The Weasley Twins had gotten caught.

They had thought that they were in the clear. Just a few more yards and they'd be in the Gryffindor common room. So they had gone for it at a flat out sprint.

Then that damned cat, Mrs. Norris, had tripped George up. The boy had yelled for his twin to keep going, to leave him behind, but Fred had refused. They were twins. They stuck together; no matter what.

By the time George had gotten up, and the two had started to run again, Argus Filch, Enemy No. One, had turned the corner and had found the culprits behind all of the fifth floor being painted blue. All of it.

"You!" Filch screeched, hobbling forward.

"Who, him?"

The Weasley Twins spoke at the same time, both pointing at the other brother.

"Both of you," Filch growled, forehead throbbing. "I know what you did!"

"Do you really?" George asked.

"Well, then," Fred continued. "Care to enlighten us? Because I'm afraid we haven't the slightest clue."

Filch sneered, coming to a stop in front of the beaming gingers. "Come with me. The both of you."

Fred and George exchanged a glance and a sigh, knowing that they had lost this battle. Frowning, they trudged along behind the caretaker. They listened warily to the mutterings he said to himself, underneath his breath.

After what seemed to be ages, the trio finally reached Filch's cupboard of an office. Grumbling to himself, the caretaker shuffled them into the two rickety chairs in front of his cluttered desk. Four different file cabinets were in each of the corners, all with random pieces of parchments sticking out of an array of drawers.

George glanced around the cluttered room, his eyes skimming over his brother as he glared at Filch. Looking at the largest file cabinet (it was so tall that it nearly touched the ceiling), the corner of George's lip twitched. Nudging Fred in the side, George discreetly nodded towards the storage area with the file cabinet, which was very obviously marked 'Confiscated Items.'

A wicked grin spread across Fred's face as he made eye contact with his twin. Flicking his eyes toward the caretaker, Fred scrunched his eyebrows together. George bit his lip, before finally shrugging. There was no way they could distract Filch if both of them were in the office with the man.

"Ah!" The exclamation caught the twins' attention. They looked up to see Filch holding a piece of parchment and a quill. "Detention form. Let's see… Student: Fred and George Weasley. Reason: Somehow managed to paint the entirety of the fifth floor blue. Comments: Punishment suggested to be whi-"

A scream and then a crash cut the caretaker off. The trio all looked up at the ceiling, waiting for any clue to what was happening. Another crash sounded, shaking dust from the ceiling, before being followed by shrill laughter.

"Peeves," Filch growled. "Stay here!"

The man hobbled out of the room as fast as he could. Fred and George glanced at each other, amazed at their luck. Acting quickly, Fred went to the door to stand watch and George rushed to the file cabinet, slamming the drawer open. George shuffled through the objects, trying to find the best thing to take.

There was a wide array of Fanged Frisbees and Filibuster's Fireworks, along with Dungbombs and Fake Wands. Multitudes of Zonko's products were in the drawer, which wasn't much of a shock. There was everything from Nose-Biting Teacups to Shock Quills. George frowned. He was trying to find anything of use, but he and Fred already had most of these things stored away in their dorm. Then, his hand brushed something unexpected.

Brow furrowed, George pulled out a blank parchment. "Here's something," he called.

Fred turned, looking to see what his brother had discovered. "What are you on about? It's just a piece of rubbish parchment."

"Then why's it with 'confiscated items?'"

"I dunno. Maybe he misplaced it."

George shook his head, turning the parchment over in his hands. "I don't think so."

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by the sound of shuffling feet. Swearing under his breath, Fred raced back to his seat next to his brother. George was already in his chair, and was in the process of shoving the parchment under his shirt. Fred tossed a light glare at his twin, shaking his head minutely. George rolled his eyes, and the door slammed open.

Filch hobbled in, angrily muttering to himself. Shuffling around the corner of his desk, the old caretaker hit his toe against the edge of one of his filing cabinets. The man swore loudly, shaking his head as he sunk into his rickety, wooden chair. He grabbed a quill and some parchment and started to write.

The twins exchanged an awkward glance. Fred cleared his throat.

Filch looked up, shocked when he saw two Gryffindor boys sitting in front of him. When had they gotten there? What were they up to? He stumbled over his questions before finally managing to point at the door.

"Get out!"

Fred and George were out the door and halfway down the corridor before they even considered asking questions. The boys slowed down from the sprint they had, simultaneously glancing over their shoulders.

"Wonder what that was," George said.

"Who cares, mate?" Fred grinned, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We got out scot-free. I don't plan on complaining."

George rolled his eyes, but smiled back at his brother all the same. Fred was right, obviously. He usually was.

"Only thing is," Fred said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why'd you grab that parchment, mate? It's rubbish compared to everything else."

"We already had everything else," George replied. "Besides, I've got a good feeling about it."

Fred opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a high pitched giggle.

"The Weasel Twinnies are in trouble again…"

The boys looked up to see Peeves floating above them, grinning crazily.

"I would know. Old Filch-y was screaming, and whining, and hollering about you when he walked into a mist of Memory Fog."

"Memory Fog?" Fred asked.

"What's that?" George continued

Peeves laughed. "Oh, no. Good ol' Peeves won't give his secrets out that easily."

The Gryffindor troublemakers shouted protests as Peeves hovered away, cackling madly. Fred pouted after the poltergeist.

"Don't worry about it, mate," George said. "We'll get it out of him eventually. We've got seven years to do so, anyways. And when we do, we'll add it to our products for the joke shop."

"I suppose," Fred sighed. "Anyways, you said you had a good feeling about the parchment? Fireflies."

The duo had reached the Gryffindor Common Room. Together, they clambered through the secret entrance. The Common Room was just as packed as usual. Things were flying around the circular space, and friends shouted across the room to each other. The boys sat down on the ground in a cornered area with an obstructed view of everyone else, ducking their heads in towards each other.

"Yeah, I did," George confirmed.

Fred was dubious. "How can you get a feeling from a piece of parchment? What's it supposed to do?"

"I'm not sure, but it's got to do something good, right?"

Fred sighed. "I still think you're wrong and that it's a piece of rubbish that Filch misplaced."

George finally looked up from the parchment. "Two sickles you're wrong."

"Alright, fine," Fred shook his brother's hand with a raised eyebrow.

George nodded, leaning back against the wall. He tapped his wand against the parchment, brow furrowed. He mumbled to himself, thinking out loud, "How can a piece of parchment help two trouble makers?"

"Let me know when you realize it won't, will you?" Fred said.

George scoffed, looking down at the parchment. Black ink marks stained corners of the page. As George looked closer, he noticed that the ink seemed to be swirling around. He let out a strangled gasp, and his his brother in the shoulder.

"Ow! What?!"

"What did I just say?"

Fred stared. "What?"

"What did I just say? Just a little bit ago?" George's voice was rushed.

"I don't know," Fred said. "Something about trouble makers?"

George repeated the words, tapping the parchment. The fading ink in the corners twisted and flowed around the parchment, before coming to the center. Words in an elegant and precise calligraphy formed on the page.

You're getting close…

"Bloody hell," George breathed. "Fred, take a look at this."

Fred was still bitter as he looked at his brother, who was eagerly shaking the blank parchment in front of his face. Except… it was no longer blank. Fred stared at the cursive, completely taken aback.

"Was that there before?"

"No," George said. "No, it wasn't."

"Well, how…"

"No idea."

"Well try again!"

George rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "You owe me two sickles."

"Sure, sure," Fred waved his hand mindlessly. "Just try that again!"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Fred said. "You got it to work before, didn't you?"

George glared at his brother.

"What?"

Ignoring Fred, George tapped the parchment with his wand again. "Give us a clue?"

The same handwriting as before spread across the page:

No need, mate. You said you were troublemakers, yeah?

The twins glanced at each other. They responded in unison. "Yeah."

In that case, we'll just tell you. Any trouble maker has an ally in us.

"Tell us what?" George asked.

"And who's we?" Fred added.

We are the Marauders. Or, that's what they called us. Essentially;

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

"Map?" George asked, eyes alight in wonder. "What are you on about?"

We, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs that is, created this when we were at Hogwarts. It's a map that'll show you all of Hogwarts in real time; including the shortcuts, secret passageways, and the people.

"The people?"

Yep. It shows you where they are, as they move. Whoever is in the castle. No illusion will hide them. Took a lot of work, but we managed it.

"Bloody hell," Fred and George spoke in unison.

"How do we use it?" Fred asked, eagerly.

Just tap the map, and say 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.' After that, you'll be able to see everything in Hogwarts, the grounds, and a portion of Hogsmeade. Only the parts where passages lead though. Once you're done, tap it again and say 'mischief managed.'

"Cool," the twins breathed.

Thing is, whoever was speaking to the twins continued, after that, you're not going to be able to talk to us. That only ever happens for when someone gets the map. We react in the right way to trigger words from people. It's great fun really! So, we have one request.

"I- yeah!" George agreed. "Of course. This is bloody brilliant!

Keep the map here. Once you graduate, leave the map here, or pass it on in some way. When you feel the time is right, continue the legacy of Hogwarts mischief makers. Good luck, mates!

Fred and George grinned at each other.

"Let's do this then."

As Fred raised his wand, an urgent scrawl appeared across the map, the other handwriting slowly disappearing.

Wait!

Prongs! What are you doing, mate? Let me be mysterious and charismatic, dammit!

Shut it, Padfoot. Just one more request, lads. Tell Minnie we say hello.

Fred and George grinned at each other, a devious glint in their eyes.

The next day, as Minerva McGonagall walked into her office, she faltered in her step.

A ceramic cat sat on her desk. Eyebrows furrowed, the professor walked closer. Around the cat's neck was a plaque that read;

From the Marauders, and any future mischief makers of Hogwarts. (Love, the Weasley Twins).

A small laugh escaped her lips.