An eleven-year-old Fred Weasley was stretched out on his bed up in the Gryffindor dorms. Rain hammered against the window, casting the room into a dreary and depressing atmosphere. But the boy on the bed felt content. "We should start a business when we grow up," he said, a thoughtful smile breaking out.

"A business?" his twin asked, lying spread-eagled on the adjacent bed. They were the only two in the room who were still awake. In the bed opposite George's, Lee Jordan was gently snoring.

Fred continued looking thoughtful. "Sure, why not?"

"I don't know, Freddie, but doesn't that sound a bit…boring?" George asked. "Come on—a business?"

"No, I mean, like…a shop," Fred explained. His eyes darted back and forth as he stared up at the ceiling, wondrous visions filling his mind.

George paused for a moment, considering his brother's proposition. "What would we sell, though?"

"I'm not sure yet…"

George just snorted. "Okay," he said, smiling and rolling onto his side. He nestled his head into his pillow, eyes closing of their own accord. "Well, you sleep on it and then let me know in the morning."

"Alright," Fred murmured, more to himself than to George. "I guess we'll have to see." He stayed like that for a moment, mind still whirring with thoughts of the future. Recalling an earlier memory, when their mother had gotten slightly flustered (and which the twins had never let her forget), Fred couldn't help but say, "Goodnight, Forge."

There was such a drawn out silence that Fred thought his brother had already fallen asleep. But sure enough, causing him to smile even deeper, George humored him with a "Goodnight, Gred."

Eyes and smile shining, Fred drew the heavy red velvet hangings shut around his bed. And soon enough, he too was drifting into a blissful slumber.

"Psst! Forge! Look what I found in Filch's drawer!"

George rolled his eyes in the darkness, but he couldn't help but smile at Fred's excited hiss. He'd only just returned from setting off a Dungbomb down by the dungeons—an attempt at luring Filch (and Mrs. Norris) away from his office and into another section of the school. Which had, to his delight, been successful. But it was only a matter of time before he returned.

He walked over to where he was sure Fred's voice had come from. "Lumos," he muttered after having banged his shin against the leg of Filch's desk. Immediately, his wand tip was illuminated by a gentle light, suddenly casting the room into low lighting.

It had only been earlier that week when they'd been hauled to Filch's office (for setting off a Dungbomb, of course) and couldn't help but notice the filing cabinet against one wall. More specifically, the one particular drawer labeled 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.'

In those following days, they had whispered excitedly, plotting and scheming up in their dorm, until they'd formed the perfect plan for drawing Filch away and getting their hands on anything and everything they could from that enticing drawer.

So far, it had gone off without a hitch. And now, George thought excitedly, it was time to reap the rewards.

Fred was standing by said cabinet, holding a piece of what appeared to be blank parchment.

George stared in confusion. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Fred said excitedly. "But it's bound to be something cool, right?"

George stared at the parchment again, unsure what he was missing. "No… It's bound to be as boring and dull as it looks. Just like Filch himself. It's just… parchment?"

"Nah, mate, not this," Fred denied, eyes lit up with greedy enthusiasm. "Why else would it be in the 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous' drawer?"

It was true, George considered, unless Filch was wittier than they gave him credit for. "Could be a joke," he pointed out.

"A what?"

"Filch could have planted it there, thinking someone would break in and steal it if they believed it was something of interest."

"Why would that be funny?"

"Okay, not a 'joke,'" George backtracked, "but a trap."

"You really think Filch is that smart?" Fred asked, casting the parchment in his hand a wary glance.

George shrugged. "It just doesn't seem logical. Why would he have a random bit of parchment locked up in his cabinet? It might be confiscated, for whatever reason, but it's certainly not 'highly dangerous,' is it?"

Fred looked at the parchment in his hand once more—old, creased, and yellowing, starting to wear away at the corners, but free of any markings. Not even so much as a stain could be seen.

He looked back to his twin, slightly cocking his head and arching an eyebrow. "Or is it?"

George, too, cocked his head. "How could an old bit of parchment be highly dangerous? Why would Filch confiscate parchment?" he murmured, enticed by Fred's suggestion.

"Who knows? It could contain top-secret information," Fred guessed.

"Or recipes for forbidden potions."

"It could reveal incriminating information about…"

"The teachers?" George suggested, getting more and more excited.

"Right!" Fred exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "It could be some kind of secret code."

"Or a hidden map!"

"Ooh, yeah, good one, George!"

So engrossed were the two first-year boys in their wild guessing at what secrets the parchment might contain, that they almost missed the muffled but unmistakable sounds of footsteps drawing nearer. Fred and George locked eyes, faces pale. "Filch!" They whispered in unison, panic setting in.

"Nox," George muttered as Fred hurriedly slammed the cabinet drawer shut.

Now cast into pitch black darkness, with a lot of stumbling and muffled swearing, as the sound of the footsteps got louder and louder, Fred and George managed to slip out of the caretaker's office. Sprinting down the corridor, stolen parchment in hand, they burst round the corner just as Filch himself came marching back, only seconds to spare.

With both of their backs pressed up against the wall, George sank down to the floor. "That was close," he breathed, trying to catch his breath.

Fred, lightly panting by his side, was just about able to gulp and mutter, "Really, really close." He looked down at the parchment in his hand—the trophy from their wild little mission. Where he'd been gripping it so tightly in their hasty escape, his thumbnail had started to poke a hole into it.

"Better be careful with it," George said, eyeing his brother from the floor.

"Yeah," Fred agreed in a murmur. "But I wonder what it is…"

"Well," George said, a mischievous glimmer in his eye to match the mischievous smile spreading out on his face, "let's put it this way: either we've just stolen the greatest bit of contraband one could ever have in their possession—secrets and mysteries galore."

"Or?"

George smiled even wider. "Or we just risked our lives for a ratty bit of parchment."

For months, the Weasley twins poured their hearts and souls into unlocking the secrets of the parchment they'd stolen from Filch's office. And for months, they made absolutely no progress. They tried everything they knew—every bizarre spell and charm they could think of, and even some potions—wary of taking it too far and destroying the artifact.

But there was no change, no progress, whether positive or negative.

It seemed, on the face of it, just a harmless bit of parchment.

But even George, who'd been more skeptical of the parchment's supposed danger than his brother was, refused to give up. "It just doesn't make sense," he said one evening in the library. He and George were poring over the most advanced textbooks they'd ever read, desperately searching for a new alternative. Darkness was drawing nearer; the feast would be starting soon. "No one locks up parchment!"

"Not even Filch, deranged as he may be, is so highly-strung as to believe parchment is 'highly dangerous.'" Fred scoffed in agreement.

George looked thoughtful. "Maybe the answer lies with him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Filch must surely know what's so dangerous about this parchment—that's why he confiscated it."

"Yeah, but it's not like we can just ask him, is it?"

"No," George agreed, "but maybe we can trick it out of him. Maybe we need to do more scoping. D'you reckon there's more?"

"More?"

"In his office—in the drawer. Maybe there's something we're missing. Maybe there's a second part to this—something that we need in order to unlock its mystery and—"

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," an unexpected and stern voice piped up. A female voice.

Fred slammed the textbook he'd been reading shut, staring up at Professor McGonagall. He hadn't even seen her enter the library.

Hair pulled into her usual tight bun, she was also donning that tight-lipped frown she so often did, scrutinizing Fred behind her glasses with beady eyes. She looked deeply suspicious, before turning to George and greeting him in the same way. "Mr. Weasley," she said with a small but patronizing nod of her head.

"Evening, Professor," the two boys said in unison.

George leaped to his feet as Fred tried to cover the textbook with the sleeve of his robe. They may or may not have 'borrowed' it from the restricted section of the library.

"What brings you to the library on this fine evening, then?" George asked cheerily, trying to distract her.

But McGonagall looked no less suspicious. "I could very well ask you the same question," she retorted, lacking any warmth in her tone.

"Us?" George asked, sharing a nervous glance with his twin. He looked back to McGonagall, still smiling a little too brightly. "We, err, we're doing homework, obviously. Just a bit of studying—you know us."

"I do, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said. "Over the past few months, I have gotten to know you very well." She narrowed her eyes. "And never once have you handed in an assignment on time."

George's face fell.

"So, tell me," McGonagall went on, looking first at Fred and then back at George, "who might be the lucky professor whose assignments you do put some effort into?"

"Oh, you know," Fred said offhandedly, his arm still covering the forbidden textbook. "Professor Snape."

"Yes!" George exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "Snape," he assured McGonagall. "He, err, he scares us…?"

Fred nodded eagerly in agreement.

McGonagall just raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, not that you don't," George quickly backtracked. "No, we're absolutely terrified of you, Professor, don't you worry!"

McGonagall looked briefly amused, then exasperated. "Mr. Weasley—"

"The truth is," Fred interrupted, "that we, err—"

George stared at him with questioning eyes.

"—we're turning over a new leaf. We, ah, we realize we've not been the best students so far, and as of today, that all changes," Fred declared. He was so nervous that he'd started absentmindedly drumming his wand against the ever mysterious parchment.

"Very noble of you," McGonagall said, her eyes screaming the sarcasm her tone didn't quite convey. She nodded to the blank bit of parchment. "I see you're making good progress."

"Early days," George said brightly. "Early days."

"And you're so dedicated to your new studious attitude that you're both of you compromising your health?"

"What?"

"The feast," McGonagall explained, beady eyes still gleaming. "You've missed many assignments but you've never missed a meal. You're the only ones in the library." She very pointedly looked around the abandoned room.

"Oh, Fred and I prefer to work in solitude," George said offhandedly. "Less distracting."

"Oh, yeah," Fred agreed. "But believe me, Professor, we're just finishing up here—we'll be down to the feast right away."

McGonagall, though still deeply suspicious of the Weasley twins, just rolled her eyes. "Very well," she conceded. "I expect to see you shortly."

"Oh, you will," George said, innocently grinning. Fred replicated the grin, still drumming away on the parchment.

McGonagall surveyed them from beneath her glasses one last time, her penetrative stare trying to unlock their secrets. But both merely continued smiling, seemingly innocent. "I know you're up to something," she said in an exasperated voice, but she was already walking away. A small but fond smile had broken out, hidden from the twins. "And I want that book returned to the restricted section before the feast is over, Mr. Weasley."

George's eyes widened, but Fred continued to grin. "Just trying to get the best resources for our studies."

"Don't play games with me, Weasley, I know you too well! I'll let this go by as I can't discern what you're actually doing, but when I find out, I can assure you, you'll be in big trouble." Her light-hearted threat hung in the air.

George physically and mentally exhaled a sigh of relief as McGonagall reached the door of the library.

Fred was still drumming the parchment, now more out of habit and excitement than nerves. "Oh, believe me, Professor," he said good-heartedly to her retreating figure, "have no fear; I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

The reaction was immediate. McGonagall was gone, but George's eyes were drawn to what was happening on the parchment. "Fred!" he gasped, eyes wide.

The other boy, still grinning obliviously, looked to his twin. "I know, close one, right?"

"No, not that." George pointed to the parchment. "That!"

Fred and George both looked to the mysterious contraband they'd been trying, and failing, for months to understand, mouths now hanging open in shock. The blank bit of parchment was no longer blank. Ink was spreading across it like blood spilling from a wound, forming intricate patterns and words.

"Did you spill ink on it?" George asked in a panic.

"No, of course not," Fred denied. "It's doing it completely by itself!"

Both of them leaned in to watch as the secrets they'd been so craving were finally revealed. "What did you do?"

"I—I don't know," Fred stuttered, completely gobsmacked. "I just…I was tapping it, wasn't I? But I didn't do anything; I didn't say anything."

"You must have," George said, as they continued to watch the ink swirl and spread. "You must have said something—a keyword or a phrase."

"But what?"

"Doesn't matter—we can figure that out later. But first," George breathed, nodding down at the parchment, the ink now settled and unmoving, "what is it?"

The Weasley twins peered at their trophy in wonder. In unison, they read the words now scrawled on the parchment. "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP."

"A map!" George said excitedly.

"Magical mischief-makers," Fred said even more excitedly. "Just like us."

"A map of what?" George wondered

"It's a map of the school, I think," Fred replied eagerly, examining the parchment. "Of Hogwarts."

"Cool!" George said. He bent over the map, examining it beneath the dim light of the lantern Fred had put on the table earlier.

"Look, there's the library," Fred said, pointing to a section of the map, and there's—" He stopped, the breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wide.

"What is it?" George asked frantically.

Fred moved his finger to point out two solitary dots contained within the map's library. When he spoke, his voice was slightly hoarse and full of disbelieving awe. "There's us."

"What?" George snatched the map off the table, peering down at it closely. Sure enough, there were two tiny dots labeled 'Fred Weasley' and 'George Weasley' exactly where the real Fred and George were positioned in the library. Something else caught George's eye. "Freddie, look!"

Labeled dots were scattered all over the school. And not only that, they were moving.

"This map shows where everyone is in real time!" George exclaimed, unable to believe it. "We've hit the jackpot!"

"No wonder Filch confiscated it," Fred said.

"Do you think he knew how to use it?"

"Who cares? We get to use it now!"

And boy, there was a lot of stuff they could use it for.

"Look, there's McGonagall," George pointed out. McGonagall's dot was moving at a fast pace, away from the library and towards the Great Hall. "Oh, Freddie, the things we could do with this!"

"The mischief we could make!" Fred agreed.

Something else caught George's eye. "Hey, what's this?" he wondered aloud, spotting something unusual by McGonagall's dot. She'd just passed a tapestry they knew well, but more interestingly, behind that tapestry, was what appeared to be a secret passage.

"A secret passage," Fred breathed in wonder. "Just think what else this map could reveal."

"And hey, isn't he that Ravenclaw prefect?" George was pointing to an isolated dot on the map. The dot was making its way down the corridor, headed for the Great Hall, and a few minutes away from passing the secret passage.

"The one who tried to give us detention last week?"

"That's the one."

"I have a few spare Dungbombs in my pocket," Fred pointed out.

The two boys shared an excited look.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" George asked.

"Yep! Let's do it!" Fred replied.

A few minutes later, screams and shrieks were heard emitting from the empty corridor. Hidden behind the tapestry, Fred and George watched with glee as a vexed prefect gagged and spluttered, confused and disgusted as to where the foul odor had suddenly come from.

"That was wicked," Fred said.

"This changes everything," George agreed. "This leads to mischief—to pranking—on a whole new level."

"That's it!" Fred suddenly exclaimed.

"What's what?"

"That's where our talents lie," Fred said in an excited whisper. The prefect was still gagging and flailing as he tried to discover the perpetrator. "This is what we're good at, George—pranking."

"So?"

"So"—a glimmer of joy, of mischief, had flitted into Fred's eyes, matching the smile on his face—, "I think we just figured out what our shop will be. This is it, Forge."

"Gred, I think you might just be right."

A/N - Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest

Season 4, Round 5, The Mystery Boxes

Holyhead Harpies, Keeper

Prompt: Canon Box - Setting: Hogwarts

Word Count (Google Docs/Pages): 2,999

Special thanks to my amazing beta, Ever (HP-Forever-XX)!