"This way! Quickly!" Fred urged, adrenaline surging through him. His heart hammered against his ribs, but the accompanying thrill was undeniable. This high-stakes game of hide-and-seek with the enraged caretaker was far more exhilarating than his imagination had allowed for.
Filch was trying to use his superior knowledge of the castle's shortcuts. He had just emerged from one secret passage, attempting to loop around and cut them off. But Fred was not concerned with Filch's strategy; he had the Marauder's Map.
Before the caretaker could traverse the distance to intercept them, the twins could simply change their trajectory, rendering Filch's shortcut a pointless detour.
He'll never catch us on stamina alone, Fred thought triumphantly. Their youthful energy was an undeniable advantage.
The real problem, the true specter haunting their flight, was Mrs. Norris. The feline spy was faster and smarter than her master, a persistent, sinuous shadow that kept their location constantly broadcast.
The urge to deliver a swift kick was overwhelming, but both twins knew the move was suicidal; it would transform Filch's anger into an unmanageable, vengeful rage.
"I hear footsteps again! How is he keeping up with us?" George complained, panting heavily, his cold forgotten momentarily in the rush of pure terror.
"Don't panic! He's familiar with the castle, but he's guessing," Fred responded, his eyes glued to the Map, which was the only tether holding them to safety. "Turn right up ahead, down the next staircase, and we'll dive onto the Fourth Floor."
"I bet he's absolutely incandescent with fury!" George shouted, recovering his enthusiasm as they made the turn. The fact that Filch was being so masterfully outmaneuvered, his own tactics turned against him, was a source of immense amusement.
Filch's mastery of the castle's hidden routes was useless against the detailed, real-time intelligence the Map provided. Every one of Filch's efforts to intercept them merely served to send him on a longer, more circuitous route.
Fred allowed himself a brief, celebratory moment. He slowed his pace slightly, catching his breath while scanning the parchment. "He's paused. He's standing still now. I think he's completely confused about where we vanished to."
"Running rings around Filch is actually more fun than I thought," George admitted, a wild grin splitting his face. "This single night tour will give us legendary bragging rights for the rest of the year."
"Tsk, tsk, look at these naughty little freshmen! Running around in the dead of night!"
Peeves, the poltergeist, suddenly materialized out of a display cabinet in the Trophy Room corridor, blocking their path and cackling with unbridled joy. The sight of two terrified students being pursued was a feast for him.
"Good evening, Peeves," George managed, forcing a polite tone. "Filch and his scrawny cat are right behind us. Care to give them a spot of trouble? Maybe a massive bucket of water over the head?"
"I would much prefer to see you caught and severely punished by Filch," Peeves replied, his eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated mischief.
"That won't happen. Filch is miles away, trying to figure out where we went," Fred shrugged, quickly casting the Unlocking Charm on a sturdy oak door leading to an adjacent, less-trafficked corridor.
"Oh, perhaps I should inform the wretched caretaker," Peeves said, floating closer with mock concern. "It would be for your own disciplinary good."
"Go right ahead," George said dismissively, following Fred and pulling the door shut behind him. "But I recall you two aren't exactly on speaking terms. Do you genuinely want to do anything that might put Filch in a good mood?"
Fred waved at the empty air where Peeves hovered. "I share George's reservations on that point."
Peeves, unable to resist a theatrical outburst and teased into a frenzy, let out a piercing, unholy shriek. "Students are out past curfew! There are reckless students near the Trophy Display!"
"Peeves is truly a plague," George muttered, his eyes twitching in annoyance.
"If he wasn't shouting, he wouldn't be Peeves," Fred retorted, immediately checking the Map. Filch, galvanized by the scream and the clear geographical indicator, was now rushing toward them at an alarming pace.
"Wait, we need to go back the way we came!" Fred instructed, reversing course.
"No, you should tell him to scream louder," Fred corrected himself, a sudden, darker idea forming in his mind. "Shout at the top of his lungs, Peeves! Make the entire fifth floor think you've found us!"
Peeves, witnessing the boys turn back and rush toward him, took the opportunity for maximum chaos. He reappeared directly in front of Fred's path. "They're right here! Over here, the pesky little first-years are right here!" he screeched, thoroughly confusing Filch's immediate trajectory.
Before leaving, Fred managed a quick, rude gesture at the poltergeist before disappearing with George around the corner, leaving the screeching Peeves as a human-shaped (or rather, poltergeist-shaped) misdirection beacon.
A moment later, Filch arrived, breathless and frantic, his oil lamp casting wild, erratic shadows. "Tell me! Where did they go?"
"You should really learn to say 'please'," Peeves sang back, utterly unhelpful.
Filch ignored the poltergeist, his teeth gritted in frustration, and was about to follow the instinctive path his cat was dragging him along when a new figure appeared in the corridor.
"What is the meaning of this commotion?" It was Professor Snape, gliding into the corridor in his dark pajamas, his expression a familiar mask of profound loathing.
"Professor, two students are flagrantly defying the curfew, and I am attempting to apprehend them," Filch wheezed, gesturing wildly. "Peeves knows exactly who they are, but he refuses to cooperate!"
Snape fixed his cold, obsidian gaze on the poltergeist. "Peeves. Identify them."
"Two nasty, troublesome Gryffindor freshmen," Peeves sneered, his gaze moving pointedly between Filch and Snape. "Those two brats were just boasting that the great caretaker was too slow to catch them!"
With that parting shot, Peeves zipped away, his mission accomplished. He had alerted the adults without betraying the twins' names, ensuring maximum, multi-directional punishment for Gryffindor.
"Professor, those Gryffindor students are clearly trying to return to their common room now. We must cut them off on the Eighth Floor! I know a shortcut that leads directly there from the fifth floor!" Filch, despite his cold, was quick-witted in a crisis. He immediately identified their likely target and hurried to explain his plan to Snape.
Snape, seeing an opportunity to deliver a crippling blow to Gryffindor's point total, nodded once, his thin lips curling slightly. He would not hesitate to deduct a hundred points for this transgression.
Fred and George, who were already navigating back toward the eighth floor, watched in horrified silence as two distinct dots converged on the Map: "Argus Filch" and, far more ominously, "Severus Snape."
"We have to accelerate. Now," George insisted, his voice suddenly sharp with fear.
"I know!" Fred muttered, his gaze darting between the Map and the bare, unforgiving stone walls. With Snape involved, the stakes had skyrocketed. Detention with Filch was humiliating; detention with Snape was a genuine sentence of mental and emotional torment. Falling into the Potions Master's hands would be a disaster.
They finally arrived back at the end of the Gryffindor corridor, only to be met with the continued sight of the blank stone wall. The Fat Lady had not returned.
A wave of bitter disappointment washed over them, quickly replaced by a surge of renewed panic. They were forced back into the castle's labyrinth, needing to evade two experienced pursuers and a sentient spy cat.
"Oh, curse it all! Filch is using that Griffin shortcut to come straight to the Eighth Floor now!" Fred announced, his voice tight with desperation as he saw the dots closing in. They had no time to debate. "Run! Back down!"
George, his mind racing, pointed to a thick, unmarked wooden door nearby. "There's an unused classroom right here! We can hide inside!"
"No! They'll find us easily. Mrs. Norris will nose us out in seconds," Fred retorted, remembering Albert's warning about the cat's agility. He backed away from the eighth-floor corridor, realizing they needed to create distance, not hide locally.
"We need to get around Filch, use the main staircases, and exit the building entirely via the Knight's Armour passage on the seventh floor. It's too risky now to deal with Snape."
They retreated, the adrenaline of the chase now replaced by the grim anxiety of flight. The thrilling game was over; survival had begun.