Chapter 22: Were you looking for me?

Sherlock Forester was making his way through the castle corridors alongside Argus Filch, Hogwarts' devoted but rather irritable caretaker, they passed the Gryffindor common room just as the clock tower struck nine pm.

Filch huddled over his pocket watch for a brief moment, before carefully picking up a worn out, wax-candle lantern to counter the darkness that was tightening its grip on the castle hallway.

"Something's off... Those red-headed menaces are working on another one of their infernal tricks, I just know it!" Filch muttered, having spent a considerable amount of time scrutinizing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, yet failing miserably in his quest to track down the two notorious pranksters.

It was no secret that, in any encounter with the unpredictable Weasley twins, Argus Filch invariably found himself bested and left to nurse his wounded pride.

"It seems we couldn't catch any dim-witted students here today, Professor Forester," Filch declared gruffly, holding the old lantern at an angle that cast long shadows on the stone walls. "Let's attend to the Slytherin common room next, those children rarely stand on ceremony, almost as bad as the Gryffindors." he said, then darted around the corner of the winding corridor.

However, as he navigated the dim passage, there echoed an uncanny sound akin to the triggering of some hidden mechanism. The sound, though faint and subtle, instantly put Sherlock on alert. His honed instincts commanded him to move a few steps away from the foreboding source.

Poor Filch, however, lacked the same fortunate foresight.

An ingenious, prearranged spell resulted in five small balls rolling out from the hidden corners of the hallway. They revolved around Filch with an extraordinary speed, gradually forming a tightening circle around him with seemingly malicious intent.

A brief moment of horror danced across Filch's aged face as he anticipated his impending dilemma.

"No--" But his protest was cut short, as the five balls converged on him before triggering a controlled explosion.

"Bang!"

Though the noise was restrained, the resulting off-putting odor was not. It dispersed along the hallway rapidly, shrouding the unfortunate caretaker in a cloud of yellowish-brown smoke.

Sherlock, who had wisely taken a few steps back, now retreated even further, hand firmly clamped over his nose.

"Are you alright, Filch?" he called out, attempting to penetrate the dense, odorous smoke.

From within the billowing cloud emerged a torrent of enraged cursing, indicating that Filch's condition was far from satisfactory.

"God! Fxxking! Dammit! Those wretched twins! I swear... detention... expulsion- no, execution! I'll whip them myself, or hang them by their ankles in the dungeon and let them starve!"

As the repugnant smoke began to dissipate, Filch's pitiable state was revealed. Bathed in stinking yellow muck that clung to every thread of his clothes, the caretaker was visibly seething, his hands painted a similar odious hue. Faced with the nightmare before him, Filch, through sheer experience, managed to anchor himself in sanity.

"Professor Forester... I suppose... we end our rounds early tonight, I must get this filth off of me" he staggered out before hurriedly rushing off, candle-lantern in hand, not waiting for Sherlock's response.

Watching Filch's disgraced retreat, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a sense of helpless amusement. He had evidently underestimated the Weasley twins' knack for mischief. It turned out, Filch wasn't just at a disadvantage, he was a mere puppet enduring their relentless pranks.

With the evening's plan of a tour around Hogwarts now cancelled, Sherlock realized his knowledge remained largely limited to the location of the Gryffindor common room, leaving the larger part of the castle still cloaked in mystery.

He considered taking a midnight solo tour of the castle, but decided against it considering the likely chance of running into Professors McGonagall or Dumbledore and having to explain his twilight wanderings.

As Sherlock stood, waiting for the foul cloud to dissipate and pondering his next course of action, the Gryffindor's common room door creaked open.

Thoroughly content with themselves and avoiding any suspicion under the cover of the common room, the Weasley twins began talking.

"I'm sure he's long gone after so many dungbombs exploded. He'll have to soak all night in a pool.", Fred mused.

"I told you he'd be waiting for us here tonight. Does he really think we'd deal with him the same way as last year? How ridiculous. The Weasleys never pull the same prank on the same person twice.", George laughed proudly before continuing "Alright, let's check the Marauder's Map now, we're far enough from the common room, the others won't see us."

George and Fred Weasley very carefully crawled out from the entrance, oblivious to Sherlock, who was quietly standing under a candlestick on the wall next to the entrance.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good!"

George drew out his wand. He muttered an incantation and tapped the ripped old parchment in his hand. An incredible transformation occurred on the parchment, unbeknownst to Sherlock who was too far away to see what was on the parchment.

"Haha! The Kings of Hogwarts Nightlife are back! It's been two months since we returned to the castle. The only question is what our first destination should be?"

"I think to start off the year right we should first visit the humpbacked witch statue. We're running low on dungbomb materials, we hid some there last year."

"You're right, we used our last stock to deal with Filch tonight, it's time to restock..."

"Wait, Fred!" (E/N: Doesn't that passage lead to the cellar of Honeydukes? Pretty dumb place to leave your material if you ask me..)

While observing the situation on the parchment, George suddenly interrupted Fred. He pointed to a certain location on the parchment and said in a shaky voice, "Look at this."

Fred directed his gaze to where George was pointing. It was the corridor in front of the Gryffindor common room where they currently stood. Their names were displayed there, overlapping with an unfamiliar name at such proximity.

"Sh...Sherlock Forester..."

Fred swallowed and read the name off the Marauder's Map. At the same time, he and George mechanically turned their heads towards the direction the map indicated Sherlock's position.

Emerging from the shadows under the lamp, Sherlock, who had been silently watching them use the Marauder's Map, calmly locked eyes with the unlucky twins and asked, "Were you looking for me?"