George drew his wand, tapped it lightly against the old parchment, and declared, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"
Instantly, Harry watched as fine lines of ink began to spider out from the spot where George's wand touched the parchment. They wove together, crisscrossing and swirling until they covered every inch of the surface.
At the very top, elegant green script bloomed into view.
But before Harry could make out the words, George—whether by accident or design—slid his hand over the top line, obscuring it. All Harry could see was: "Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present—The Marauder's Map."
He stared in awe. The parchment now displayed a detailed map of Hogwarts castle and grounds. Tiny black dots drifted across the surface, each labeled with impossibly small writing. Before Harry could study it further, George tapped the map again and said, "Mischief managed!"
The web of ink and all the moving dots vanished as quickly as they'd appeared.
Harry gaped at George, speechless.
Fred grinned. "The Marauder's Map doesn't just show every nook and cranny of Hogwarts—and all the secret passages most people don't even know exist—it also reveals where everyone is, in real time. Even Headmaster Dumbledore."
George added, "We've been using it all term to keep an eye on every passage leading out of the castle, just in case Black tried to sneak into Hogwarts."
Harry swallowed, his voice suddenly wary. "So..."
The twins exchanged a mischievous glance. Fred picked up the wooden box from the table, winked, and said, "The Marauder's Map was created by a truly brilliant wizard in his school days. It's meant to guide lost souls like us, showing us the way when we're in doubt..."
"But to claim it, you have to complete a little ritual—one established by the map's creator himself."
Harry's eyes widened as he pieced together the map's origins. "You're not asking me to sneak it back into Filch's office and steal it out again, are you?"
George shook his head, chuckling. "Of course not! Not everyone has our… flawless teamwork. That would be one kind of ritual, but this time we're using another, one the great creator himself invented. So, Harry—how much money do you have left?"
Harry blinked, then answered honestly, "Wait, are you selling me the Marauder's Map? I've only got twenty-five Galleons left. For something like this, that's probably not enough. Can I owe you the rest? Maybe Dobby can fetch more from Gringotts for me at Christmas."
He was a bit disappointed they weren't just giving him the map outright, but even buying it felt like a stroke of luck. With this map, he might finally be able to avoid his uncle and Dumbledore—no one would catch him sneaking around under his Invisibility Cloak.
Fred looked scandalized. "Harry, you wound us! If it weren't for the rules set by the map's creator, we'd have given it to you for free."
George patted Harry's shoulder. "No need to worry. The creator's rule is simple: it's a lottery. Each draw costs one Galleon, and you keep drawing until you win the map. It's all part of the ritual."
"Of course, maybe you'll get lucky and win it on your first try."
"Poor us—we spent ages trying to unlock this thing when we first got it..." (He didn't specify whether he meant time or money.)
Seeing Harry's interest was piqued, Fred leaned in, "When you're about to graduate and pass the map to its next owner, you'll need to do the same. Whatever you spend now, you'll get back then."
Harry thought that sounded perfectly fair.
He asked them to wait, then dashed off to his dormitory to fetch his money pouch.
As soon as he was gone, George and Fred exchanged a victorious high-five, whispering, "All for revenge!"
Moments later, Harry returned, clutching his pouch, and pulled out a single Galleon.
George didn't take it right away, instead giving him a solemn look. "Harry, you have to be sure. Once you start, your Galleons are non-refundable."
Harry pressed the coin into George's hand, just as serious. "I'm sure. What do I do now?"
George nodded to Fred, who held out the wooden box. "Each time, you pull out one slip of paper. Each slip tells you how many Marauder's Map fragments you've won. The numbers are all different, and everything you draw adds up. Once you collect ten red fragments, the map is yours. Want to check the slips first?"
Harry stared at the box, wide-eyed. "That's it? I trust you. No need to check."
The twins became models of professionalism, nodding gravely. "The ritual begins!"
Harry rubbed his hands together, reached into the box, and shuffled the slips around before pulling one out. He unfolded it carefully: "Fortune smiles, map in hand! Congratulations, you've gained 8 red map fragments."
George whistled. "Blimey, Harry, that's some luck! Eight on your first go—you only need two more for the map. Much better than our luck!"
Harry grinned, scratching his head. "Just lucky, I guess. Let's try again!"
He handed over another Galleon and reached into the box. "Fortune smiles, map in hand! Congratulations, you've gained 1 red map fragment!"
A twinge of disappointment, but still—just one more to go.
Fred prompted, "Only one red fragment left. Want to keep going?"
Harry didn't even hesitate—he handed over another Galleon and reached in again, confident this would be it. He was already planning to buy the twins a gift from Hogsmeade with all the money he'd saved.
But when he opened the slip, he froze. "Fortune smiles, map in hand! Congratulations, you've gained 3 orange map fragments!"
His jaw dropped as he stared at the slip, then at the twins. George and Fred had to stifle their laughter—they'd worn the exact same expression when Douglas had tricked them.
George explained matter-of-factly, "Ten orange fragments can be exchanged for one red fragment. So now you only need seven more orange fragments for the map. Continue?"
Fred put on a mournful face. "Harry, you have to understand—these are the rules set by the map's creator. We can't do anything about it."
And they weren't lying. In their minds, both the Marauder's Map and this devious system were the handiwork of Douglas.
They just wanted a little payback for all the times he'd outfoxed them.
After all, this special box had been left by Douglas at the Burrow, with a note: "So you'll always remember what it means to have a gambler's heart—and that nine out of ten bets are a swindle."
Honestly, who says that to two innocent nine-year-olds? Thus began the shadow of Douglas Holmes in the lives of George and Fred.
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