A/N: Well, hello there! This would be my first ever "serious" (well, non-crack) fic posted here, and the first I've posted in a couple of years! All spurred from a prompt I found last night on some LJ community… Anyways, I'm sort of tired of seeing all the mopey, sad George-mounring-Fred fics (Not that they're bad! Don't hate me!). I think Fred would have wanted to be remembered in a happier light, and what better way than with some classic Fred and George humor? This takes place during the summer between OOTP and HBP, probably a week or so before Harry and Co. visit the shop. Try not to judge too harshly, as I haven't written anything in a very, very long time. Enjoy!

Dedicated to Frederick Weasley, R.I.P.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize as Jo's. I only claim the poorly made up Wheezes and advertisement slogans.

"Well, Gred?"

"By Forge, I think we've got it!…Lord, I hope so…"

As clouds of noxious purple fumes cleared away, two vibrant mops of orange, easily identified as Fred and George Weasley, could be seen huddled around a simmering cauldron that was still issuing faint poots and hisses.

The Weasley twins were up to their usual antics in the flat-turned-workshop above the most popular joke and novelty shop in Diagon Alley, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Even in the midst of a terrifying wizarding war, the two mischief-makers continued to turn out more and more ingenious (if they do say so themselves) products to an ever more and more frightened public seeking entertainment. They would even go so far as to say (to each other, no doubt as a private goal) that it was their duty to bring a shining ray of laughter into the dismal life of war. In the words of the twins' advertisements, "Bugger to Death Eaters, just watch as this Swiveling Swat teeters!" or "Eat dung, Voldie, and Canary Creams 'till they're Moldy!"

However, the twins had also adapted part of their store to fit the needs of said war. Just recently they had developed a more serious line of defensive products and were now raking in the galleons from the huge orders received by the ever-cautious Ministry of Magic.

"Think we should add the three of five hour Continuity Fluid? Make this one long lasting?" the one deemed "Forge" asked his fellow, referring to the cauldron before them.

Fred or "Gred" grimaced at his twin and the now steadily bubbling, lavender goop in turn. "Blimey, I'm tired of testing the Word Vomit potion…that last one really put me in a right state…"

George could not conceal his trademark smirk of amusement—he had to admit, that one was actually his personal favorite side affect.

"Yeah, everything went just peachy…until you sprouted that nasty, blinking pustule in the middle of your forehead and spent the next hour swinging from the rafters screeching something awful—"

"Yes, thank you, Georgie! I'm still trying to banish that experience from my memory, along with the—er—incident involving the Belting Banshee Busters and Pygmy Puffs…"

"Cheer up, Freddie!" George retaliated, smiling the ever-present Weasley Twin Grin. "That was one of the loveliest worst impersonations of Celestina Warbeck I've ever heard, and…juggling…Pygmy Puffs, taboot!"

Judging by Fred's silence, he was not much comforted by this notion, probably because "juggling" was obviously George's polite version of "chucking like a loony."

Disconcerted but determined to brighten his twin, George pursued the subject, "Oh, come on, we've faced worse. Remember the Fever Fudge?"

Both twins had to shudder at this mentioning. "I try not to. I think I still have marks from those boils…although, I don't usually check back there. Perhaps I'll ask Angelina—"

George coughed loudly. "Anyway, look on the bright side! The concoction that had you banging around like a Clabbert spurred our new line of Animal Imitation biscuits (One bite and you'll be swinging, flying, and barking off the walls! Available in Clabbert, Augurey, Crup…) that have been a pretty damn good earner, and we were able to pass off your Celestina episode as an…enthusiastic publicity stunt! Besides…those are nothing compared to the fluke that had addled you enough to make you think you were dressed in our entire line of invisibility clothing, when really you ended up tearing down Diagon Alley starkers—"

"George, are really trying to make me die of shame? I'd almost forgotten that! I mean, really, why don't I just go outside and start shouting 'DEATH EATERS ARE BLOODY SCUM! SUCK IT, VOLDIE!' Be much less humiliating than this."

George was stupefied into silence. He was surprised by Fred's perspective of these past events. Although he jested like the normal Fred, the jokes were much more bitter than usual and had a distinct underlying seriousness. Fred should have been roaring with laughter along side his brother as they recollected their various mishaps…but, then again, they had failed at procuring a mixture that would cause the drinker to spout off their current thoughts so many times that it was indeed reasonable that Fred would be a bit on the sulky side. George himself now wondered whether it was worth it or not at this point, but they had come this far, and reassured himself that, if they succeeded, it would be their next big hit.

Just then, George was hit by one of his many strokes of genius. He stumbled backward and smashed deliberately into a shelf full of prototypes, spreading his arms out to grip the sides dramatically and arranged his face into that of exaggerated shock.

"FRED!"

"George?" Fred had to crack the Weasley Twin Grin; he wanted to play along.

"I…have been STRUCK!"

"Struck, you say?"

"Indeed, struck! Struck! Stricken! Stroked!"

"Oh, my! Even stroked? Dear, dear…by whom have you been struck, stricken, and stroked?"

"No less than the hand of God, brother dearest!"

At this point Fred was genuinely confused. "The hand of God?"

"THE HAND OF GOD!" George threw his arms up towards the heavens and shouted to the ceiling.

The two stared at each other as George's last shriek echoed around their small, softly flashing and whirring flat, both with the same dumbstruck, frozen expression of wide-eyed, manic excitement. Silent moments dragged on, and still they gazed, unblinking, as if immobilized by a spell in the middle of their wild rant. What appeared to be a small, Muggle spinning top fell to the floor, and their eyes flickered to it before locking back on each other's…and they promptly burst with raucous laughter.

Fred bent over so far he collapsed next to George, one hand clutching his side and the other George's shoulder. "What…what the—bloody…bloody hell—was that?" He managed to gasp, struggling to breathe properly through his hysteria. George squinted at him through eyes so crinkled and blurred with tears of mirth that they might've been swollen. Shaking and bouncing with a fit of silent giggles, all that escaped his throat in response was a sort of choked giggle.

So there they were, rolling on the floor of their flat like the complete nutters they were, laughing uproariously at a joke that wasn't even that funny to begin with which only one of them remotely understood. So immersed in their own world, they were utterly unaware of their surroundings, which led George to accidentally striking a nearby table quite hard with his foot, tipping over a small vial of muddy brown substance into their attempted Word Vomit potion…

George was first to recover, and slowly raised himself up into a sitting position. "Right. So. As I was saying, I had an idea. How about I take the potion instead of you?"

Fred, still giggling softly, stared up at his twin. "Why?"

"Well…you deserve a break from testing this stuff, and we don't want to add any more embarrassing experiences to your ever growing record."

Fred considered him for a moment, but then ruefully shook his head. "No way. What kind of brother would I be if I let you drink that stuff? But…if you really want…I suppose we could both drink it."

The Weasley Twin Grin was back in full force. "Agreed."

George scooped up two scattered cups from their work desk and dipped them in the now deep purple potion simmering away. He handed one to Fred and raised his in toast and smiled at his brother. "Here's to seventeenth time's the charm, eh?"

"Bottoms up!" Fred said gleefully. The rousing fit of laughter seemed to put new spirit into him.

With that, they tipped their glasses back and let the potion slide down their throats.

And then they waited.

After a lapse of at least ten seconds in which the potion should have taken affect, Fred blinked at his twin. "You feel anything?"

"Nope."

They continued to wait. George glanced at his wristwatch. Still nothing.

"Do you feel anything?"

"Not unless you count the fact that I just realized 'the hand of God' means 'inspiration.'"

After another two minutes of silence, Fred swore loudly and slammed his fist on the work desk, sending a few random instruments clattering to the floor.

"Well, at least there's no side affects," George said, grinning apprehensively. On a personal note, he figured that Fred would be glad of this, but apparently not.

"…I'm going to the bathroom!" Fred declared loudly, stomping across the room and slamming the door of said room shut.

George gazed at the door morosely for a moment, then hung his head and sighed. "Well, at least he's not in there trying to drown himself in the toilet from embarrassment or—"

"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGG!!!"

George jumped and glanced at the door in alarm as Fred's groan pierced the heavy silence. "Fred? FRED?!" He darted to the door and pressed himself against it. More moans of pain could be heard from within.

"Geeeorrrge?…ACK! Oh sweet Merlin—buggerfuckshitdamn! OOOOoooohh…!"

George was truly scared shitless at this point. What could have possibly happened this time? Why was Fred groaning as if being tortured mercilessly? Never had the side affects been actually painful for Fred…

"FRED! WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT'S HURTING YOU?"

"Caaan't—erg—say!"

"WHY IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S SAGGY LEFT BUTTOCK NOT?!"

Fred's only reply was more strained grunts and moans indicating severe pain.

Don't panic…Don't panic… George fought to keep calm as he raked his hands over his hair repeatedly. His eyes darted all over the room, trying to figure out what could possibly help. Giving into his mania at last, George yelped and dived at a nearby shelf and grabbed whatever was handy.

"DON'T WORRY, FRED! I'LL GET YOU OUT! I'LL KILL IT!" he shrieked hysterically, hurling spare Skiving Snackboxes at the bathroom door. Colored, double-ended sweets exploded over the floor as the boxes ruptured, only resulting in more mess than ever.

"WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!?" Fred cried from within the bathroom, voice cracking with emotion.

George could barely stand to hear such agony from his brother. "FRED! DON'T PANIC, FRED! I'LL GET YOU OUT! DON'T PANIC!" Not knowing what else to do, George rammed himself into the door pathetically.

"Okay…this isn't working! DAMMIT!" He vaulted across the room, wrenched open the door, and blundered down the stairs to their shop brimming with joke merchandise. He paused on the threshold, panting as he scanned the room for anything useful. His eyes fell upon a barrel full of jumbo size foam noodles that squeak rude words and insults with every whack and spray a jet of bubbles the refuse to pop for several hours. George seized one and glanced around once more for anything at all to help Fred. "Dammy damn damn dammit…" He muttered, unable to think clearly as another scream from upstairs warbled through the store.

"BUGGER IT!" George made a desperate leap at a nearby display and blindly snatched whatever was on it. It felt big and powerful, so without a backwards look, he flew back up stairs and flung himself into the room where Fred could still be heard grunting and moaning.

"FRED! I'VE RETURNED! I'VE GOT A NOODLE AND—" he looked down into his hands. In the light of the flat, he could see—"A JELLY JOLTER! Wait…Jelly Jolter?" He paused for a moment, considering bashing himself over the head with the useless Jelly Jolter, but instead, with a wild gleam in his eyes, aimed and fired it.

Globs of strawberry jelly rained down upon the bathroom door and sprayed across the room, coating everything in sight with sticky mess. George steadily turned up the power of the flaming pink, plastic gun until it began vibrating with energy. He squeezed his eyes shut and reamed on the power switch, shaking along with the Jolter as it sprayed a steady jet of jam; but, sure enough, the toy jelly shooting device was not meant to bring doors down, and slowly began to power down until nothing but a trickle of strawberry oozed out the end.

I'm going to open my eyes, and that door will be open, and Fred will be perfectly fine. George cracked his eyes open and saw nothing but a mass of red jelly splattered in a sickening impression of blood all over the door and the area surrounding it. He slowly closed his eyes again and clenched his fists, then, in a sudden, violent gesture, threw the Jelly Jolter across the room at the door, where it bounced off harmlessly with a dull 'thunk.'

"GEORGE! WHAT THE HELL—ERK—ARE YOU DOING?!" Fred's muffled shout sounded through the door, and was quickly followed by a particularly loud grunt.

"Nnng…nrrrg…..NYAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!" George completely lost control of himself as he charged across the room and began clobbering the jelly-smothered door with the foam noodle. Magic bubbles sprayed out the ends and bounced all over the room as squeaks of "Poo! Bugger! Git! Dung! Arse!" piped repeatedly.

"GEORGE! GEORGE, STOP IT, MAN! STOP!" And indeed he did. Breathing very heavily, he stood there, foam noodle in hand, bubbles rebounding off him, plastered with strawberry jelly. Fred's moaning could still be heard, even louder than before, and rather frantic.

"ALMOST, GEORGE! AHHRGGG…ERK—ER! AND…..DAH!" What sounded like a rock dropped into the toilet, followed by the loudest silence George had ever experienced. He stared dumbstruck at the door, frozen with horror and with a sneaking suspicion that he knew what had been paining Fred…

Just then, the door slowly slid open, and Fred emerged from the bathroom, chest heaving with every breath and face shining with sweat. "That—was—the—worst—bloody—thing—ever."

George didn't quite know what to say. He was almost certain now what had happened, and was wrestling with himself, fighting not to laugh or betray even smile. Everything in the world seemed funny right about now after all the hell he just went through. "Were you…uh, Fred, were you…by chance…constipated?"

Fred glared at his counterpart, who under his scrutinizing gaze began to crack. What started as a twitching smile evolved rapidly into a full-scale riot of hysterics erupting from George's mouth. Soon he was on the floor like earlier, rolling in jelly and swallowing a few enchanted bubbles as he shook with insane laughter and hiccups. His twin gazed down at him steadily with anger etched into his usually jolly features….but before either knew what was going on, Fred was covered in jelly and quaking with mirth beside his twin.

"George…George, you are the biggest git I have ever known!" Fred choked out, beginning to regain control of himself. "Are you a bleeding wizard or not?!"

George stared at him, utterly bewildered by the question. Of course he's a bleeding wizard! Why would—?

Oh. Oh, no. Oh bloody hell no. George slowly turned around and gazed across the desecrated room at the work desk. Beside the simmering cauldron that started all the chaos, lay Fred and George's wands, untouched since early that evening.

He turned back and peered fondly at his brother with a perfectly serene if not somewhat loopy expression. "Indeed I am, brother. Indeed I am."

Fred leapt to his feet surprisingly quickly for someone who had spent the past hour utterly constipated out of his mind and surveyed the room. "You know, this stuff would be a brilliant new product, don't you think?"

This had not yet occurred to George. The Weasley Twin Grin made it's way onto his face as he stood up to look Fred in the eye. "You know what? I think it just might." He suddenly struck a pose as he pointed to the ceiling dramatically. "WHY WORRY ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO?!"

Fred struck an equally dramatic pose. "WHEN YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT—"

"—U-NO-POO!" the twins cried together, the wily look of businessmen in action sweeping across their faces.

"Take note, Forge! THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!" Fred shouted, continuing with the rhyming slogans.

"Nice one, Gred! Noting…noting…and noted! This will be an instantly hot seller! No doubt about it!"

"Agreed, George! But, before we start marketing this stuff…I think we ought to test it again."

George looked revolted and stared at Fred as if he had grown an extra head. "Again? Oh, no way. I absolutely refuse—"

"No, no, George. I think we should test U-No-Poo on another of our precious siblings." Fred raised his eyebrows suggestively and sported a mischievous grin.

George knew exactly who he had in mind and mimicked his grin. "Oh, yes, our beloved brother Percy will be thrilled to receive some ginger newts…"

Later,
Loku