In the Gryffindor common room fireplace, the last burning log finally gave way and collapsed.
A tiny spray of orange sparks flickered in the air, struggled briefly, then vanished.
The heavy, drowsy warmth was quickly replaced by the midnight chill.
On the wall, the clock tolled twelve times in a dull, muffled tone.
Midnight had come.
The hinges of the boys' dormitory door gave a faint creak — so soft it was nearly impossible to detect.
Through the crack slipped a blurry outline, like the very air itself was rippling.
Fred Weasley held his breath, clutching tightly the cold, hard diary in his hand.
He could feel his heart pounding madly in his chest, the rhythm so fierce it made his eardrums itch.
Through the Invisibility Cloak they had "borrowed" from their unlucky brother Percy, he could smell the faint remnants of fireplace ash in the air, mixed with the parchment-and-wood scent that belonged uniquely to Gryffindor.
George was just behind him, hidden beneath the cloak as well. A subtle nudge to Fred's back.
A silent urging.
A signal filled with anticipation.
Fred's lips curved upward uncontrollably. A hunter's grin, suppressed yet irrepressible, bloomed silently in the darkness.
Adventure.
That was the true reason they had come to Hogwarts.
He focused all his attention on the diary, and in his mind, whispered a question in a tone that was almost prayerful.
"Diary, diary, where should we go now?"
He didn't have to wait.
Almost instantly, the blank page began to change.
Ink bled forth from the paper's fibers, as though alive — viscous black liquid pooling together, flowing elegantly into neat lines of classical script.
[For a first night adventure, you'll need a small challenge. Go to the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, the one with the portrait of the "Snoring Fat Friar." There, you will find your first surprise.]
Fred's pupils contracted sharply.
Beneath the cloak, he and George exchanged a look — disbelief and elation flashing in their eyes.
It worked!
They hesitated no longer. With the castle's geography etched deep into their bones, they moved like fish in a dark sea, slipping through the corridors with fluid grace.
They knew every creaky floorboard, every suit of armor that groaned when the temperature shifted at night.
When Peeves swooped overhead, shrieking an off-key tune, they pressed themselves into the shadows of the wall, statues holding their breath.
The fourth floor.
The abandoned classroom door stood ajar.
A wave of stale air washed out — dust and rotted wood mingling into a musty stench.
Moonlight spilled coldly through tall arched windows, scattering pale blotches across the floor.
At the center, it illuminated a massive portrait on the wall.
The subject: a plump friar in robes, head tilted back, mouth agape, snoring with thunderous rhythm. The sound shook the very frame of the painting.
Here it was.
Fred's heartbeat quickened again.
The diary's pages shimmered with fresh words, ink that carried an unquestionable command.
[Now, speak today's password to the portrait.]
[The password is: Knowledge is more precious than gold.]
George leaned out from beneath the cloak, clearing his throat. The phrase was so corny it made his teeth ache, but the diary's orders were prophecy.
He stepped forward, forcing a solemn expression.
"Knowledge is more precious than gold."
His voice echoed faintly in the empty classroom.
And then, a miracle.
The friar's deafening snores stopped at once.
His eyes — squeezed to slits by layers of fat — snapped open.
There was no anger, no confusion. Instead, he gave George a knowing, mischievous wink.
Then came the grating sound of stone against stone.
The massive portrait, along with its ornate wooden frame, slid aside like a door, revealing a gaping, pitch-black passage beyond.
From within wafted a cold draft tinged with damp earth.
"Whoa!"
The twins choked back exclamations, their voices breaking into muffled squeals of awe.
They knew of the seven secret passages in the castle, and they had already mastered four.
But none like this.
Not one came close.
This wasn't just a hidden tunnel.
This was a higher-tier secret, guarded by magic of another order.
On the diary's page, black letters reappeared, smug with triumph.
[This passage leads directly to the third-floor Charms corridor.]
[And, according to my calculations, its exit will perfectly avoid Filch's patrol route at this very time. Enjoy your journey.]
Precise intelligence.
Flawless timing.
Unthinkable mechanisms.
The twins' last shred of doubt evaporated.
Now, they believed utterly.
This diary wasn't some ordinary magical item.
It was omniscient.
A cheat-code with the eyes of a god!
In front of this diary, Hogwarts — this ancient castle filled with secrets — held no secrets at all.
Filch, Snape, even Dumbledore himself… they would all be toys in the twins' hands.
A new age was dawning.
An age of Weasley pranks on a scale never seen before.
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