“Georgie,” Fred whispered, arching a brow and digging his elbow into his brother’s ribs as soon as they poured out of Filch’s office. “Have a look.”
“Well then,” George remarked, eyeing the worn piece of parchment in his twin’s hand. “A whole drawer of confiscated items and you thought the blank bit of parchment was probably best?” He reached for it, giving it a skeptical once-over. “For this I wasted a dungbomb?”
“A dungbomb at the inconvenience of Filch is never a dungbomb wasted,” Fred told him smartly. “Anyway, considering the drawer, there’s obviously more to it. Unlike you,” he added, nudging him. “Who possess nothing beneath your stunningly handsome facade.”
“A handsomeness that I wear better, by the way,” George assured his twin, not looking up. “Hm,” he murmured to himself. “If it were me, I would- ”
He stopped, frowning in thought.
“Oh good,” Fred said, fighting a yawn. “I was hoping you’d come to an abrupt stop.” He leaned against the wall, kicking one leg out to cross it over the other. “Frankly, if it weren’t for your unerring mystery, I’d have run off a long time ago.”
George raised his wand and tapped it against the parchment. “Revelio,” he muttered, and then watched as a series of words began to spread across the page.