Fred realized that waiting was not his strong suit. As he leaned against the wall around the corner from Filch's office, he found it hard to act casual. It didn't help that George wasn't with him. Despite only being at Hogwarts for a few months, he and his twin had already built up a reputation for mischief. If a professor or prefect saw either one of them loitering in the halls alone, he figured it would look suspicious regardless of how disinterested he made his expression. Then again, it would probably look just as suspicious if they were together.
At last, an impressive fart noise split the air, rippling down the corridor with a waft of eau-de-sewage. Filch's office door squealed as it was thrown open. Fred smirked. This is too easy. The old custodian clomped rapidly toward the sound, grumbling about twins and Dungbombs and how he wished disembowling was still allowed. The door didn't close behind him.
Once the heavy footsteps faded, Fred turned the corner and dashed into Filch's office. (It was a good thing he'd left it unlocked in his haste; it took a lot more than a simple spell to open that door.) Having been here for frequent scoldings, Fred knew where to go: straight for a deep drawer labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous." He drew his wand.
"Alohamora."
The drawer surged open, displaying a disorganized assortment of objects, some magical and some seemingly ordinary, piled so high that Fred would've had to bury his whole forearm to touch the bottom. Businesslike, he used a Fanged Frisbee to scoop through the randomness, searching for anything useful. A violet top-like device caught his eye. He picked it up and flinched as the thing started spinning and whistling like a teapot. A Sneakoscope, duh. He considered it, but he doubted he and George would benefit from something that sensed deception. It would be going off every time they tried to pull a prank…so, almost always.
Fred closed his fist around the spinning device and shoved it to the bottom of the drawer to mute the sound. His knuckles brushed against something crinkly. Bewildered, he pulled out a large, neatly folded, and very dingy piece of parchment. He unfolded the paper with a flourish, and it almost touched the floor. It seemed to be blank, but that didn't keep his heart from racing. He had a feeling he'd just found the coolest thing in the entire drawer.
A fluttering whistle made his heart jump. George's ten second warning. Fred hastily folded the paper, relocked the drawer, and bolted before the custodian returned.
When George regrouped with his twin at their meeting point – their bedroom – Fred was already there, sitting at his desk with a book open on his lap.
"Anything good?" George asked him.
Smiling smugly, Fred gestured to the blank sheet of paper spread across his desk. "Behold: our best score since that Singing Yo-Yo that could break glass."
"What is it?"
"I dunno, but we're going to find out," Fred answered, patting the book in his lap. George recognized it as the curse-breaking book they'd gotten from the library when they'd tried to crack the spell on Filch's door. It was currently opened to the chapter titled "Revealing the Unseen".
"Blueprints written in invisible ink?" George wondered aloud, feeling a grin tug at his lips.
His twin's ruddy brown eyes gleamed with excitement. "Whatever it is, it looks old. It must have been buried in there for a decade or two, at least."
"Sounds promising."
"Most security spells lose strength over time," Fred agreed, on the same wavelength as usual. "But it hasn't responded to anything I've used on it far. We might have to try some more advanced spells."
George pulled up his own chair and settled down next to him. "Don't worry. We'll crack this thing in no time."
Two hours and three-hundred pages later, George was ready to give up. No matter what incantations, code words, or desperate prayers they used, the old sheet of parchment was as unhelpful and uninteresting as ever.
"What if it really is a blank sheet of paper? What if Filch just suspected it was something else? The man isn't the sharpest tool in the shed."
Fred's stubborn look didn't waver. "What if it's something amazing? We'll never find out if we quit now! There are other books in the library like this one. Just because a few spells didn't work doesn't mean that nothing will."
"Do you think it's worth it? It could just be some bloke's doodles or random notes."
"Why would it be so well-protected then?" Fred questioned. He frowned broodingly at the page. "Maybe you're right, though, about it being something personal." After a moment, he beseeched it, "Show yourself. You can trust us." He waited a few seconds, but the page remained blank.
"It can probably detect dishonesty," George teased.
Fred didn't stop glaring at the paper. He seemed determined to prove that his score wasn't rubbish. With a sharp tap, he pressed his wand to the page and said emphatically, "Please, you beautiful piece of parchment, I know you're something wicked – and I will personally drop ten more Dungbombs in Filch's office if you show me why he confiscated you."
George snorted. "You think it's vengeful?"
Fred shot him a disgruntled look. "I don't see you coming up with—" Then he turned back to the paper and gasped. He frantically swatted his twin's shoulder as words appeared in the middle of the page, like someone was writing them in real time. George watched in awe as the loose, curvy handwriting spelled out a simple question:
Do you solemnly swear it?
For a long moment, the two of them could do nothing but gape. Then their eyes met, and their stupefied stares morphed into identical grins. "Well, I stand corrected! It is vengeful!" George remarked gleefully, and Fred laughed – but as he stared at the writing, his giddy expression fell away. George knew exactly what was coming. Lazily, he said it with him:
"Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain.'"
As something who worked with enchanted Muggle artifacts, their dad lived by that rule. But George waved a dismissive hand. "It's a piece of parchment, Freddie. How dangerous can it be? Besides, we might as well find out what it is first."
"You were ready to give up on it a minute ago!"
"That was before we made progress! You really want to quit now that we've gotten something out of it?" George asked, but he knew fully well that his twin was too curious and stubborn for that.
Fred pondered the page for a long moment. Then he pressed his wand to it again and said, "I solemnly swear it." The result was equally as anticlimactic as their past attempts.
"Let me give it a go," George tried, touching his own wand to the page. "I solemnly swear not to reveal your secrets." The page didn't respond. "Alright, come off it. I know you can hear me. What do you want from us?"
A spark of excitement surged through him as another line of writing appeared. Apparently, someone else was behind this message. The font was more rushed and jagged; George couldn't decide if the writer was just impatient or carelessly cool. It was a bit harder to read than the first, and the tone seemed more confrontational:
What do you want from us?
Fred frowned. "'Us?' There's more than one?"
"We want to know what this bloody thing is," George answered grumpily to no avail.
"It's giving us hints," Fred remarked. George raised his eyebrows, and he justified, "If I were a magical item stuck in a drawer for years, I reckon I'd want someone to figure me out and get some use out of me."
Considering the apparent sentience of the paper, George didn't have an argument for that. He reread the words on the page, attempting to find the connection. "Maybe we have to say something specific, like a password. What did you say the first time? Something about getting back at Filch?"
Looking hopeful, Fred pressed his wand to the page and announced, "I solemnly swear that I will load Filch's office with Dungbombs."
Nothing happened.
"Too specific," George noted. "Try something more general."
"I solemnly swear that I will get revenge."
"Merlin, that's dark."
Fred pouted. "You try it, then."
George tapped his wand on the paper and said, "I solemnly swear that I'm going to cause trouble." He waited, but there was no response. He tried again, "I solemnly swear that I'm not going to get caught."
"I think you're being too literal."
"I think this password is too specific," George complained. Scowling, he stabbed his wand against the paper and snapped, "Oh infuriating piece of rubbish, give us another tip."
Four more words showed up underneath the others in a sloppy, disjointed scribble:
Patience is a virtue.
Fred snickered, and George scowled at him. "You're siding with the snarky piece of paper?"
"Maybe if you'd ask it nicely," Fred needled him. He put his wand on the page and reasoned with it: "Look, we know what you're doing. You need to make sure we're worthy to see whatever you want to show us. I get it. If I made something brilliant, I'd want to make sure the next person who finds it isn't an idiot. But would it really hurt to give us one more hint? Or to at least let us know if we're close?"
To George's surprise, another message appeared. This time, the writing was neat and even, with just a dash of flair:
Lofty couples refuse kindness.
George stared blankly at the strange phrase. "Is this thing broken?"
Fred seemed unsure. "It must be a riddle."
"What kind of riddle is that? It's not even asking a question!"
"It might be part of the password. 'Lofty' means high up, right?"
"Or pompous. In this case, it seems like the latter. Only a prat would 'refuse kindness'."
"Two prats," Fred corrected. "It says 'couples'. Maybe it's talking about us."
"Ah, yes," George suggested dryly. "A couple of prats refusing to understand these kind hints." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "This is exhausting. We've been at this for hours. We're going to miss dinner if we stay here much longer."
Fred gazed at the setting sun, probably just now acknowledging his empty stomach. At last, he admitted reluctantly, "I suppose we could use a break."
Not much had changed after an hour of brainstorming over shepherd's pie. As the twins headed back to the dormitory, Fred's mind was still racing. He scanned over the notes that they'd scribbled out over dinner, with the riddle taunting him at the top of the page. "'Lofty couples refuse kindness'," he muttered, lost in thought.
"Would you stop saying that?" George asked tiredly. "I'm going to be hearing those words in my sleep." He seemed a little miffed that the topic hadn't changed, but he'd participated in the analysis anyway. Fred appreciated that. It was tempting to give in to his brother's frustration, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this paper was worth the effort. Plus, he would've been very disappointed if this supposed treasure he'd snatched from Filch turned out to be useless. For his own dignity as much as anything, he refused to give up – especially not when the paper was trying to help them crack the code.
"You know what I don't get?" Fred said suddenly, frowning at their notes.
"This entire thing?" George suggested wryly.
"The part about 'couples'. It seems off. That paper doesn't strike me as something mushy."
"You're biased, Freddie. It could very well be a huge love poem."
"Would a love poem ask what you want from it, with underlines for emphasis?" Fred argued. George only shrugged. "I think we're going about this wrong," Fred went on, glancing at their notes. "We're trying to get a meaning out of this phrase, but what if it's not supposed to have a meaning? What if it's just bogus?"
"So you agree with me? Excellent. Let's use it as a bookmark and see if it gets irritated enough to give us a real hint."
Fred rolled his eyes. "Work with me here, Georgie. Maybe it's not about the phrase. Maybe each word has its own meaning. It could be part of the code."
George seemed intrigued despite himself. "You think if we take each word individually and find the right meaning, they'll make sense when we put them back together?"
Fred smiled. "Now you're getting it."
A few minutes later, the twins were back in their bedroom, poring over the page just like earlier, only with their own sheet of notes. The mysterious writing had vanished, but they'd copied each message from memory. They were in the process of dissecting the first three when Fred spoke up. "The second phrase, do you think that one could be a clue as well?"
George frowned at their notes. "'What do you want from us?' How do you figure?"
"We might need the right reason for using this thing. Maybe that's what the last phrase is spelling out."
"What do you reckon it wants to be used for?"
Fred narrowed his eyes at the blank page like he was trying to see through it. "No good, I'm sure. If Filch took this thing, it was because the person using it was doing something they shouldn't have been."
George barely heard that last part. He couldn't tear his eyes away from their notes. "No good," he mumbled. He felt a grin creep onto his face as his twin watched in bewilderment. "You're a genius, Fred."
"Sure, but why?"
"No good!" George repeated excitedly. "Those are two of our words!" He pointed to the second half of the phrase they'd been studying. "'Refuse kindness'. To refuse means you're saying 'no'—""
"And kindness is another word for 'good'," Fred finished eagerly. "Brilliant!"
"So, what's the first half?"
The two of them frowned at their list of word associations. "Lofty couples," Fred mumbled to himself.
"Two of something?" George suggested.
"Two…no good…" Fred's eyes widened. "I've got it! 'Up to no good'! Lofty means up high, and couples come in twos!"
George felt a rush of excitement. "Well, what are you waiting for? Try it!"
Fred took a deep breath, touched his wand to the page, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The result was instantaneous. Black ink revealed itself from the end of Fred's wand. The tendrils spread and connected and wove into an elaborate web of shapes, dots, and labels to form—
"A map," George breathed, barely containing his elation.
Reverently, Fred traced his fingers along the neat, curvy handwriting that had appeared in the middle of the sheet. "'Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map'."
George couldn't close his mouth. "It's all of Hogwarts?"
Fred started to grin. "It's moving! Look!" He pointed to the plan of the Gryffindor bedrooms and took a few steps away from the desk. On the map, a tiny set of footprints labeled "Fred Weasley" mimicked his motion.
George combed the map for Filch's name and saw him in his office, along with a small set of feline footprints labeled "Mrs. Norris". He felt so thrilled he could cry. "It's even got his cat on here!"
Fred's laugh was half-delighted, half-maniacal. "We are never going to get caught again."
George couldn't keep the smile off his face as he observed the distinct style of each of the Marauder's signatures: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. It seemed they'd written to them in reverse order. Prongs had given them the first innocuous and slightly vengeful hint, then Padfoot with the pointed question, Wormtail with the sarcasm, and Moony with the helpful riddle. "Is it possible to be in love with four blokes you've never met?"
Fred seemed proud of himself. "What were you saying about using it as a bookmark?"
George raised his hands. "Alright, you win. This was very worth it. In fact..." He quirked an eyebrow at his twin. "I believe you should have the honor of deciding what we should do first."
Fred's eyes reflected his mischief as he scanned over the map. He pointed to a dark shaded path that tapered off from the third floor and ran off the edge of the paper. "What do you make of this?"
"Looks like it leads out of the castle," George reasoned happily. "Maybe to Hogsmeade?"
The two of them shared a knowing look. "What do you think the Marauders would do?" Fred asked in a sober tone.
"I reckon they'd go and find out," George responded coolly.
Fred scooped up the map and folded it into his schoolbag. "Come on, then, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—"
With identical grins, they finished the sentence together: "It's time to get up to no good."