Untouchable

Hermione was convinced she had been sorted into the wrong house because her actions towards Theodore Nott's cauldron had been decidedly Slytherin. In a typical Slytherin fashion, she realized she had no remorse and plenty of justification should he ask. Nott had just sat in class during a raging argument that involved both their friends, and he had done nothing. He acted oblivious to the taunting, back-chatting, and rude, inappropriate comments Malfoy and Blaise had been slinging. Nott did not attempt to intervene or diffuse the situation, leaving Hermione responsible for breaking up the fight. He was very likely an accessory to the fire. The image of him working away at his desk, recording results, taking temperature readings, and drawing graphs came unbidden into her head. That could have been her, making a proper start on their experiment and inching ever closer to that Head Girl position. Parvati had been issuing orders like Mussolini and Lavender scurrying around like a headless chicken for the past twenty minutes. The clock continued to tick. Thank Merlin, they had a double period to compensate for the lost time. She made her way to the storeroom for ingredients.

The storeroom was dimly lit, all four walls lined with evenly spaced wooden shelf racks. The open central space was further divided into smaller alcoves by more frames. Jars upon jars of ingredients were haphazardly stacked, with trays and test tube racks interspersed between them. Organization had been Professor Snape's forte. Under Professor Slughorn's tenure, the storeroom had turned into a fly-tip.

Hermione made a beeline for the far-left alcove, where she knew filter paper was stored. Didn't Professor Slughorn use to keep brown filter paper in a tray on the bottom shelf? She got down on her knees and started searching. She remembered the tray had been blue and labeled as scrap paper. Carefully, she pulled the named tray out on the ground and began to sift through the contents. She frowned. There was no brown filter paper - only white and black. She scratched her head. Where would Slughorn keep it? Carelessly, she wrenched a second tray from the bottom shelf, on the floor, with a resounding clatter. Her eyes skimmed over the contents disappointedly. She feared their time would be wasted trying to find ingredients. She could, of course, summon it with magic. She then remembered a lesson where Goyle had tried just that and all the broken glass he was made to clean. Shards of it remained dotted about under the cabinets. This place was a shambles. She reached upwards, fumbling for the third tray, as she continued to peer at the jars on the bottom shelf. Her fingers finally wrapped themselves around something unusual. Hermione stilled. Her heart stopped beating. Instead of clasping a tray, her fingers were caged in the grasp of another hand.

A hard, malleable male hand closed around her delicate wrist. One sharp tug pulled her onto her feet, rotating her whole body a hundred and eighty degrees. Her backbone almost cracked on impact, arching up against the spine of the wooden shelf rack. Her head was knocked back, and before she accidentally pushed the entire frame back into the wall, a second muscled arm shot out and closed around her waist, steadying her. The whole case creaked and rocked on its base, the glass jars threatening to tip and slide off. After a nerve-wracking fifteen seconds, everything stilled. He breathed a sigh of relief. Their eyes met. Her breath rushed out of her. Then, there was a mad scramble for wands.

Hermione's ten-inch vinewood wand pressed into Theodore Nott's temple. She had to strain on tiptoes to reach but held her stance without wavering. His longer and sturdy yew wand prodded just above her stomach. It was an odd place to choose, and he gripped it loosely. Discomfited and hesitant, Hermione spoke first. "What did you do that for?"

With Granger's trembling form trapped between his and the wooden shelves, Theodore Nott reached up and pulled out a fourth tray far above her head. His fingers closed around a thin strip of brown before pushing the tray back with one hand. "This is where Slughorn keeps brown filter paper." He dangled it in the air and smirked as she swayed off balance while reaching for it and simultaneously aiming her wand at him.

Flustered, she grappled for the filter paper, drawing it bit by bit from between his clamped fingers with as much strength as she could muster till the last inch of the slip was in her grasp. His silence was unnerving. "Was I in your way?" She asked sarcastically, the subject of his silent ridicule. "You could have just asked me to move rather than throw me up against the shelf rack."

He said cryptically. "You were making a mess on the floor."

She looked up at his steely grey eyes, impassive and remote, and was unsure how to interpret his remark. "You nearly snapped my neck." Surreptitiously, she slid the filter paper on the shelf behind her in case he took it back. It would take half an hour to find a ladder in this maze.

"I sincerely doubt that." He removed his wand tip, flicking it casually over her left shoulder. She stared in silent wonder as several trays and loose papers righted themselves with frightening speed and slotted themselves back into position. Even the labels were correct. For a moment, she mused what it would be like to have grown up in a wizarding household surrounded by enchantments and charms. In contrast, she had read every spell she knew from a book, learned by dry rote, and rehearsed till proficient. His wand was back, nestled under Hermione's rib cage. "You shouldn't have touched my cauldron." He said slowly.

"Who said I did?" She wet her lips and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, looking studiously at the ground. "The truth is…."

"Don't even think about lying."

The spine of the shelf rack continued to protrude into her back, the dull pain spreading across both her shoulder blades. Straightening up was not an option when he was looming over her.

Nott eyed his quarry: fine-boned and slender, like a garden sparrow. "Granger, you don't cover your tracks well. I know it was you."

Her right arm wavered as she tightened her grip. "I see." She couldn't see much, in fact. She squinted in the half-light of the storeroom, filtered through the gaps in perpetually drawn curtains. A thin film of dust lined every shelf and mold set like a cold wax in every crack and crevice. She could make out the shadowed hollows in his face between sharp ridges of his brow and the angle of his jaw. "What do you want?" She asked warily. He wanted something. He had braced his right forearm on the ledge above her head and appeared at ease. Hermione, a covert admirer, had observed from previous lessons that Nott was right-handed. It was puzzling why he had transferred his wand onto his non-dominant side. Whatever his reasons, she was trapped in a tight corner. The back of her throat chafed from breathing particulate.

"I was going to give you a chance to explain yourself and apologize."

She flinched. Not likely. Her face said as much before she composed her expression of mild perplexity. "You're here for an apology?" Haven't you got better things to be doing? Had anyone walked in the storeroom, they would have seen an unlikely couple holed up in the alcove, with Nott whispering sweet nothings into her hair. It was a far cry from reality.

"It was a rather low blow you dealt Zabini. How do you suppose he came into his enviable inheritance?"

Hermione sighed. She should have seen this coming. Her conscience pricked with a small measure of guilt, but she was understandably hesitant to admit her guilt after being thrown about like a ragdoll. Nott had caught her on her back foot. She suspected this chance encounter had more to do with butchering his experiment than protecting a friend. Hermione would apologize to Zabini in person if he were here and had asked her to apologize. Calmly, she assessed the situation and came to a rational decision. Wands were drawn though no spells had been cast yet. Though she was a competent duellist, she recognized her limitations. Hermione sparred exceedingly well under pressure but required a bucketload of adrenaline. While this was a surprise encounter, it was not a threat to her life, and she could not justify slamming Nott into the far wall with a barrage of spells. It would just create more problems down the line. Hermione concluded; that a token apology would suffice. She would humor Nott.

He watched her intently.

"I…I never mentioned the money or brought up Zabini's mother during that exchange. It was unfortunate that both topics came up in conversation." She winced at the poor choice of words but plowed on. "What was said was regrettable. I'm sorry if Blaise was offended, and I would gladly apologize to him should he ask me to."

The lines around Nott's mouth tightened. "That is the worst apology I have ever heard."

Hermione opened her mouth to counter. "I think…"

"Zabini's mother is barely cold in her grave. I suppose you think Potter is the only one who grieves for his deceased parents."

A slightly puzzled Hermione tilted her head sideways. His tone was grave, and maybe he was upset on Blaise's behalf. She asserted, "It's a bit late to defend Zabini, and he would have appreciated you speaking up for him earlier."

"We're talking now. You had plenty of time to cook up that lackluster response and the fact remains you crossed a line."

It seemed she wasn't going anywhere after all. Hermione sighed and lowered her wand to her side, rubbing her sore bicep with her left hand. He would have hexed her by now if that were his intention. Perhaps, he wanted to talk. The witch's shoulders sagged as she leaned against the back shelf. Nott's shoulders relaxed imperceptibly, but he maintained his stance. "Well, your friends aren't innocent either." She muttered half to herself, "I was also not alone then. I can't speak for Parvati and Lavender, but if I could…."

He rolled his eyes. "Stop making excuses, Granger."

She paused, seeing her path to freedom winding away in the distance. "Nott, as much I'd like to chat, I have an experiment to finish, and I am on the clock." She tried to stand up straight and glided forward. Hermione promptly skewered herself on his outstretched wand like a kebab. Her diaphragm spasmed. Her breath caught in her chest just from the shock before pain signals could be relayed to her brain. She clutched her torso just below her ribs, and her wand clattered to the floor. Before realizing her mistake, Nott retrieved her wand with a casual flick of his own.

"Oh, you absolute tosser!" Granger gasped while doubled over with her head sandwiched between her legs, taking rapid shallow breaths. "That was completely unwarranted."

"You should never let your guard down." He said blasé.

"I should have hexed you into the next classroom!" She hissed. "Next time, it won't just be your cauldron. I will blow a hole through your tripod and desk!"

"Granger, there is no need to get upset." He said impassively.

"You have never seen me upset!" She seethed, angry at herself more than anyone for tolerating the first attack and emboldening him to spring a second.

"Besides, you did that to yourself." He smirked as though privy to all her thoughts.

Inflamed, Hermione Granger spat. "I have been holding myself back this whole time, paying you lip service and spouting out empty platitudes for Zabini!"

"It didn't escape my notice." He said dryly.

"I have a potion to brew and a prefect application to submit! I don't have enough time for your games, and don't even contemplate trying to ruin my experiment!"

"Such double standards."

She looked up sharply. "Where's my wand?"

"Here." He patted his trouser pocket with a wry smile. To add insult to injury, Nott spent several agonizing seconds examining her wand while Granger lay winded on her knees, trying to reinflate her lungs after her breathless tirade. Ignoring his advice, Nott stood with his back to her since he did not consider her a threat. The nerve of him thought an infuriated Hermione.

"Vine – from the ancient druid forests," He mused. He looked over his shoulder at her curiously for several uncomfortable seconds, and she got the distinct impression he was appraising her. He looked down the length of her wand and aimed at one of the jars on the far wall. She half expected him to cast a spell to cause the jar to smash and pre-emptively scrunched her eyes closed. "Its allegiance will not change easily."

She opened her eyes slowly. Did she detect a bitter note in his voice? "You sound like Ollivander."

Ignoring her comment, Nott tested its pliability. He peered down the center of her wand tip, and his eyebrows raised fractionally. "Dragon heartstring?" He queried. And when she nodded, he remarked. "Its power is wasted on a muggle witch."

"The wand chooses the wizard," Hermione replied pointedly. She tried to pull herself to stand.

"Ollivander is a salesman. What would you expect him to say?"

"Where did you buy your wand from, if not Ollivander's?" She countered. "Your wand is made from the yew tree? The tree of death as it is known colloquially." She alluded to the toxicity of the yew tree, from its root to its sap. Ginny had a wand exactly like it, but Hermione would not divulge her sources.

Nott regarded her warily. She got the feeling she had touched upon a rather sensitive subject. The guarded look in his eyes told her that she should tread carefully. Voldemort's wand was made from yew tree wood, and it was said to give its bearer power over life and death. The left side of Nott's face was thrown into shadow, and the right side bathed in the thready winter sun. She mused, like two wolves circling in a fight for dominance. It was common knowledge that Nott's father was a death eater, and she did not fancy his chances. Perhaps the fight was already won. "I'd say Ollivander made the perfect pairing."

The muscles tightened in his face. Nott stepped out of the sunlight and into the shade. "Nothing's changed." He handed back her wand.

"Malfoy's already put our potion on the trays in the glass cabinet," Blaise informed Nott, who still seemed preoccupied. "You were gone for some time earlier?"

Nott glared at him for a few seconds before surprisingly offering an answer. "I was in the storeroom, looking for ingredients."

"Did you have a run-in with Granger? Patil accused me of hexing her friend into a test tube when she didn't return from the store room. Not that any of them went to check on her."

"She was there, but I kept my distance." Nott lied. He looked darkly at the trio of Gryffindors approaching Slughorn's glass cabinet. Granger was in the middle of the trio, and she held a tray balancing a rack containing five test tubes.

"Careful, Hermione. Try not to disturb the potion, " Lavender said.

An already flustered Hermione replied affirmatively. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hands were already clammy. She looked at the distance left to walk and groaned. Professor Slughorn smiled sympathetically at her as he reclined his chair and his head popped out of view behind the wizarding financial times.

"Whatever you do, don't tip it! It's nasty stuff." Lavender sucked a slight burn on her finger and winced again.

"That needs seeing to," Hermione said, willing her hands not to tremble. "Why do I have to be the one holding the tray?"

Lavender replied promptly. "Parvati and I agreed that you have the steadiest hands."

"Really?"

"No." said Parvati, "We tossed a coin for you, and you lost."

"Oh, I see," Hermione said flatly. What a sound democratic process.

"It was my idea," Lavender stated, looking very pleased.
Hermione figured.

"Maybe you could walk a little quicker, and we might reach the cabinet before lunchtime," Parvati remarked.

"Do you want to carry this tray, Parvati?" Hermione snapped.

Granger's vials were now in Theodore Nott's line of sight. His grip on the wooden bench tightened, and his brow furrowed in concentration. What Blaise Zabini said to him was lost in the general hustle and activity of a noisy classroom. He had placed his wand on the bench before him, and no one would suspect. Calmly he recited the incantation in his mind. The spell was uttered. Then to his horror, Granger turned sharply to face the glass cabinet.

"What was that sound?" Parvati said sharply. "Did you hear it, Lavender?"

Lav straightened. "Yes, I did." She spun around, trying to check the back of her jumper. The girls fell quiet until the gradual ripping, tearing, and fraying of fabric broke the silence.

"Oh, my God! Hermione. It's your skirt!" Parvati screamed.

Hermione screamed. The back of her skirt was completely open and flapping like bat wings.

"Don't drop it!" Parvati sprang forward like a jack in the box to support Hermione's hold on the tray while Lavender ran behind Hermione to block the view.

A thousand thoughts raced through Hermione's head. This was impossible, unreal, and unfair, and of course, this had to be happening to her. She was jolted back into reality when one of the test tubes clinked against the other. The samples in both started fizzling and then fizzing. Hermione's eyes widened with growing alarm. The liquids began bubbling from the bottom of the glass to the top, overflowing onto the tray. Pale pink concentrated liquid swamped the tray and began dissolving the wooden test tube rack. Hermione whimpered. She watched the three test tubes quake and then topple onto the tray. There was no time to lose. Fortunately, Lavender was holding the back of her skirt/ wrap together.

"Lav?"

"Yeah, Hon?" Her friend responded.

"Run with me."

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Parvati leaped in front, clearing the queue of students waiting to shelve their potions. Hermione charged forward with the rapidly dissolving tray, and Lavender brought up Hermione's rear. The three girls tore through the queue to the glass cabinet like a battering ram. Parvati stepped aside, allowing Hermione to throw the remnants of the tray onto the nearest available shelf before the liquid engulfed her hands. They backed away, breathing heavily. The glass cabinet started rumbling, rocking back and forth. Lavender gasped. One by one, the shelves collapsed. Vials of samples fell on more vials. Crash. Smash. Crash. Smash. Crash. Smash. Finally, all twelve shelves were lying as a mound of powdered glass within the cabinet. The sixty seeping samples of potions were a frothy, seething mixture that coated the insides of the remaining intact cabinet. It all happened so fast.

Next, the wall behind the glass cabinet had blown. Professor Slughorn's broadsheet newspaper was flung across the room, wrenched from his hands. His coffee mug slipped off his table, and an explosion shook the classroom. Ron and Neville clung to their desks. Harry took shelter underneath. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey had fled to the store cupboard. Theodore and Blaise stood frozen on the spot. Entire chunks of rock and brick had torn out of the wall and came crashing down, rolling like thunder. Lavender squealed, pulling the other two girls back and out of harm's way. Thick puffs of smoke and dust rose, enveloping them all. Parvati coughed, waving her arms to clear the air. Hermione gaped at the extent of the damage. She could see into the next classroom.

Standing by the blackboard while explaining the brewing of Amortentia to the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Professor Snape jerked to a shuddering halt. He put down the piece of chalk, staring back at Hermione through the hole in the wall. Words would not come. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, taking two steadying breaths. The Gryffindors and Slytherins behind her were in just as much shock. Slughorn looked ready to pass out. Hermione Jean Granger stood at the center of all the destruction, staring open-mouthed at everything else in her underwear. Lavender Brown was crouched behind her, holding a scrap of tartan-like material, wondering how to explain to her dear friend that she'd forgotten to hold onto Hermione's ripped skirt.