Not long afterwards, Severus Snape came running out of the castle. From his dishevelled appearance, it was obvious that the Potions professor had been in a considerable hurry. He held his wand in his right hand, ready to use it at a moment's notice.
Apparently, Snape had been in the Headmaster's company when the Deputy Headmistress's silvery cat delivered the message.
Reaching his colleague, Snape assumed a fighting stance opposite the petrified-looking dog. He regarded the animal warily, but relaxed somewhat once he realised there was no threat.
Snape turned to McGonagall and asked:
"Confundus?"
A smile appeared on McGonagall's face. She shook her head and pointed her wand towards the castle.
"There!"
Severus turned towards the castle and froze. His eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. His eyes darted about. The man tilted his head to the right. Several moments later, he straightened up and exclaimed with feeling:
"What the fu-u... fool painted that?!"
McGonagall's smile grew even wider.
"Severus, you're hardly original," she said ironically.
The Headmaster reached the Heads of House considerably later than Snape. Which was understandable, really; he was an elderly man, after all.
"Minerva," he began with mild concern, "what has happened?"
Dumbledore looked at the black dog.
"Has someone bewitched the dog?" he suggested.
This time, both McGonagall and Snape smiled despite themselves. Without exchanging a word, they both pointed their wands towards the castle.
"Look over there," Severus said.
The Headmaster turned and looked at the castle wall. His eyes behind his half-moon spectacles grew considerably larger. He thoughtfully stroked his luxuriant silver beard.
"Hmm..." He tilted his head slightly. "Original..."
"Is that all you have to say, Albus?" Snape asked sarcastically.
"What is there to say..." the Headmaster drawled. "I doubt we'll find the creator of this particular work of art, much less understand its meaning."
"What do you think, colleagues," McGonagall began, "is that blood?"
The Potions professor shook his head.
"Unlikely," he replied. "Blood does not glow. Nor is it ever that particular shade of acid scarlet, especially once dried."
Headmaster Dumbledore asked quietly:
"Does anyone understand what the message means?"
The cause of all this astonishment was merely an inscription on the wall. But the sheer scale of it! The artist had clearly not believed in doing things by halves. The letters were enormous, as tall as an entire storey—at least at the beginning of the message. Considering that an average storey at Hogwarts was seven metres high, that should give some idea of the scale on which the artist had approached the task. Further along, however, the letters grew smaller and began creeping downwards. Apparently, whoever had been writing on the castle wall had realised that the entire message would never fit in letters that large, and so had decided to continue downwards, making the letters smaller and smaller as they went.
The inscription read:
PADFOOT, YOU'RE A FUCKING MORON! WORMTAIL'S DONE FOR! You're free! Read the bloody newspapers, you idiot! Get your arse to St Mungo's and have your head examined!!!
"Er..." Hagrid drew the attention of the Heads of House and the Headmaster. "In my day, notes were a bit different. Y'know, on parchment, or scribbled on a lavatory wall... Nothin' quite so... grand."
Dumbledore seemed to perk up, his eyes narrowing shrewdly.
"A note, you say..."
"Albus, have you realised something?" McGonagall asked, looking at the Headmaster.
"Perhaps, Minnie... Perhaps. Time will tell."
When caretaker Filch entered the hall by the rear doors leading towards the Quidditch pitch, he spotted the Headmaster and Heads of House through the window. He hurried outside. The direction in which everyone present—even the dog—was staring did not escape the caretaker's notice. He turned towards the castle and was dumbstruck.
"MERLIN!" He clutched at his heart. "Who's going to clean all that off?!"
Filch turned towards the Headmaster and the Heads of House. Three eloquently sympathetic gazes converged upon him. Hagrid sheepishly studied the toes of his boots. The caretaker understood... and clutched at his heart again.
"NO! No-no-no-no! I'm only a Squib! You can't possibly..." He looked hopefully at the Headmaster.
"Sorry, Argus," Dumbledore said with a mournful sigh.
"I'll find whoever wrote that and throw them in the torture dungeons!!!" Filch roared furiously, shaking his fist at the sky.
Meanwhile, in the Hufflepuff second-year boys' dormitory, Justin Finch-Fletchley was trying to wake his roommate.
"Richie, get up." He shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up. Breakfast will be starting soon."
"Mmm..."
Grosvenor cracked his eyes open.
"Morning already?" he asked sleepily and gave a tremendous yawn.
"Morning!" Justin confirmed. "Hurry up and get dressed, or you'll miss breakfast."
Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, Richard stretched out on the bed until his joints cracked.
"Richie!" Finch-Fletchley exclaimed indignantly. "What are you looking so pleased about?"
With an immense effort, Grosvenor shook off his drowsiness and sat up. A smug, fox-like smile never left his face.
"Justin," he began in an instructive tone, "modern problems require modern solutions!"
"Eh?"
Richard patted his bewildered friend on the shoulder and added:
"All right, all right, let's go to breakfast. Give me a minute to get dressed."
***
The inscription on the castle wall set all of Hogwarts abuzz. By the following day, however, it was gone.
Whoever had painted the walls had taken care not to spoil the appearance of the ancient castle. They had used a Colouring Charm. The message could have disappeared much sooner if any of the professors had thought to use an amplified form of the counter-spell, Finite Maxima, on it. Taking pity on the elderly caretaker, Professor Flitwick tried to help him with magic. To the surprise of all the professors, the writing came off beautifully. It took the diminutive Charms professor only half an hour to clean the walls.
Fred and George knew—or rather, suspected—who had written the original message. Not long before, they had shown the Marauder's Map to Richard Grosvenor. When the enchanted parchment was activated with the password, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," the following words first appeared in green ink:
Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present their latest invention—the Marauder's Map.
(End of Chapter)
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