Title: Hungry Toad Is

Warnings: None; unless the fact that this story features Dolores Umbridge counts as a warning?

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns all characters, but I'm sure she wouldn't object to me borrowing them for a bit.

'Ooh, something's changed,' Fred said brightly, as he and George were ushered inside the office by an angry looking Professor McGonagall. 'New curtains?' He promptly strode over to examine the velvet ink-black drapes. 'Nice choice, Professor. Very… uh… smart.'

'Sit down, Mr Weasley,' McGonagall snapped at Fred, as she closed the door.

George obediently sat, his face set in an unconvincing caricature of innocence.

McGonagall sent him a look before sweeping over to her desk, bottle-green robes swishing. 'Mr Weasley,' she barked at Fred again.

'Not now, Miss,' he said distractedly, waving her off, 'I think there's a niffler's nest down here.' He knelt down and began rooting around behind the curtains. George lowered his head a little and snorted, his shoulders jerking upwards a fraction.

'Mr Weasley,' McGonagall said forcefully, sitting down in the chair behind the desk, 'nifflers do not live in nests. Now, get over here and sit down.'

Fred tore his eyes away from the curtains and walked over with the air of one who had been yanked from a particularly leisurely pastime. He sat down and regarded Professor McGonagall with mild interest, his elbows on the desk, his jutting chin held up in his palms.

'Aren't you getting bored with this lark, Professor?' George asked as he leant back in the hard wooden chair, balancing on its back legs. 'I mean,' he continued with a crooked grin, 'there's only so many times you can haul us up here without it getting totally monotonous.'

McGonagall sniffed. 'Really?' She flicked her wand once so that the chair returned to its original state and George went jolting forwards, a cry of surprise escaping from his throat. 'Well, perhaps detention will liven your lives up a little. Professor Snape says he has an extra special project planned for the two of you.'

'Aw, Professor!' Fred cried. 'Not Snape!'

'Can't Binns just take us again?' George said pleadingly. 'Sure, he calls us Fabian and Gideon, but I know he means well.'

'Certainly not,' McGonagall said sternly. 'I have not forgotten your last escapade in that classroom. I don't know what you did or said to set Peeves off so badly- and- no, do not even bother enlightening me, because frankly I don't care-'

'Fine.' George pretended to sulk.

'Be that way.' Fred crossed his arms.

McGonagall heaved a sigh. 'Now, your detention tonight-'

'Tonight's Quidditch practice!' they both said in outrage.

McGonagall frowned before looking at them strangely. 'You two are not even on the team anymore.'

'Well, we want to see Ronniekins make a fool of himself on the field again!' Fred explained enthusiastically, his eyes shining.

'That's a good enough excuse as any, right, Professor?' George persisted, fluttering his eyelashes persuasively.

McGonagall took a steadying breath. 'Your detention will take place in the dungeons,' she continued, as though oblivious to what they had just said. 'It seems Professor Snape feels the urge to dispel any calumnies against teachers and he thinks that the best way-'

'She was asking for it,' Fred interjected. 'You've seen the way she gobbles that porridge. Revolting.'

'Positively disgusting,' George agreed.

McGonagall seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, before opening her mouth, picking her words carefully. 'While I can't say that I was completely averse to your little stunt this morning, I can only dread the number of Decrees it will invoke.'

'With the amount she's got, she's gonna run out of wall space,' George snickered.

'Not if we get there first,' Fred replied, and they both burst out laughing.

McGonagall looked as though she were fighting back a smile. 'Professor Snape expects you at seven pm,' she told them as they ambled towards the door. 'He told me to inform you that lateness only extends the duration of the detention. Have a good evening.'

Ron threw himself down onto the Gryffindor bench, ducking as a package came dropping from one of the soaring owls overhead. He pulled a goblet of pumpkin juice towards him and looked over the rim at Fred and George. He himself was feeling tired due to Quidditch practice the night before -his performance had improved slightly without the usual jeers from his two older brothers, although the Slytherins were still grouped in the stands- but he didn't look anywhere near as tired as they did.

'What's up with you two?' he frowned, eyeing their tousled hair and shadowed eyes.

'Snape had us in the dungeon 'til midnight,' George grumbled, biting into his piece of toast moodily.

'Preparing an antidote that rids frogs of viral infections,' Fred said, propping his chin up in one palm and repressing a yawn. 'Bloody git.'

'He seemed to think he was being funny,' George said disgustedly.

'Of course, we can see the ironic humour, however slight it is,' Fred said, 'after all, we pride ourselves on seeing the humour in every situation, but-'

'But, it got even slighter after bathing our hands in frog guts for over four hours, believe you me,' George finished, nodding grimly.

Ron looked aghast.

'Yeah, I know,' agreed George, with a dramatic sigh accompanying his dead-pan expression. 'We did try to tell him that there was a difference between frogs and toads, but he wouldn't listen...'

'Still, it's not so bad,' Fred sighed, a grin creeping back onto his washed-out features, the usual fiery spark reappearing in his eye.

'Yeah? How's that?' Ron asked sceptically, his eyebrows raised.

'Why, use your eyes, dear brother,' Fred said gleefully. 'Our contribution to the décor still remains.'

'The real thing isn't there though,' George said disappointedly. 'We haven't even seen her reaction yet.'

'It'll be worth the wait,' Fred assured him jubilantly, as they both turned to look happily towards the teachers' table.

Hanging down the length of the back wall was an immense white banner, rippling slightly due to the swirling air the owls were causing by flurrying around. Plastered across this stretch of canvas was a blown-up picture of Professor Umbridge; a photo sneakily taken as the Hogwarts Headmistress enjoyed her breakfast.

A murky gray bowl of porridge was vaguely visible beside her sickly pink cardigan sleeve and she held a heaped tablespoon, making its unfortunate voyage towards her bulging mouth. Her cheeks were swollen horrendously from the amount of food already packed inside her jaws and, to add to the thoroughly undignified look, a dribble of milk was running down her chin. In the moving photo, her greedy eyes darted from side to side. The bow on her head had never looked more like a fly; although it may have been that Fred and George had Charmed it so that it bore more of a resemblance.

The pulsating black and green caption that ran down the side in block-capitals read: 'HUNGRY TOAD IS HUNGRY.'

'It's really quite a ghastly thing to look at,' George commented, as they continued to look up at the image, 'but the humour value makes up for it, we think.'

'I'm surprised they haven't taken it down already,' Hermione said reprimandingly, as she and Harry sat down next to Ron.

'Ah, well-' began Fred in a lilting voice, sharing an evil grin with George; but he was unable to get any further as the abrupt arrival of Professor McGonagall interrupted him.

'Back so soon, Professor?' George smiled into her furious face.

'What a pleasant surprise,' said Fred, beaming. 'We must really be the highlight of your life for you to come and seek us out like this-'

'Why is it that that monstrosity is irremovable?' McGonagall shrieked, giving no regard to their comments as she glared at the oversized photo.

Ron looked up from his bacon eagerly- seeing the twins get into trouble was something he found quite satisfying. Harry also looked up, rather warily, as though expecting McGonagall to start on him too.

Hermione shot the twins a "that's what you get" look, unrolled her morning paper with a flourish and disappeared behind it.

'Now, Professor,' George said gently, tsking and shaking his head. 'Is it really necessary to call our dear Dolores a monstrosity?'

'And it's not that you can't get rid of it, per se,' Fred said, a half-grin/half-grimace playing on his face as McGonagall's nostrils flared. 'Just sort of, difficult to do so?' He gave her a wide nervous grin.

'Difficult how,' she seethed, the words grated out from between her gritted teeth.

'Well,' said George awkwardly, avoiding Fred's gaze. 'It might have something to do with the Semi Permanent Sticking Charm on the back…'

There was a brief moment of incensed silence from Professor McGonagall.

Then-

'Hey, I said Semi Permanent!' George yelled, as he and Fred found themselves being dragged out of the Great Hall. 'It'll come off eventually!'

'Professor-!'

Ron, smirking, went back to his breakfast. He took a gulp of pumpkin juice, looked up, and promptly choked, spraying the orange liquid all over his silver plate. He coughed and spluttered loudly. Hermione sent him a distasteful look from behind her newspaper and shifted further down the mahogany bench away from him. Ron didn't notice though; his eyes were popping from the graphic image he had just seen and streaming from the coughing fit.

For the banner was now showing yet another shot of Umbridge. Only this time she was licking her lips. Not only that, she was doing so in excruciatingly painful slow-motion.

Ron glared down at his soggy toast and shuddered. 'I'm gonna kill Fred and George.'

Harry patted his shoulder sympathetically, wisely looking everywhere but the direction of the teachers' table.