In the first-floor corridor, Filch was grunting and straining as he tried to prop up a battered suit of armor that had collapsed onto the floor.
"Clang!"
Just as he managed to lift it halfway, a helmet was slapped off by an invisible hand and rolled far across the stone floor.
"Blast that Peeves!"
Filch roared in fury, hurling the tool in his hand into the air.
"Missed! Missed! Mad old Filch is a big stupid fool!"
Peeves materialized midair, pulling grotesque faces and cackling shrilly before floating away like a deflating balloon, dodging the thrown object with ease.
Hidden in the shadows around the corner, Fred and George held their breath as Filch gathered his tools, muttering a stream of foul-sounding curses, and stormed off toward his office with Mrs. Norris at his heels.
"Let's go. Coast is clear."
Once they heard the heavy office door slam shut, the twins slipped out of the shadows and hurried toward their meeting place.
The transaction went smoothly. Harold Dingle clearly didn't want to keep such a stash of contraband for long, and the handover took place outside an abandoned classroom on the fifth floor that nobody ever visited.
A large, heavy bag of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fireworks—well, Zonko's fireworks technically... was now in their possession.
"Tonight, Gryffindor Tower becomes the night sky." Fred patted the bag, and the two exchanged a grin before creeping silently along the wall toward the tower.
But as they rounded a corner—
"Ha!"
A wrinkled face with a vicious grin appeared out of nowhere in front of them.
Filch stood blocking the path, lantern in hand, as if he had known they would pass this way.
"Caught you… you nasty little brats," he said, voice trembling with excitement. "Out this late, sneaking about—what have we got here, hmm?"
...
A few minutes later.
Filch's office smelled of fried fish and mildew. Fred and George stood before the desk in bewilderment, watching Filch gleefully scribble on a disciplinary report.
They didn't mind getting punished—it was just another entry in their legendary record.
What they couldn't accept was how absurd the whole thing felt. They had chosen the most secluded route, avoided patrols, and hadn't even heard Mrs. Norris's footsteps.
How had Filch intercepted them so precisely?
While they replayed the mission in their minds, a loud crash echoed from the corridor outside, like that poor suit of armor had been knocked over again—followed by the sound of breaking china.
Filch's quill froze.
"Peeves!"
Veins bulging, he grabbed his lantern and stormed out. "Don't move! I'll deal with you when I get back!"
The hurried footsteps faded.
The twins immediately sprang into action.
George's gaze locked onto a filing cabinet behind the desk. The bottom drawer bore a faded label in red ink: [Confiscated Items – Highly Dangerous].
Those words had magnetic pull.
"Fred, look at that," George whispered, already heading toward it. "My instincts say treasure."
Fred didn't follow.
Because his attention had been captured by a thick black book on the desk—out of place among the confiscation forms. Its cover had no title, only raised silver patterns woven into intricate designs.
"These patterns… look familiar," Fred muttered. "I've seen something like this on Charlie's alchemical puppet."
As George opened the "Highly Dangerous" drawer, Fred opened the strange book.
They both froze.
Fred saw no words.
He saw images.
Live images.
Filch, holding his lantern on the second-floor corridor, shaking his fist at the air before bending to sweep rust from the carpet.
Fred turned the page with trembling fingers.
The book was filled with countless viewpoints across the castle corridors. The hallway by the Fat Lady's portrait. The dungeon entrance. Students hurrying toward their common rooms.
Meanwhile, George pulled out a neatly folded parchment from the drawer.
It looked utterly ordinary—large, square, edges worn from heavy use.
He had imagined cursed necklaces, biting books, dark artifacts…
Instead, when he opened it—
Blank.
"Nothing?" George muttered in disappointment.
At that moment, footsteps and a cat's meow echoed outside.
"He's back!"
Fred snapped the book shut and replaced it exactly as before. George slammed the drawer and stuffed the parchment into his robe pocket.
Two seconds later, Filch burst in, panting, suspicious eyes sweeping over them. Finding nothing amiss, he grinned cruelly.
"Come along. Off to Professor McGonagall. This time you're finished—two months' detention at least."
...
To Filch's immense disappointment, Professor McGonagall was in an exceptionally good mood.
After hearing they'd smuggled fireworks for a house celebration, she merely deducted five points each and waved them away.
"Be more careful next time, Mr. Weasley. Now off to bed."
Filch's moustache trembled with rage, but he could only glare murderously as they left.
In the corridor, once they were alone, Fred grabbed George and whispered urgently about what he'd seen.
"You mean the book shows the corridors?" George was stunned.
"Exactly. That's how Filch always catches us. He watches from his office."
"We've been under surveillance?" George shivered.
"Not entirely," Fred said. "Only corridors and passageways. No classrooms, common rooms, or bathrooms."
"That's… acceptable, at least," George sighed in relief. "He doesn't know what we do in the dorms."
Then he suddenly grinned and quickened his pace.
"Come on. I've got something to show you."
"I think the treasure I grabbed is even more interesting than Filch's creepy book."
=================
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