The Gryffindor Tower had settled into an uneasy quiet, though whispers still flitted like shadows beneath the four-poster beds. The events of the Halloween Feast clung to the castle like fog—the death of Professor Line had stunned the school. Even the portraits lining the spiral staircase seemed restless, their painted eyes darting nervously as Cael climbed toward the boys' dormitory.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Fred and George Weasley lounged on their beds, absently tossing a small enchanted rubber ball between them. Lee Jordan sat by the window, watching the stormy reflection of the enchanted ceiling ripple in the tower's high windows, rain streaking the glass like tears.
"You're late," George remarked, snatching the ball mid-air as Cael stepped in.
"Just listening for gossip in the common room," Cael replied, pulling off his cloak .
Fred let the ball bounce off the ceiling with a dull thud. His grin was quick, but his eyes still held unease. "Hogwarts Halloween tradition, innit?"
Cael arched a brow. "Tradition? You lot act like death's part of the decorations."
Lee's voice was quiet from the window. "Every year, mate… Something happens." His gaze drifted back to the stormy glass. "Pranks, accidents—but this? This isn't some joke gone sideways."
"Yeah," George added, tossing the ball aside, his playful facade slipping. "Last year, Peeves flooded the Astronomy Tower with pumpkin slime. Nearly killed the telescopes, but no one got hurt."
Fred's grin faltered for a heartbeat. "This though… Professor Line—dead on the floor before dessert."
Cael dropped onto his bed, stretching out with a thoughtful sigh. "Poison? Spell? Or just Hogwarts being Hogwarts?"
"Take your pick," Fred replied, twirling the rubber ball between his fingers. "Could be the You-Know-Who Curse on the DADA Class . Could be bad luck. Could be…" He trailed off, expression unreadable.
The room lapsed into uneasy silence, each of them weighed down by the night's events.
But mischief, like the Weasley twins, was hard to suppress for long.
Fred's eyes glinted suddenly. "Speaking of Hogwarts madness… Fancy an investigation?"
George's head perked up instantly. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Lee groaned without turning. "You two are going to suggest something illegal, aren't you?"
Cael tilted his head. "Filch's office?"
Twin grins spread across the Weasley brothers' faces like reflections in a mirror.
"Exactly," Fred confirmed. "The old squib's patrolling every corridor after what happened. His office? Ripe for the picking."
"Confiscated treasures, hidden wonders…" George declared, standing dramatically. "The stuff of legend."
Cael smirked faintly. "Fine. But no getting caught."
⸻
Minutes later, beneath the hush of sleeping Gryffindors, they slipped from the tower. The castle's stone corridors echoed faintly with their soft footsteps, torchlight throwing long, quivering shadows along the walls. Beyond the stained-glass windows, wind rattled the ancient frames, the storm clawing at the turrets.
Filch's office loomed ahead, wooden door plastered with parchment warnings—Banned Items… Curfew Violators Beware… No Magic in Corridors.
George eyed the signs with mock pity. "Filch really needs hobbies."
Fred produced a slender enchanted wire, twirling it between his fingers like a conductor's baton. "Unlocking in progress."
The lock clicked open with a soft snick.
The office reeked of dust, ink, and faintly of boiled cabbage. Shelves groaned under confiscated items: joke products, forbidden sweets, trick wands, all carefully tagged.
Fred let out a low whistle. "We have arrived in paradise."
The twins wasted no time rifling through the drawers and shelves. George picked up a shimmering deck of cards. "Exploding Snap Deluxe Edition—banned after the Slytherin table caught fire last year."
Fred unearthed a jar labeled Fanged Bubblegum. "Bit of a nasty bite, but excellent entertainment value."
George grinned, pulling free a sleek black box. "Portable Swamp Starter Kit. Worth its weight in galleons."
Cael, leaning casually against the desk, watched the chaos with mild amusement as the twins played curator to Hogwarts' underground economy.
Lee, more cautious, flipped through dusty ledgers. "Detention records, complaints… confiscation logs. Wonder if there's anything actually useful here."
Cael's eyes drifted across shelves stacked with cursed chess pieces and jingling trick bells. His gaze snagged on a drawer marked:
CONFISCATED DANGEROUS ITEMS — DO NOT OPEN
Naturally, that was the most interesting thing in the room.
Fred, meanwhile, discovered a jar filled with tiny, twitching spheres. "Hopping Dungbombs—limited edition."
"Limited 'cause they hop straight into Filch's bad side," George quipped.
Lee shot them a sharp look. "Focus, pranksters. We're not here for your joke shop inventory."
Fred held up his hands, all innocent mischief. "Purely academic research, mate."
George nudged a rusted old box with his foot. "Think Filch sells half this junk on Knockturn Alley?"
Lee snorted. "Please. He's a squib—he wouldn't last five minutes down there. Dark wizards would eat him alive."
Cael's attention returned to the locked drawer. His expression sharpened. "If anything good's hidden, it's in there."
Fred's grin reignited. "Operation Unlock it is."
George pulled a second enchanted wire from his pocket with a conspiratorial wink. "Filch'll never know."
The lock clicked.
The drawer creaked open to reveal… surprisingly neat contents. Black velvet pouches, aged scrolls, and one small, faded wooden box etched with silver runes, its carvings worn by time.
Fred reached for it immediately.
"Careful," Lee warned, inching back. "Says dangerous for a reason."
Fred only grinned. "What's life without a little danger?"
The lid flipped open.
Nestled in dark velvet lay a curved shard of glass, glinting faintly under the lamplight. Strange runes spiderwebbed across the surface, pulsing with an eerie blue glow.
Cael's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer. "This doesn't look like it belongs to Zonko's."
"Definitely not a joke product," George added, poking the glass with his wand. The surface shimmered unnaturally—for a heartbeat, their reflections twisted, the glass almost… watching them.
Fred's bravado wavered. "Yeah, alright. That's properly creepy."
Lee frowned. "Why would a student even bring this? Some hexed punishment?"
"Could be worse," Fred muttered, but even he seemed uneasy.
Cael's mind turned quickly, recalling the memories of the Books of as he knew What might be there in the hidden contraband beyond simple joke items. He rummaged deeper, searching behind parchment scrolls and rusted chains until his fingers brushed something solid—a false back panel.
"Help me pull this," Cael whispered, eyes alight with curiosity.
Together, they shifted the panel aside. Hidden behind it was a folded, aged parchment—creased, weathered, practically humming with residual magic.
George's eyes lit up. "Vale's got a nose for treasure."
Fred elbowed Lee. "See? You doubted him."
Cael flattened the parchment onto the desk. At first glance, it seemed blank—but faint, shifting ink whispered beneath the surface, like a secret desperate to be heard.
Fred's grin faltered. "Bit underwhelming."
Cael smirked, drawing his wand with dramatic flair. "Watch and learn."
He tapped the parchment, voice low but confident. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
Words bloomed across the parchment like ink soaking into cloth:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers—Proudly Present…
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
A second scripted message unraveled beneath, cheeky and unmistakably alive:
Greetings to the mischief-inclined, the curious, and the hopelessly reckless!
We—Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—extend our utmost congratulations. You have clearly poor judgment and a delightful disregard for rules.
But introductions are a must:
Moony — Resident expert in furry complications.
Wormtail — Small, sneaky, occasionally useful (emphasis on occasionally).
Padfoot — Dashing, dramatic, hair like a shampoo advert.
Prongs — Tall, antlered, morally obligated to one-up Padfoot's nonsense.
To the holder of this map: Welcome to Hogwarts' hidden veins—secret passages, forgotten corridors, and unfortunate staff await discovery.
A word of warning—abuse this map wisely… and remember, Hogwarts has ears. And Filch? He has halitosis.
Mischief Managed? Not even close… You're only just beginning.
⸻
The parchment shimmered—and Hogwarts itself sprawled into view. Ink sketched twisting corridors, spiraling staircases, even the tiniest alcoves. Names floated across the surface—students sneaking, professors patrolling, and Filch's lumbering footsteps with Mrs. Norris stalking nearby.
Fred's grin returned full force. "I like them already."
George laughed. "Padfoot's got confidence, I'll give him that."
Lee let out a low whistle, eyes wide. "How'd Filch even get this?"
Fred shrugged. "Caught someone, probably. Poor sod never stood a chance."
George eyed Cael curiously. "How'd you know how to use it?"
Cael smirked smoothly. "When I touched it, it recognized me as a student… then revealed the password and instructions."
He lied effortlessly—the truth was, he'd seen it all unfold in the films.
The others bought it.
Cael traced the map with his fingers, marveling at the hidden doors and passages—routes even he hadn't discovered.
"This… is insane," Lee breathed.
"Correction," George said, grin widening, "this… is legendary."
Fred folded the map carefully. "Congratulations, lads. We've gone from amateur pranksters to Hogwarts' most informed troublemakers."
Lee clapped Cael on the back. "Good timing, Vale. You've got an eye for buried treasure."
Footsteps echoed from the corridor—Filch's muttering, Mrs. Norris's faint hiss on the stone.
"Show and tell's over," Cael whispered. "Let's move."
With the Marauder's Map secured, they slipped into hidden passages, vanishing just as Filch's lantern light flickered at the office door.
Behind them, Filch grumbled about "missing inventory" and "rotten students," oblivious to the prize they'd claimed.
For Cael Vale, one thing was certain—the possibilities that map unlocked?
Endless.