The New Marauder

Twenty one

Detention. Sucks. It straight up one hundred percent sucks. Like how many trophies can one school hold? Is it really necessary to give each team cup winners individual trophies after a season? Point is, so many trophies. How am I supposed to get through all of them by hand, and the fact that Filch split us up was just cruel. I know it's detention, but seriously, it's been two hours, and we still have Astronomy after this.
Wringing out my sore arm, I look through the remaining Quidditch trophies to give my numb fingers a break. Listening to Filch, I started with the oldest and moved forward, well, maybe not the oldest, oldest. Just old enough to show him that I actually put in some effort. The hope I had at being almost done slips from my chest when I realize there are so many left it doesn't even look like I put a dent in them.
I don't realize it until it's too late, and my hand is reaching for the Quidditch champions plaque. The plaque that holds both my Uncle's name on small a shield  with a picture of the team dressed in gold and scarlet robes plus another player dressed in different colors holding a large silver cup between them as they celebrate. Throughout the two hours and many trophies just like this one, I learned that the seeker is placed in front with the three chasers behind them, followed by the two beaters and keeper on the third row.
My eyes remain glued to the two in the middle row who hold so many similarities it's not even funny. And if I were to really look at my reflection in the mirror, I would be a fool if I tried to kid myself into thinking I wasn't an exact copy of her. Jet black messy hair seems like a trait that not only they share but has been passed on to Uncle Theo's side too. The only stark difference between the three of us is my mother's blue eyes that radiate happiness as she throws her arm around her brother's shoulders as they remain stuck in an endless loop of joy.
Deep down, I know what happened to her wasn't her fault. Maybe I have always known that and why I prefer to be compared to her rather than the coward that is my father. And from what I read about her in the short time I have been here on top of the numerous trophies I tried to avoid tonight, I know she was at least smart as hell on top of being a really good Quidditch player.
"BLACK." Filch's loud sleazy voice bounces off the walls, scaring me half to death, causing me to drop the plaque. "Tidy it up and meet me back in my office." He rasps out before walking out the door.
"Yes, sir." I mumble, picking it up off the marble floor.
I don't know what made me do it. If someone were to ask, I wouldn't have an answer for why I decided in that moment to remove the fractured glass plate that covered the plaque and peel off the picture before placing it in my pocket. But what I do know is the feeling that I finally found something about my family that I could actually be proud of filled my heart with something no words could describe.
Placing the plaque behind a group of other trophies to hide my only stint as a thief, I turn around and walk out of the trophy room feeling a little lighter than I walked in. It didn't take too long to reach Filch's office, and by calling it an office and not a glorified broom closet is a long stretch. I mean, was it too hard to find a decent-sized room in this humongous castle that's probably full of empty classrooms, or did Filch do something so bad that he was placed here as a punishment? The questions of how he came to be here, clearly miserable, surrounded by kids he clearly despises and not out in the world living his best life are driving me nuts.
"Going too soft on you lot these days," Filch mumbles under his breath as he rifles through the mess on his small desk.
Shifting uncomfortably on the seat in front of him, my eyes bounce around the small room until they finally land on the bottom drawer of a rusty-looking filing cabinet. "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous," I whisper under my breath, feeling a thrum of excitement spark in my heart.
"What was that?" He snaps, throwing down a crumpled parchment, causing me to jump.
"Oh, nothing," I mumble as Fred and George walk in, filling the seats next to me.
"Finally," Filch mumbles to himself. "I miss the days when they would allow us—"
Ignoring whatever his rant is leading to, I nudge Fred in the ribs. When he looks my way, I gesture to the drawer and try to hold back my laugh when his eyes light up. For the rest of the time in his godawful office, I try to think of different ways to get into that drawer, not to take anything but just to see what's inside of it. The question of what could possibly be so dangerous at a magical school that it get confiscated begs to be answered.
"Get out of here," he shoos us out, pulling our attention from the drawer.
Not hesitating, we jump up and run from the room. "Did you see it?" I ask George.
"See what?"
"The drawer, you dult." Fred punches him in the arm.
"What drawer?"
"The drawer that said Confiscated and Highly Dangerous. You idiot." I almost shout, trying to keep up with the long strides.
"How in Merlin's beard was I supposed to see it when his office looks like a rat's nest?" George whines, rubbing his arm.
"It doesn't matter," I breathe out, feeling a stitch form in my side. "We gotta get in there to see what's inside."
"Do we? I mean, if it's confiscated, then maybe—"
"George, think about all the possibilities that single drawer holds!" I cut him off.
"That's exactly what I'm thinking about." George shoots back. "What if there is something really dangerous in there?"
"Then at least we will know what it is," Fred shrugs. "C'mon, Georgie, didn't you tell Ori you gotta enjoy life a little bit?"
"That was to help with her stress, not breaking and entering," George argues, coming to a stop. "I don't want to think what will happen to us if we get caught."
"So we don't get caught," I say with a smile.
"And how do you suppose we do that?" George asks, rolling his eyes.
"I think I know someone who could help out unknowingly. Possibly someone who wants to prove he's the coolest uncle ever."

"So you want me to distract him long enough for you to put dungbombs in his office?" Uncle Theo asks us, moving a pile of graded parchments off to the side of his desk. "Was detention really that bad?"
"It was; my arm is still sore, Uncle Theo. It's been two days." I pout.
"And afterward, he was talking about how he misses the days when the old headmasters would let him string up the students and flogged them," George says, surprising both me and Fred.
"I'm sorry, what?" Uncle Theo asks, taken aback. "There's no way any sane—"
"I don't know if you've noticed, Professor, but Hogwarts isn't like other places," Fred smiles.
"Yeah, a bit behind the times," he smirks, holding up his quill as proof that he knows.
"Pretty please, Uncle Theo, it's just a harmless prank. And I promise no one will know you helped us; they won't even know it was us, we promise."
"Fine, I'll try to give you at max thirty minutes," he sighs, throwing down his quill. "Make sure you're one of the last to leave dinner. I'll have my second years trash my classroom before then; that should give you enough time to get in and 'drop dungbombs.'" He smiles, using air quotes.
"You're the best, Uncle Theo." I shout, running around his desk and wrapping my arms around him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know." He mutters, kissing my forehead.
"Thanks for helping out, Professor." Fred says, pulling on my book bag. "But we have Professor McGonagall next—"
"I don't think she would appreciate her three favorite students being late for our first lesson," George finishes as I step back.
"Yeah, probably not, have fun." He waves us off.
"Bye. Love you!" I shout, racing out the door behind the twins.
"Hey, just to let you know, Charlie is gonna sneak us out tonight," Fred breathes out as we turn the corner, almost running into a group of fifth years.
"Really?!"
"Yeah, he saw that we didn't get to eat before Astronomy the other night."
"And said that if we're dead set on getting detentions from now on, then we should make sure we know where to get food." George finishes dramatically.
"I don't want to spend time in detentions; however, if it's the result of us having some fun, then I'll be more than willing to pay the price." I grin.
"Yeah, well, McGonagall is letting the class in, so we best hurry before we're paying for more than we bargained for." He points to our head of house who's staring at us with the strictest look on her face due to our semi-lateness.
"Oh, shit." I whisper, picking up my pace until I reach the door. "Heeeeey. Professor, long time no see." I manage to say through harsh breaths.
"Is it more like a pick your own seat situation—"
"Or do you have specific ones waiting for us." Fred finishes for George as we try to enter her classroom but are blocked when she steps in front of us.
Together we cower under her stern eyes as they look us over as her mouth forms into a thin line and she crosses her arms over her chest. "You're late. All three of you."
"Sorry, Professor, we were with—"
"Professor Potter." Fred cuts me off nervously.
"Had some questions about shield charms." George explains.
Professor McGonagall keeps her hard stare on us. "You three will be here five minutes early to my lessons for the rest of this year, find your seats." She finally says, stepping aside.
"Yes, Professor." We say in unison, looking down.
"That was close." Fred whispers as we take the only remaining desk in the front row after George sat with Lee Jordan.
"Right."
"Good afternoon." Professor McGonagall says walking into her classroom, shutting us up in a heartbeat. "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn while here at Hogwarts." She says, moving her strict eyes over everyone before landing on me. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back."
Feeling heat creep up the back of my neck, I swallow the lump that formed in the back of my throat. Without another word, she turns on her heel, flicking her wand. In an instant, her large oak desk turned into a fat bright pink pig that started squealing loudly. Everyone in the class took an audible breath before clapping loudly. The pig took one step away from the noise then stopped as it turned back into her large oak desk.
"Today we will be starting small." She holds up a pack of matches then starts handing a small pile to the front row to be passed back. "Matches into needles. The incantation is Acusignis." Professor McGonagall instructs, transfiguring the one left in her hand to show it off.
After showing us the incantation a couple more times, she set us off to work. Now, I knew this would be one of the hardest subjects to learn; however, I did not realize how much harder it would be under the constant supervision of the one Professor I really want to impress. For some reason, something about Professor McGonagall seems familiar to me right down to the scrutinizing gaze she is currently sending my way from her desk. However, by the time the bell rings signaling the end of the lesson, there is a small pile of shiny thin sewing needles sitting in front of me.
"Good work for all those who managed to successfully transfigure your matchsticks, to those who haven't, practice." She orders sternly, looking to Fred's pile of broken matches. "Next lesson, we will be discussing the theories behind simple transfiguration incantations, I suggest you read the first three chapters of your book to be able to follow along." She instructs, dismissing us.