Chapter 6 - Mischief Managed

It was just past midnight, and Ava stood by the lake, shivering. A light mist clung to the ground, and the stars overhead glittered faintly above the inky water. She tugged her black turtleneck tighter around her, Gryffindor scarf wound snugly at her neck, a black knit beanie pulled low over her ears. The night was quiet save for the wind threading through the trees and the occasional rustle from the Forbidden Forest.

She checked her watch again. Five past.

Typical.

Fred and George were many things. Brilliant, reckless, clever…but punctual wasn't one of them.

She gave them five more minutes, hugging her arms around herself for warmth, just as two figures appeared in the distance, striding across the grass with a casual confidence only troublemakers could pull off.

"Sorry, love," George called, blowing into his hands. "Ran into Filch near the Charms corridor. Had to take the long way 'round."

Fred slid his arm around Ava's shoulders as they reached her, his grin cocky despite the cold. "Hope you weren't waitin' too long. I'd hate for you to freeze to death out here before we had our fun."

"I am freezing," Ava muttered through a yawn, leaning instinctively into Fred's warmth. "You better have a good reason for dragging me out here. Preferably one that doesn't end with detention."

Fred's arm tightened slightly around her. She didn't mind. In fact… it was nice. Comforting. Warm.

They'd grown taller over the summer. Both of them did. Ava wasn't short by any means, but Fred's chin hovered just above her head now, and it was strangely grounding, standing next to him like this.

George, smirking to himself, reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of old parchment. He handed it to her with a flourish.

Ava frowned, unimpressed. "You woke me up for this? A bit of scrap paper?"

She went to hand it back, but Fred gently held her in place as George pulled out his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink bloomed across the parchment-like spilled watercolors, curling into elegant script.

Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map.

Ava's brow lifted in surprise as the parchment bloomed further, revealing detailed hallways, classrooms, and tiny labeled footprints moving across the paper.

"It's a map of Hogwarts," Fred said, a note of pride in his voice.

"It shows where everyone is, in real time," George added. "And more importantly…"

"It shows seven hidden passages out of the castle. Including straight into Hogsmeade," they finished in unison.

Ava blinked, her fingers running over the detailed ink trails. "This is… brilliant. Where did you get it?"

"Filch's office," Fred said casually.

"First year," George added.

"Drawer marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.' Obviously it had our name on it."

Ava laughed softly, eyes scanning the tiny, labeled footprints. There was Filch, stomping down a corridor near the Great Hall. Lupin was still in his office. Dumbledore, curiously, was pacing in front of it. And then, there were the three of them– Fred, George, and herself, standing by the lake.

"No wonder you two always know when I'm coming."

Fred winked. "Can't have you sneaking off with Quidditch captains without us noticing."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "So, I'm guessing you're about to show me one of those secret passages, then?"

Fred bowed dramatically. "Of course. A gentleman never lets a lady miss out on Honeydukes."

George led the way toward the edge of the forest, where a thick patch of tall grass concealed a hidden slope. Beneath it, a narrow entrance descended into the dark.

"It's one of the longer tunnels," he explained, "but no one ever checks it. Safer, if you're going without the map."

On their way back toward the castle, Ava pulled her arms tighter around herself. The chill had deepened, but she was warm from laughter and adrenaline. At the steps to the courtyard, she stopped and turned to them, beaming.

"You two have no idea how much this means to me."

George grinned. "Don't mention it. Just don't get caught. Or if you do, make sure it's a funny story."

Fred chuckled beside her but didn't say anything. His hands were shoved deep into his coat pockets, jaw tight, eyes focused somewhere over her shoulder.

"I guess now I won't have to cancel plans with Oliver," Ava said casually, glancing up at the dark castle windows. "We're going into Hogsmeade this weekend."

Fred flinched, almost imperceptibly, but she saw it. A flicker of something before he turned his face away.

"You're going with Wood?" George asked. His voice carried just a note of surprise, not judgmental, but not thrilled either. "Huh. Well… make sure he behaves himself."

Ava smiled, but this time it was softer, more self-conscious. "I can handle Oliver."

Fred's voice came low, clipped. "Right. Glad we could help."

Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and headed toward the tower entrance. A door slammed somewhere above moments later.

Ava blinked after him, confused. "What's his problem?"

George gave her a meaningful look but didn't say it outright. Instead, he sighed and pulled his hat off. "Do you really have to ask?"

She frowned. "He's been… strange lately."

"Give him a day," George said with a shrug. "You know Fred… a bit of drama in the bloodstream. He'll shake it off."

He offered her a parting wink before following his brother up the stairs, leaving Ava alone in the common room, staring at the fire.


Fred stormed into their dorm and flung open his trunk, rifling through it like it had personally offended him.

"Where the hell are my bloody pajama pants?!"

George strolled in a minute later, tugging off his scarf. "Y'know, it's a bit much to rage-spiral about flannel."

Fred hurled a pillow across the room. "It's not the flannel. It's Wood."

George raised a brow, sinking onto his bed. "Ah. Of course. The eternal rival. What'd he do now?"

"He's a prat!" Fred snapped, yanking his pants free from beneath a pile of socks. "He's just going to use her. That's what he does."

"Ava's not an idiot," George said, voice calm. "She's smart. And terrifying when she wants to be. She's not exactly the kind of girl who lets herself get played."

Fred didn't respond right away. He pulled on his pajamas and flopped onto his bed, hands raking through his hair.

"She's worth more than that," he muttered. "She deserves more than some smug broom-obsessed tosser who's only just noticed her now."

George studied him from across the room, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Then maybe," he said slowly, "you should've said something before he did."

Fred didn't answer. He lay there in silence, arms folded under his head, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some clarity.

Spoiler Alert... It didn't.