《HP: Too Late, System!》Chapter 25: A Plan Gone Awry

At that moment, George suddenly noticed something on the map. He squinted, scanning it intently.

"Fred, who's on patrol tonight? I don't see a single professor's name anywhere near the patrol routes!"

Fred shook his head, sighing.

"Mate, we've been so busy lately, we haven't even kept track! Merlin, we're slipping."

George wore a similar look of regret—though it only lasted a second before his trademark grin returned. He kept searching the map, undeterred.

"Ah well, we're out here now, aren't we? Let's see where our sly Professor Holmes is lurking. As long as he's not in those classrooms, we've got a shot!"

What the Weasley twins didn't realize was that, just a foot away in the same shadowy corner, someone else was awkwardly standing there.

Douglas Holmes swore to himself—he hadn't meant to eavesdrop using a Disillusionment Charm. He'd simply come to the eighth floor for a bit of nostalgia. But the moment he'd arrived, he'd heard two sets of sneaky footsteps echoing through the empty corridor. Instinctively, he'd cast Disillusionment and melted into the nearest patch of darkness—old habits dying hard.

By the time he remembered he was no longer a student sneaking about, but a patrolling professor, the twins had already chosen the same hiding spot as him. Some things never changed—top night wanderers always picked the best corners.

When he saw them whip out the Marauder's Map, Douglas wasn't surprised. Just like the Marauders before him, he'd left the map as a gift for future generations upon graduating. He watched in silence—at least until he heard them mention the classrooms he'd had the seventh-years prepare.

"Blimey, Professor Holmes isn't even on the map!"

"He must've left the castle!"

"Which means…"

"A golden opportunity!" the twins whispered, exchanging gleeful high-fives.

"I bet those classrooms have something to do with our practical exam," Fred muttered.

"If we just happened to wander into the wrong one, that's not cheating, is it?"

"Oh, Fred, what are you on about? What exam? We're just two lost little lambs!"

At this point, Douglas figured it was time to step in. Just as George and Fred started to slip away, a low, spectral voice drifted out from the shadows beside them.

"I think you two should first explain to me what you're doing wandering the castle corridors at this hour."

The twins froze, exchanging wide-eyed, horrified looks. But instead of hanging their heads in shame, they pulled two small spheres from their sleeves and bolted in opposite directions.

As the spheres hit the ground, Douglas's instincts kicked in. With a flick of his wand and a silent Reparo, the spheres snapped back together before they could release their payload.

Watching the twins split up, Douglas couldn't help but smirk.

Amateurs. Trying to show off in front of a master?

He quickly enchanted the spheres, sending them zipping after the twins—one after each.

Hogwarts was a vast castle, and the Weasley twins knew better than to run straight back to the Gryffindor common room—that would be too easy to trace. At Hogwarts, professors had an unspoken rule: if you weren't caught in the act, you got away with it. Suspicion alone wasn't enough to land you in detention. But tonight, the twins had made a rare miscalculation.

Usually, not even Filch, with all his secret passage know-how, could catch them. Especially now that they had the Marauder's Map, they'd never been caught red-handed—until tonight.

Their boldness came partly from the Weasley-Holmes family friendship, but mostly from the fear that Douglas might tattle to their mum. Confident in their knowledge of every nook and cranny, they were sure they could slip away unseen.

Unfortunately, after years of outwitting Filch—who never used magic—they'd forgotten how dangerous a wizarding opponent could be.

As they dashed toward the nearest fifth-floor secret passage, there was a sharp, twin "BANG!"

The explosions weren't loud, but Filch's keen ears picked up the disturbance from the first floor. Clutching Mrs. Norris, he dove into a nearby secret passage, muttering, "My dear, this time we'll catch them in the act!"

The twins, mid-sprint, watched in horror as thick, yellow-brown smoke billowed toward them—each cloud homing in on its target. Despairing, they reached out to each other across the stairwell, their voices echoing with melodramatic agony.

"George! George!"

"Oh, my Fred!"

They knew all too well the power of their own Dungbombs. As the foul gas spread, both were coated in sticky, yellow muck—so much so that they recoiled from even touching their own wands.

Worse still, they watched as a figure emerged from a nearby secret passage—a man who had always seemed to hold a particular grudge against them. They had no doubt that, if caught, they'd spend the next week in a dark dungeon, enjoying Filch's "special attention."

Douglas, descending the stairs at a leisurely pace, wrinkled his nose and cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself as he neared the twins. He honestly couldn't fathom how Filch, who was even closer, could look so gleeful in the stench.

Compared to the wild-eyed caretaker, Mrs. Norris displayed a wisdom far beyond that of an ordinary cat. She leapt from Filch's arms, nimbly skirted the miserable twins, and landed gracefully on Douglas's shoulder.

"Oh, dear Mrs. Norris, it's been years—you've gotten heavier," Douglas teased, feeling his shoulder sink under her weight. He promptly cast a Bubble-Head Charm on her as well.

Filch waved his oil lamp, shining it repeatedly in the twins' faces, muttering gleefully as if savoring their expressions of utter despair.

With their escape route blocked by Filch and their path forward barred by Douglas, the Weasley twins knew they were done for. This was their first true defeat since second year—a proper Waterloo.

As Douglas watched the manic gleam in Filch's bloodshot eyes, he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern for the man who'd dedicated over twenty years to guarding the secrets of Hogwarts Castle.

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