One of the drawers was labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous" and it wasn't even locked, unless you counted a mechanical lock that Fred could easily pick with a hairpin. He opened the drawer.
The contents were disappointing at first glance. There were several tired old fanged frisbees, some dungbombs and fireworks long past their expiration dates, and a worn, folded piece of blank parchment. He picked up the parchment, hoping there might be something interesting written inside it.
As he picked it up, words appeared in a small, cramped handwriting: "Mr. Moony politely requests an introduction to the person picking us up."
Fred froze. "Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain," that's what their father always said. However, their father always said quite a lot of things, such as "You'd better not be planning anything," and "Get down from there!" and "I absolutely forbid it," and Fred could see no reason to start following his advice now.
As Fred hesitated, the words faded and were replaced by different words, in a formal, old-fashioned handwriting full of graceful flourishes. "Mr. Padfoot would like to tell Mr. Moony that now is not the time to stand upon ceremony, as we have been stuck in a fucking filing cabinet for Merlin knows how long and Mr. Padfoot at least is going out of his fucking mind with boredom." There were some extra flourishes of calligraphy on the "fucking"s.
These words quickly faded and were replaced by others in a straightforward, blocky handwriting: "Mr. Prongs would like to apologize for Mr. Padfoot's language while pointing out that he was not particularly sane to begin with, so he can't blame this drawer for his madness."
Fred looked over his shoulder at his twin, who was busy loosening all the screws in Filch's desk with the screwdriver of his pocketknife. "George, look at this!"
George left Filch's desk and went to the filing cabinet to look at the parchment, now blank again.
"There are people trapped in this parchment," said Fred, holding it up to his brother. Their eyes met, and he suddenly dropped it on the floor and they both backed away from it.
"You don't want to get trapped in a piece of parchment," said George unnecessarily.
They both inched forward again when small, cramped words appeared. "Mr. Moony wholeheartedly supports the caution of the second gentleman whose voice we heard, and would like to assure him that we are not, technically speaking, people. We are mere impressions of the personalities of the creators of this artifact, much like the portraits that line the walls of Hogwarts. Our creators are still, presumably, roaming free, without a thought for us, their creation, abandoned in a drawer in Filch's office. There is absolutely no danger of any actual people getting stuck in this parchment."
"Well, it would say that," said George.
"But we're going to nick it anyway, aren't we?" said Fred.
"Of course," said George.
Fred picked up the parchment. "We'll talk more once we're out of Filch's office," he told it.
Words appeared in a sloppy scribble. "Mr. Wormtail thanks our rescuers, and likes the idea of nicking things from Filch's office. Can you set off any dungbombs on your way out?"
"I like the way you think," said George.
This called for secrecy, so they headed for the disused closet they'd found on the left hand corridor of the seventh floor. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but the dust proved that no one ever came in there but them, so they knew it was safe.
George said lumos to make his wand glow. Fred took the map out. "We can talk now, we're out of Filch's office."
"Mr. Wormtail would like to congratulate you on your accomplishment," said the sloppy scribble. "Rescuing us is a feat that even our creators didn't manage, although we don't actually know if they tried."
"Mr. Padfoot wishes to know to whom we owe our gratitude?" said the old-fashioned calligraphy, clearly in much better spirits now.
"Mr. Moony is wondering where we are. How did you leave Hogwarts so fast?" said the cramped handwriting.
Fred and George looked at each other. "We're still at Hogwarts," said George.
There was no reply to this for a while.
"Last Mr. Wormtail knew, we were in the left hand corridor of the seventh floor, but now we have no idea where we are, which is very disconcerting."
"We're just in a closet," said Fred.
"It's very dusty," said George. "We came here for some privacy. No one ever comes here but us."
There was a long pause after this. Then, in blocky writing, "Mr. Prongs is extremely impressed with your knowledge of Hogwarts topography, as you apparently know something that even we don't know, and we thought we knew practically everything about the subject."
"What can a piece of parchment know?" asked Fred.
"Mr. Padfoot recognizes the tone of voice calculated to incite us to brag about our knowledge, a tone which you chose in the hopes that we would reveal valuable information to you. We are increasingly impressed with you, Messrs Fred and George Weasley." The names were ornamented with particularly beautiful calligraphy.
Fred and George stared at their names. "Why did you ask for an introduction if you already knew who we are?" asked George.
"Mr. Moony would like to say he observes the social niceties," said the cramped writing, "but the fact of the matter is that Mr. Moony is not a braggart, unlike some occupants of this parchment. Mr. Moony feels no urge to show off our knowledge to any random person who breaks into Filch's office."
"Mr. Padfoot does not feel that he revealed any great secret by telling our rescuers their own names," said the calligraphy. "They were bound to find out eventually."
"Mr. Wormtail thinks that Mr. Padfoot is missing the point," said the sloppy writing. "Sure, they knew their own names already, but they didn't know that we're charmed to know the names of everyone in the castle until Mr. Padfoot blabbed their names to them, did they?"
These words vanished very quickly. Next, the blocky writing said, "Mr. Prongs feels that that is enough about us. Fred and George, please tell us about yourselves."
Fred and George looked at each other. How much should they reveal? There was no knowing how dangerous a piece of parchment could be in a school of witchcraft and wizardry.
"We're brothers," said Fred.
"Twins," added George.
"First years."
"We like playing quidditch."
"But first-years aren't allowed to join the house teams."
"We've got ginger hair, and freckles."
"They can see us, you don't need to say that."
"We don't know if they can."
"Mr. Padfoot wishes to know what you were doing in Filch's office."
"Well, I was breaking into his filing cabinet," said Fred.
"And I was loosening all the screws in his desk to make it collapse the next time someone leans on it," said George.
"And you'd better not tell anyone," said Fred.
"Or we'll use you to line an owl cage," added George.
"Mr. Prongs wishes to know what house you were sorted into."
"Gryffindor," said the twins simultaneously.
"Our whole family's Gryffindor," said Fred proudly.
"Mr. Prongs wonders if you two have heard of some other ginger-haired Gryffindor brothers named Fabian and Gideon Prewett."
"Those were our mum's brothers!" said George. "They died in the war though. We never met them."
There was no response to this for a while. Then, "Mr. Prongs is very sorry to hear this news, but is glad that their nephews seem to be following in their footsteps."
"We've told you plenty," said Fred. "Now who or what are you?"
"Mr. Moony regretfully informs Messrs Fred and George that we are charmed to conceal the identities of our creators, so you won't get any information from us about who we are. As to what we are, we were created to serve a specific purpose. Then our creators went and got us confiscated by Filch, dooming us to years stuck in a filing cabinet, unable to serve our purpose, which as you can imagine we are rather miffed about. Since you rescued us, we are cautiously optimistic that we can resume serving our purpose, and that you would be able and hopefully willing to rescue us from any filing cabinets in which we may find ourselves imprisoned in the future."
"So, you don't like being stuck in filing cabinets," said George. "That isn't really much of a distinction. What do you do when you're not stuck in a filing cabinet? What is your purpose?"
"Mr. Moony is wondering what you would do with the information," said the cramped writing. "What pastimes currently occupy your hours?"
"How do we know you won't tell anyone?" said Fred.
"Mr. Padfoot thinks that is a most promising start to a story, and also would like to remind our new friends that we are just a piece of parchment, and therefore completely at your mercy. If you wish to prevent us from telling your secrets, as much as we hate to suggest this, you could simply lock us in a filing cabinet, trunk, or other such prison."
Fred and George looked at each other. Should they trust the parchment? They couldn't help but feel a certain affinity to these four fellow dungbomb enthusiasts. Yes, they decided. They would trust them.
So they told the parchment about their pranks. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs were extremely appreciative, and never once said "That seems dangerous," or "That sounds kind of mean," or any downer like that.
"Mr. Padfoot is most impressed that you accomplished so much, so young, before even getting to Hogwarts. And what have you done at Hogwarts?"
"Well, we haven't been here very long," said Fred.
"And we've spent rather a lot of our time here in detention," complained George.
"We're trying to figure out the lay of the land,"
"But it's hard to explore without getting caught by Filch,"
"Or his damned cat,"
"But we are working on it," finished George.
"Mr. Padfoot, were he asked to summarize what you two just said, would say that you two are up to no good. Would you say that's a fair assessment?"
Fred and George nodded, then wondered if the parchment could see them, then simultaneously said "Yes."
"Mr. Prongs wonders if you would solemnly swear it."
"Do you mean an Unbreakable Vow?" asked Fred, feeling a touch of fear.
"Mr. Moony assures Mr. Fred that we are not asking you to swear any sort of Unbreakable Vow. We are simply asking if you are willing to speak the words, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.' This is not a binding promise, and there will be no punishment, from us at least, should you find yourself doing any good afterwards."
"That sounds all right, I guess," said George.
"Mr. Wormtail wonders if you would be willing to say this phrase while tapping this parchment with your wand."
This was it. Did they dare?
"What will happen when we do that? asked Fred.
"Mr. Padfoot has the feeling that you two would enjoy the surprise, and doesn't want to spoil it for you."
"Mr. Moony would like to assure our new friends that the magic activated by this phrase can be deactivated simply with another wand tap and the phrase, 'Mischief managed." Feel free to practice these phrases and get comfortable with them before you use them in earnest."
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"Mischief managed."
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"Mischief managed."
"Mr. Moony understands that our new friends may be feeling some trepidation, and is willing to answer your questions."
"Nah, I like surprises," said Fred. He tapped the parchment with his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Fred and George were disappointed. There were no explosions. No dragons flew out of the parchment, and they weren't sucked into it to emerge in an alien world. Instead the parchment filled with lines and writing, in what they recognized as Mr. Padfoot's old-fashioned calligraphy. "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP"
"That's it?" said Fred. "A map?"
"A map of Hogwarts!" said George. He unfolded it and peered closer, shining his wandlight on it. "And look at all the names! Good Godric, this is what they meant! Every person in Hogwarts has a moving dot on this map!"
"Where are we?" asked Fred. They looked on the seventh floor, but their closet wasn't there.
"I guess it's not perfect," said George. "But everything else I recognize is here. Look, here's the Great Hall, and Gryffindor tower, and the Transfiguration Classroom... Here's Mrs. Norris! And Filch!"
The twins stared at each other as they realized that the dreaded caretaker and his cat could never sneak up on them again. Schemes for pranks started forming automatically in their minds.