgy looking biscuit from a strange bloke in a top hat?”

“I fail to see the humour,” muttered Hermione.

Fred just grinned smugly. “That’s fine. I’ll observe it for the both of us.”

“Look, if you don’t mind, Hermione,” began George, who was ushering the other woman towards the door, “we need to discuss the finer details of our business arrangement with Miss Wolfe here. You can tell Dedalus everything’s sorted and that he can stop looking now. It’ll save me a trip to the Ministry.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She wasn’t in any great hurry to subject a somewhat naïve-looking Muggle to the twins, but as she was running late enough as it was, it didn’t appear that she had much choice. “All right,” Hermione conceded, “but I’ll be in to check up on you later, at which point I’d like a full explanation as to why you’re in such desperate need of a Muggle detective,” Hermione told George, wagging a finger forebodingly in his face.

“Right. Well, your frequent visits are always an inspiration to us, Hermione,” replied

George, pushing her not too gently out the door.

“Don’t know what we’d do without your subtly offered criticisms and patronising comments everyday,” called Fred, with a cheerful wave. “You truly brighten my week, adored sister of mine!”

Before Hermione could retort, the door of the office was slammed shut in her face.

Nox stared at the twins in horror. “So I’m not special. This is how you treat everyone.”

“No.” Fred shook his head. “This is how we treat people we like.”

“I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies,” muttered Nox, edging as far away from him as was possible in the Weasleys’ office.

It was bad enough meeting George Weasley in all his flamboyancy and sheer strangeness, but to discover his twin “ and not your usual flesh and blood twin, but a ghost (and one with a terrible, sarcastic sense of humour) “ was far worse. Nox scrutinised him from a safe distance. What was more, she sensed the spectral twin was a level above his brother on the scale of cruelty and mischief-making.

Fred caught her eyes and smirked devilishly.

‘Definitely the crueller twin,’ thought Nox, narrowing her eyes at the silvery figure across the room. ‘He looks like one of those fox tricksters in Aesop’s fables.’

“Well, go on!” George suddenly exclaimed above her. “Get your arse off the floor and try your new desk out.”

Hesitantly, Nox complied with his orders and walked around to the other side of the desk, where a large, comfy-looking armchair sat. She sat down, and pulled herself towards the desk, revelling for a moment in the wonderful feeling of authority which filled her. Nox had never had her own desk before, much less an entire office.

The Weasley twins exchanged a knowing smile.

“Does this mean you’re actually going to answer some of my questions?” she asked bluntly. “Because believe me, I have a few.”

“I’ll bet you do,” said Fred, rolling his eyes.

“Ask us any questions and we’ll answer them to the best of our ability,” said George, leaning against his own desk.

“All right, then,” said Nox, putting on a very afflicted authoritarian voice. “Tell me who you are.”

George looked puzzled. “I’m George Weasley and that’s my brother, Fred. Thought we’d explained all that.”

“No, I don’t mean names,” grunted Nox in frustration. “Who are you lot? More to the point, what are you lot? This whole house is like a page out of a children’s fantasy book! I might not be the greatest detective in the country …I didn’t even get past my first year probationary period…but I’m not blind.”

“You are a bit stupid, though,” Fred pointed out.

George spread his arms out as if he were about to plead with her. “We would’ve told you earlier, but the way things work with Muggles and ghosts “ and then nosy old Hermione appeared and we’re under strict orders to keep this in as tight a circle as possible.”

“See, there was an event a few years back,” Fred interrupted. “A few things happened, one being my current condition.”

“Obviously,” said Nox gawping. “But you stayed behind? Why?”

Fred goggled at her. “Merlin’s clogs, you are nosey.”

George interjected. “Cutting a long story short, Fred recently upset the wrong person. Someone with a bad temper and a lot of clout.”

“I can believe that,” said Nox derisively. “What did he do, exactly?”

Fred cleared his throat, looking a bit embarrassed. “That’s not important.”

“What is important is this.” George tossed an old newspaper onto the desk in front of her. It was torn and yellowing, and the publishing date read 1998. Nox looked back at the twins, utterly bemused. “That’s your dad, right?” said George, sticking his finger at the large black headlines scrawled across the page.

Nox gripped the paper in both hands, and her heart clenched.

‘Psychic Snatched?!’

‘Mad Rozza, the Daily Mail’s long-running psychic
columnist and infamous Paranormal Detective, was reported
as missing last week when his bike was discovered
off road on the M8 to Milngavie. “Mr McRozen has
always been renowned for his eccentricities,” stated
Glasgow Chief of Police Douglas Thickley, “While it
is true that we have dealt with several disappearances
over the past year, I’m quite positive this latest incident
is completely non-related.” It was implied that McRozen
may be purposefully keeping a low profile in order to
avoid insurance companies after his 1976 Harley-Davidson
collided with a silver Bentley outside of Glasgow city.’

Nox stopped reading. “How did you get this?” she asked quietly.

“Dug it up.”

“We have our ways.”

Nox sighed and pushed the paper away. “My father was a nut job. He’s been missing for years. Either he’s running away from all the debt he left behind, or he’s broken his bloody neck somewhere. The only thing he left me was his failing business. So if it’s him you’re looking for, sorry to disappoint you.”

“It’s not your dad we’re after,” said George, his tone a little gentler now, “it’s you.”

“Believe me, we would’ve avoided involving mindless Muggles if we could have, but tragically, we can’t, and you did find the house.” Fred pointed at her. “You passed over the bloody threshold! Not many Muggles can do that.”

“It’s been a laugh watching them try, but,” said George, reminiscing fondly.

“You keep calling me a Muggle,” said Nox curiously. “What is that?”

“Non-magic folk,” George answered.

“Toss-pots who can’t hold a wand and generally can’t see past the ends of their noses,” added Fred jovially, oblivious to the offence he had caused to his host.

Nox glared at him. “Shouldn’t have asked.”

George grinned slyly at her. “I’d like to prove it, but unfortunately I am prohibited from performing any magic in front of you until you sign this.” He produced a crumpled piece of parchment from the pocket of his bottle-green coat jacket.

Nox eyed the parchment suspiciously. “You still haven’t given me a reason not to run out of this building screaming.”

“The thing is,” Fred coughed awkwardly, “the person who was so briefly referred to earlier that I may or may not have offended-”

“The bloke with the clout?” said Nox, arching one eyebrow high in disbelief.

“Yeah, him. Well, it turns out that he’s got a bit of a grudge against me.” Fred put a hand on his heart and beamed with pride. “Frankly, I’m honoured! In any case, there’s a task I’ve got to complete, which will get me off the hook.”

Nox wasn’t at all convinced that Fred did not deserve to get his punishment, whatever it was. He was obviously a character who either couldn’t care less about offending someone or didn’t notice at all. Which was worse she couldn’t decide. ‘What an old fox,’ she thought.

“So where do me and my dad come into all of this?” she asked.

“Right, to the juicy bits,” said George, rubbing his hands together. “Your dad was a Paranormal Detective, right? Well, he also dabbled in other arts, and wrote a few books on his findings too.”

“He was a lunatic,” Nox commented. “He never sold a book in his life.”

“Ah, maybe not in the Muggle world!” cried George. “Actually, your dad was a bit of a genius, believe it or not. Especially for a Squib.”

“Oi-oi, slow down: I still don’t understand any of this,” she protested, feeling quite flummoxed. “I’m not even sure what it is you’re asking me to do.”

Suddenly, George banged his hands down on the desk and leaned far across it towards her. “Work here, and help us get Fred off the hook. That’s all we’re asking. Just a couple of trivial, menial tasks,” he said in his most persuasive tone of voice.

“It’s good karma,” said Fred, who, Nox realised with a start, was leaning far over the back of her chair. “And I’ll be ever so grateful.” He smiled charmingly.

Nox shivered and slunk further into her chair, away from the leering ghost above her. “Thanks, but I don’t think I could handle your gratitude.”

“Think about it, where else in London are you going to rent out cheap offices and a place to crash?” George implored her. “Give us a week’s trial at least.”

“No, I don’t know…” Nox trailed off hesitantly. She could hardly believe that she was even contemplating agreeing to the Weasley twin’s proposition. The whole story, indeed, her entire situation, was completely ludicrous. Nevertheless, so was turning down cheap rent and offices in central London. ‘God, I can’t be this shallow,’ Nox thought shamefully. ’This city’s really dried up my ethics.’

Just then, a terrible shrieking, like that belonging to an old steam engine’s whistle, filled the room. Fred, George and Nox clamped their hands over their ears to shut out the awful, high-pitched noise.

“Something’s got to be done about that,” muttered Fred irritably, when the din had ceased at last.

“What was that?” asked Nox, rubbing her ears.

“Someone’s at the front door,” George exclaimed, looking quite surprised.

It was an odd look for his face, one that didn’t quite seem as though it belonged. Although Nox had only known him for a little over an hour, she hadn’t thought anything in the world could surprise George Weasley. His confidence and self-assurance was so complete that he gave off an aura that felt nothing short of inhuman “ an impression perhaps responsible for her feeling more easy in the twin’s presence than she should have felt (all things considered).

Fred glanced at his brother askance. “Who? It can’t be Hermione again already.”

“Don’t be daft,” replied George. “Everyone we know either Apparates here or uses the Floo Network.” He began to stride purposefully out the room and down the main stairs, Fred and Nox following from a distance.

Nox finally came to linger at the foot of the broad marble stairway, making sure to leave a large gap between her and the form of Fred’s pearly-white ghost. George opened the door.

On the garden path stood a slight, fair figure in a pale green summer dress. Her round, willowy eyes appeared just as surprised to see George as he was to see her.

“Oh…hello,” said the girl distantly. “Have I found the right place?”

George looked a bit flustered. “That depends what you’re looking for.”

She reached her arm out to George, depositing a small business card in his hand. George took the card, and Nox noted with interest that the girl would not come any closer to the door. She moved forward to stand behind him in the doorway.

“The instructions on your card lead me here,” she explained earnestly.

George stared at the card, and for a moment, he seemed too lost for words.

“My sister is lost,” the girl continued in a trembling voice. “She has been lost for a whole year. I have to find her, please, you must be able to help me.”

“Sorry, but you sure you’ve got the right place?” George asked. “We haven’t printed any cards. And besides, we’re not exactly in the business of searching out living relatives.”

“But this must be the right place!” the girl cried, her pale cheeks flushing in her sudden distress. “This is the address given,” she said, and pointed at the blue writing on the card.

George certainly couldn’t argue with her against that. Across the card was printed, in very official looking navy blue letters: ‘Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives.’ George frowned, muttering quietly. “But we only just came up with the title this morning…”

“Please.” The girl reached out a hand to his and touched it gently. Nox saw George flinch at the girl’s touch. “No one else has been able to help me, and I haven’t much time left.”

Her large, pale eyes were beginning to fill with tears. George’s face flushed red.

“All right,” he resigned at last. “We’re just finalising things here at the moment, but I’ll see what I can do. We should be up and running within the week. Have you got a contact number or address?”

The slight girl shook her fair head solemnly and clasped both his hands between her own icy ones in earnest. “Oh no, that won’t do any good at all. You must come and visit us immediately, please! I will pay any sum you ask.”

Before George could reply, he was shunted out of the way by an uncharacteristically animated Nox, who was shaking the girl’s hand excitably.

“Hello there,” said Nox very pleasantly. “I’m Detective Wolfe, the proprietor of this great establishment. Would you care to discuss our business over lunch, perhaps? Or maybe tea? I’m sure my partner here can prepare a pot right away, if you’d just like to step inside.”

A gust of wind whipped up the street towards them, blowing through the trees and the bushes in the garden. The pale girl shivered and began to dig deep into her bag. After a moment of rummaging, she pulled out an ornate picture frame with a photograph of a country road leading up to a beautiful old estate building hedged by blossoming rosebushes. The sign on the gate read ‘Rosewood Estate’.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t any time left. I must get back.” The girl enclosed Nox’s hands around the picture frame. Reluctantly, Nox accepted the strange gift. “I’ll expect you tomorrow afternoon. Three rooms will be prepared for your stay,” the girl said hastily, and then bowed deeply before walking back down the garden path and joining the stream of people along the busy main street.

“Sudden change of heart?” George turned to scowl at Nox. “’Tea-boy’?”

“I did you a favour,” said Nox crossly. “That’s Audra Beckinsale. She’s practically royalty, you great big muppet! Do you have any idea how much money she is? I mean, worth? Er, I mean… oh, do you have any idea how obscenely wealthy her family is? Even her pets have servants. You could make a lot of money working for someone like that.”

George shrugged his shoulders and turned inside. “We’ve got other interests. Besides, does it look like we’re short on cash?” He grinned wickedly at her. “Of course, you on the other hand could probably do with a steady cash flow.”

Nox narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you bribing me, Weasley?”

George raised his hands defensively. “Not at all!” he laughed. “But money does seem to have a hold over your character. Wouldn’t you say so, Fred?”

“I’d definitely say so, George. Leopards can change their spots after all,” chuckled Fred, “given the right incentive.”

“Well, when you haven’t seen much of it, you tend to appreciate it more,” replied Nox sheepishly. “How is it that you already have a client, anyway?” She peered at the business card which Fred was reading over George’s shoulder. “Hey, hold on “ my name’s on that.”

“Yeah, I know,” muttered Fred, staring at the card with grim curiosity.

Nox bristled with anger. “Who the hell gave you the right to -“

“I didn’t,” he replied stiffly.

George looked equally as puzzled. “But if you didn’t, then who did?”

“I don’t know,” Fred replied, honestly, looking a bit troubled.

Nox watched the ghost’s profile for a moment, attempting to read his thoughts. “Will you take the job?” she asked.

“That depends,” he replied slyly, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Are you in or out?”

Nox had never felt so put on the spot before. She didn’t want to make such a big decision rashly “ it all seemed too good and too strange. Instead she glanced around the circular entrance hall in search of something, anything that could help her make a decision, when her eyes once again fell upon the portrait of the old bearded man whose eyes twinkled kindly out at her.

Nox sighed. ‘Well, it’s not as if I’ve got anything to lose. The rate I’m going, the business is going to go bankrupt anyway,’ she thought, thinking back to her cramped and dingy one-bedroom apartment. ’Maybe this is a change in fortune.’

Nox stroked her chin thoughtfully. “Well… that girl really did look like she needed our help, didn’t she?”

The twins whooped and cheered, and even attempted a flying high-five, which only resulted in George crashing head-first through his brother’s semi-corporeal body.

“Hey, hey! Wait, I’m in, but only for a trial week,” said Nox sternly.

The Weasley twins turned to her in unison, identical Cheshire Cat leers upon their identical fiendish faces, and said together, “We’ll see about that.”

oOo

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