Untouchable

The Gryffindor common room was strewn with red; red banners, red scarves, and red robes, and the red party were in full swing. Tankards were passed around; chocolate frogs leaped over sofas, and games of 'snap' exploded on the tables. A chorus of Gryffindors sang, "Weasley is our King," with gusto, swaying on their feet. The celebrations had undoubtedly started as genteel but grew wild within a couple of hours. Lee Jordan had procured a magical DJ set, and the whole common room danced to ear-splitting, pulsing techno beat under colorful disco lights. Fred and George jumped from one table to another, hyping the room while belting out the latest club anthem tunelessly. The red and gold banners previously tied high to the walls were torn down and stomped under the heels of exuberant dancers. George tottered precariously on top of the nested tables while holding a bottle capped with a shot glass. "Shots, anyone?" He hollered. Hermione, who sat on the adjacent sofa, closed her eyes at the last minute and was sprayed in the face for her troubles. She shrieked at George as the alcohol dripped over her decolletage. "Sorry!" He called out, looking the least apologetic. Like a monkey, he vaulted onto the makeshift dance floor and cut through the crowd.

 "Oi Weasley!" Ron swung around to catch a beer bottle thrown the length of the common room. "Drink up!" Dean and the other boys cheered Ron to down it in one go. "Go on, son!" They whooped and shouted encouragements building up to the inevitable crescendo.

Parvati bumped into her as she sat down, fanning herself desperately. She handed her a handkerchief which Hermione used to blot her face, and when Hermione was done, she gave Hermione a glass of water. "Don't put it down." She warned.

Hermione cupped an ear with one hand. "What?" She yelled, even though Parvati was sitting next to her.

"The punch is spiked!" Parvati shouted.

Hermione only heard the word spiked. Her eyes widened. She pointed to the glass in her hand with a raised eyebrow. "Vodka?"

"That's water! But don't put it down. Hold on to it!" Parvati pointed to the coffee table before them and shook her head.

Hermione nodded in understanding. It would be easier if they both knew how to sign. Hermione would have taken her phone out and typed a message if she was in a muggle nightclub, not that she had been to any. After Parvati stopped yelling in Hermione's ear, her hand rose to her throat, massaging gently.

"Where is Lavender?" Hermione shouted. "Lavender?" She enunciated.

Parvati pointed towards the girls' dorms and made a retching face.

Hermione gaped. "Is she okay?" She touched her index finger with her thumb, straightening the remaining three fingers.

Parvati pulled a doubtful expression loosely translated to Lavender could be currently puking her guts out, will require intravenous rehydration, and her kidneys are failing. Parvati jerked her head sideways at Neville. Hermione's heart sank when she saw a highly intoxicated Longbottom tied to a wooden chair with innumerable rings of damp toilet paper. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Ron stood around him, marveling at their handiwork. Neville's head lolled onto his chest, and she winced when Seamus slapped Neville's cheek. Hermione got up, but Parvati pulled her back. "Leave it." She shook her head firmly.

"I've got to help." Hermione's jaw dropped as she turned to see a couple snogging in the corner under the staircase to the girl's dormitories, and Neville was quickly forgotten. "Harry?"

Parvati read her lips and turned sharply. "Harry?"

Lee Jordan switched the track. The music picked up again, and boisterous dancing blocked the lovers from view. Hermione squinted, trying to make out the face of the girl Harry had locked lips with. She swayed towards Harry in a gentle embrace out of sight again. Harry clasped her face tenderly with both hands. Parvati pointed to her black ponytail and then at the girl in question. Through the moving keyhole of entangled limbs, Hermione spied a sliver of red in the braid slung over the girl's shoulder. Hermione raised both eyebrows in disbelief.

Parvati giggled. "Wait till her brothers see this."

It was a surprise, but what if Harry had feelings for Ginny Weasley? They had spent so many summers at the Weasleys household and kept that quiet. Hermione certainly had not caught on, and Harry had never mentioned it. Neither had Ginny. It stung a little, given how freely Hermione shared her thoughts and feelings with her dearest friend. There was so much he kept to himself. Would it have hurt to tell her? She would have kept his confidence.

George Weasley pushed roughly past the kissing couple with two full bottles of fire whisky, which he deposited on an oak chest. Behind him came Fred hefting a crate of beer bottles. Despite Fred's sharp rebuke, Colin McReevy helped himself to one of the bottles. Weasley gestured for help. "There's another two crates back there." He said to McLaggen. Cormac presumably asked about the source of their abundant supply. Fred glanced at George, who winked, touching his nostril with his index finger. A hint of glittering blue glass peered out of Fred's open collar as he set down the crate. Hermione presumed it was a bottle of expensive liquor. Bombay Sapphire? Cormac's face broke into a sneer, and he patted George's shoulder before taking off in the recommended direction.

She nudged Parvati, who said sarcastically. "Methanol?"

"I hope not. A corpse is the last thing we need."

Parvati frowned in confusion, and Hermione had to spell the word lethal twice. "L-E-T-H-A-L! Methanol kills! It kills!" She put her hands around her own throat and played dead.

Parvati made a thumbs-up sign. "I saw George put some drops of that in the punch bowl."

Hermione stared at Parvati in confusion, her mouth moving too quickly for Hermione to lip-read. "What did you say?"

"Forget it!" Parvati hollered. They had certainly forgotten about Neville.

The party would have gone on all night. Before Hermione could escape to the girls' dormitories for her sanity, Professor McGonagall stormed into the common room just after midnight. Hermione and Parvati sprang to their feet in shock. Seamus Finnegan shoved a crate of beer bottles under the nearest desk, ripping the carpet. The second crate was hastily stowed behind Hermione's sofa. McLaggen backed out of view carrying a third crate of empties. Fred tore himself from his passionate embrace with Angelina, mouth smeared with pink lipgloss. An inebriated Dean Thomas clambered down from the curtain pole he had climbed while George Weasley tousled awkwardly with his fliers after relieving himself in the fireplace. Professor McGonagall waved her hands wildly for the music to stop. When Lee Jordan finally cut the track, Ron said all too loudly in the ensuing silence. "McGonagall? What does that bloody harpy want now?"

Hermione gasped. Neville woke from slumber, lost his balance, and face-planted onto the carpet. He struggled and thrashed wildly to free his arms and detach his bottom from the chair. Flailing like a walrus, Neville cussed and cursed until his energy was sapped. After which, he lay very still on the carpet, whimpering. "Can someone help me, please? Help."

The Professor stepped over Neville, her robes gliding soundlessly over his prone form. Examining all the devastation in her path, she enunciated slowly. "I'll see you in my office, all of you boys."

The classroom McGonagall summoned them to was dimly lit and devoid of cages for quetzals and other transfigured exotic birds. Numerous parchment rolls, rotas, and timetables were spread on the teacher's desk. A detention room, Harry thought glumly. Weasley twins to his right were exchanging low mutterings of speculation. Ron looked miserable. Harry was resigned to his fate. That was when the door opened and slammed shut behind the grave-faced Professor. She strode briskly down the aisle between the desks and chairs, robes billowing around her. She shouted. "Off my desk, Weasley!"

George reluctantly ambled off his perch, hands stuffed into his pockets and shuffled into place in line beside Fred.

"Well?" Her tongue clicked as she planted herself into her official seat behind her desk, scrutinizing her four delinquents. "What have you got to say for yourselves?"

Silence. No one wanted to be the idiot who answered that question.

Her wand hand flicked, clearing the spread of parchments and rotas instantly. Harry distractedly followed their progress across the room, the sheets furling and unfurling like bird wings before finally slotting themselves into a navy-blue folder titled miscellaneous in an inundated filing cabinet. His attention snapped back to the present.

"I specifically instructed you not to host a celebratory party!" Professor McGonagall said shrilly. She looked at each of them with a stern glare that none could manage to return. Her voice strained to a wheeze. "Have you got anything to say for yourselves?"

Ron didn't dare look up past the height of the teacher's desk. Harry scuffed his shoes against the floor, unconsciously mimicking Ron's actions. An uncomfortable silence descended and stretched for long minutes. Harry's muscles tensed and coiled, ready to bolt for the door. Then, Fred, who had remained solemn all the while, lips pursed tightly in reflection, spoke. "We should have been more discrete, Professor."

George bit the inside of his cheek.

McGonagall gave a look to the heavens for strength. "The word I am looking for, Weasley, is obedient! That was too much to ask from you and your ilk!"

Fred bit his lip, head bowing instantly. A raised vein looked ready to pop like a blood blister in the Professor's right temple. Ron hadn't noticed that before, so he stared at it a little longer. Harry nudged him. Ron's curious expression had not gone unnoticed.

"Ronald Weasley!" McGonagall shouted.

Ron jumped out of his skin at the sound. "Professor?"

The Professor scowled, observing his un-tucked shirt and the holes in his maroon turtleneck jumper, one in each elbow and deliberate in his cuffs, which his thumbs had hooked through. With despair, she noted the dirt-encrusted nail beds in his thumbs. "Perhaps you can tell me the meaning of the word harpy."

Ron opened his mouth and then remembered who he was talking to. McGonagall studiously ignored the antics of the three boys to the left of him. He scratched his forehead, his face ripening like a tomato under scrutiny. Ron shook his head a few times or instead made some strange twitching head movements pivoted on a stiff neck before mumbling a strangled… "I don't know, Miss."

"You don't know?" If looks could kill, it would be engraving Ronald Weasley on a gravestone.

Harry snorted while George tried to hold himself upright.

"I...err... no." Ronald closed his mouth.

Her nostrils pinched to slits. "Your mother..."

At the mention of his mother, Ron blanched.

She continued, "She asked me to watch you closely, Weasley. It grieves me to see you following in your brothers' footsteps." McGonagall threw a meaningful glance to the left of him. Despite the situation's gravity, Fred and George rolled their eyes at each other in disgust. "Percy!"

"No bloody initiative." Fred concurred.

McGonagall gave them a quelling look. "I meant you two!" She rested her elbows against the desk and leaned forward; weight braced on them. "I don't think you boys realize the seriousness of your actions – Potter, stop fidgeting!" She screeched.

Harry's hands immediately fell away from curling his shirt tails.

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose for a few seconds to re-establish her inner calm. Uh-oh, the serious face was on. George waggled a brow at Fred. She took a deep breath before rattling off a list. "You organized and brought alcohol onto the school premises, held a party past bedtime, and facilitated underage drinking. You have vandalized the common room and committed acts of unspeakable vulgarity." Her mouth was pressed in a thin flat angry line. "I am not impressed with any of you!" She spat.

Harry opened his mouth to counter.

"Quiet, Potter!" She screamed and jabbed the air in front of him with her wand. "I hold you personally responsible as much as I hold the Weasley brothers responsible. I expected more from a Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Your teammates' behavior today was shameful, and you did nothing!"

Harry flinched under the weight of her words and focused on a speck on the ground that seemed to flicker and move all over the carpet.

The Professor's tirade (which left her quite breathless) had not been enough to scratch Fred and George's thick skin. Fred rather boldly asked. "Professor, where are..."

McGonagall pre-empted the question. "Longbottom, Thomas, and other boys are currently doing their twenty laps of the quidditch pitch under supervision by Argus Filch. When I finish speaking with you, the four of you will join them, doing thirty laps each."

Ron glanced furtively over his shoulder to the distant sounds of rolling thunder through the rain-spattered window. He gulped. "Right now, Professor?"

"When do you have in mind?" She clicked her fingers, and a fresh roll of parchment and a quill appeared on her desk. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded across her chest. "Now, tell me what I should do with all four of you."

Fred could not believe his ears. There was more punishment.

Her gaze tracked sideways to George Weasley, who tried for a charming smile. "A slap on the wrist, a peck on the cheek, a dose of wise words, and send us to our beds like good boys."

McGonagall cursed herself for not being head of Hufflepuff. George's cheeky smile was not returned, and she replied frostily. "I think it will be an afterschool detention for the next two months." The quill began to write of its accord, streaking across the parchments in precise punctuated swirls.

Collective groans broke out. Her palm slammed down on the desk. The boys jumped, spines locking ramrod straight, standing to attention like soldiers. Once satisfied with the renewed sense of order, she continued in a softer but firm tone. "You are all banned from the next three Gryffindor quidditch games."

Jaws dropped, hitting the floor simultaneously. No one had been expecting that. The only sound breaking the pin-drop silence was the scratching quill as it bore deep tattooing the parchment.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for each of you," McGonagall added with a note of finality. "Letters will be sent home, and you will speak to the headmaster individually regarding this matter. I want you to know that you have been let off very lightly.

This was light? Harry thought

"Had you been in any other house, I can guarantee you would face immediate suspension." She paused momentarily to allow her words time to register.

Harry waited for her to dismiss them. He realized this debacle was far from over when she lifted two fire whisky bottles off the floor onto the desk and a blue bottle by its neck. "I can't believe the amount of alcohol I have had to confiscate tonight! How did you come by the extraordinary supply? Did you get it from Hogsmeade?"

Fred and George shifted uncomfortably on their heels.

"Has the cat got your tongue, boys?" The Professor acidly. "I will find out one way or another.” McGonagall's glare piercing in its intensity landed on Harry. "Mr Potter, perhaps you can try to explain what this blue bottle is."

Harry shook himself out of freeze-frame, jaw slack and held open, eyes unable to tear themselves away from the shiny purplish depths of the liquid inside. He realized that she was waiting for an appropriate answer. He had no idea what that bottle contained. The two individuals responsible had taken a small step back, as though wiping their hands clean of their crime and merging with the wallpaper as innocent onlookers.

"Then perhaps Mr. Potter would..." She broke off mid-way, interrupted by the rapping of the door. Irritated at the interruption, she swiveled her chair and called out come in.

Filch's greasy rat-tailed locks and sweat-smeared forehead appeared around the doorframe. "Professor, you might like to see this."

"See what?" She snapped with ill-disguised impatience.

His beady amber eyes locked on the four Gryffindors in the classroom, and yellowing teeth bared their approval. "I found more crates of beer in the Gryffindor common room. A seal on one of the boxes might interest you."

"Well, boys, I won't need your answers after all." McGonagall rose to her feet and harrumphed. "Wait here!"

With bated breath, they watched the door close behind her and heard the clack of her shoes down the corridor. Harry turned to face the twins, knowing they needed to think of a game plan quickly before she came back. "She thinks it's me! She thinks I know."

Fred and George shared knowing looks but seemed satisfied with McGonagall's appraisal.

Harry clarified. "I'm not going to take all the blame! I didn't bring the alcohol on the premises."

Fred patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Relax, Harry. None is going to take the blame for the booze!"

George chimed in. "We drew a seal on one of the boxes."

"A red herring, if you will." Fred scoffed, "As if we would give up the name of our contact!"

Ron picked up the blue bottle and examined it. "Is this booze? It's pretty. What is in this anyway?"

Fred said bluntly. "It isn't booze. It's Veritaserum."

Harry recoiled. He pointed at the bottle in Ron's hands. "Why the hell did you bring Veritaserum to the party?"

George stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I wanted to know if I had a chance with Alicia, and Fred was keen on getting back in Angelina's good books. A little smattering in the right drink and tongues would loosen."

"I’m very grateful to you for helping me return to Angelina’s good books,” Fred chimed.

Ron placed the bottle very gently back on the desk. “Did you get this from your contact? You know you can trust me, and I am your brother.”

George made an odd gargling noise in his throat.

“Snape?” Ron translated.

“Snape?” Harry roared, and his eyes practically jumped out of their sockets and rolled under a desk. “You stole that from Snape?”

An overly confident with the practiced sleaze of a salesman, George corrected, hooking an arm over Fred’s shoulder. “Borrowed without prior notice and to return it without being noticed.”

“When do you plan on giving back to him - after our thirty laps of the quidditch pitch when it’s mid-morning?” Harry snapped.

“Woah.” Ron held up his hands. “Let’s not fight here.” He shifted his body so his shoulder poked in front of Harry’s, forcing the captain to step back and regain control of that seldom-seen temper. The tension in the room eased a fraction. Harry breathed in, hands braced on hips, rolling his head forward and far back as his neck muscles would allow.

After a five-second interval of telepathic communication between the twins, George confessed. “Last week, Filch caught us after curfew–we were returning from Honeydukes. He took us straight to Snape’s office.” He stopped mid-flow and paused briefly to Harry’s ire. “We saw Snape coming out of a hole in his office wall. He’s got a bookcase behind his desk that takes you into a private store cupboard.”

Fred butted in. “Not even the house elves know about it, and we made a few subtle inquiries.” He gestured animatedly to the space above his head. “There are racks and racks of potions: Amortentia, Felix Felicis, Veritaserum, Polyjuice – you name it, they are all there, all in similar bottles and brewed at very high concentration.”

Ron asked. “What would he need it for?”

Harry shrugged. “Whatever it’s for, it is important to him; otherwise, it wouldn’t be behind in a storeroom behind a bookcase.” Harry paused, mulling over the details in his mind and arriving at an unsettling conclusion. “If McGonagall finds out what that is...” He gestured to the bottle. “Or where that bottle’s from, Snape will immediately suspect Gryffindors, seeing as we were the only house partying last night.”

“If he wants to keep the storeroom a secret from the other professors, he’ll act innocent. He’ll pretend not to recognize it.” Fred stated. Unfortunately, Harry knew that Snape’s temporary silence would not give them immunity or protection, although it would keep McGonagall in the dark and out of the picture. She was a complication that neither they nor Snape needed. Snape would come after them individually, which was probably a far worse situation. Harry could visualize in his mind four corpses floating face down in the great lake.

Ron asked. “But do we even need to return the bottle? What if Snape doesn’t notice it’s gone?” It was a decent point Ron raised, but Harry knew the answer immediately when he firmly placed his thumb pad on the neck of the glass bottle. He could feel the distinctive pulse of a tracing charm. “We'll have to return it. If Snape realizes this is missing, he won't need McGonagall to tell him where to find it or who's responsible. We need to return this before we start the run.” Harry implored.

Fred said grimly. "We don't have time to return it before then."

"Harry?" Ron interrupted his thoughts. "Harry? What are we going to do?"

The clock chimed. Everyone jumped out of their skins. Harry rubbed his temples in growing desperation. Where was Hermione when you needed her? He listened for the overdue clacking of footsteps in the corridor; his eyes trained on the door handle. A rudimentary plan began to form.

"Fred!" Harry called. "Unscrew the lid of the fire whisky bottles."

George retorted. "The fire whisky is not the problem right now!"

"Pass it here!" Ron caught the bottle deftly from Fred's throw and strained on the bottle top, clasping it in a thick fist. It was not turning. Damn! "How do you open this?" He uttered a string of profanities. "Anyone got a wand?"

Harry pulled his wand out of his right pocket, passing it to George, who gave it to Ron. Ron muttered an incantation. George held out the second-fire whisky bottle. The bottle tops came loose with ease. Ron held the alcoholic beverage in one hand. "Well, now what?" He asked Harry.

"Drink it," Harry ordered.

"Drink it?" Ron and George said simultaneously, two pairs of eyebrows shot skywards to be swallowed by red manes.

Harry explained. "There isn't a sink in this room we can pour the fire whisky down, and out of the four of us, you two are the heavyweights."

"Bloody hell." George rolled. "I'll pass out before the McGonagall if I drink all this!"

Harry clarified. "Just a quarter of it." He tapped the bottle, indicating the desired level.

“Whatever you say," Ron added in a strangled tone before tipping the whisky bottle to his mouth in unison with his brother. "We're following your plan."

McGonagall was right in thinking that obedience was an unfamiliar word for the Weasley brothers. "You better know what you're doing, Harry," Fred murmured, watching with anxiety as Ron guzzled the whisky.

Hunched over, with his back to the door, Harry took the open Veritaserum bottle and poured half of the colorless and odorless liquid into each of the two fire whisky bottles without spilling. He did not dare breathe or look away until the last drops of Veritaserum were transferred and shook the bottle upside down over his flat palm for confirmation. Hary magically sealed the fire whisky to the best of his ability to ensure they did not appear tampered with. Harry knew that Fred was not about to like what he was about to say next. “Hand me your cologne. I know it's in your pocket, and we need it, and you won't be necking Angelina again tonight. Please." He added the word please deliberately. 

It wasn't a flat refusal. Fred was always less obstinate than George. Reluctantly, the stone-faced twin slid a hand into his trouser pocket and tossed the cologne bottle. Harry got to work immediately, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He poured the contents of the cologne bottle into the emptied blue bottle of Veritaserum, and cologne filled the blue bottle halfway. Harry uttered a quick spell to heat the cologne to remedy the situation, allowing it to expand until it filled the whole bottle. Ron helped arrange the three bottles in the same places as before, and a sullen Fred Weasley retrieved his empty cologne bottle and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.

"What are we going to say, Harry?" Ron's voice quavered, pressing for an answer.

The door opened.

McGonagall pulled her glasses with one tapering finger from the bridge of her nose somewhere close to the tip. Maybe because Harry had been sweating so much, the dehydration had addled his brain into thinking it was a long journey of bumps and ridges. Ron chose that precise moment to brush shoulders with him. Alarmed, Fred stuck out an arm and pulled his brother back into line.

"So, what you're telling me is that." McGonagall lifted VS millimeters off her desk. "This bottle does not contain fire whisky or alcohol." She looked from one boy to the next until they nodded in unison.

“There might be some alcohol in it.” Harry stuttered. 

Three other boys abruptly stopped nodding and started shaking their heads.

Bemused, the Professor baited. “So it is alcoholic?”

“It’s a perfume bottle, so of course, it contains alcohol.”

"Okay." She put the bottle back onto her desk. “I’m listening.”

“We bought it for Hermione Granger as a birthday gift.”

McGonagall pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Is that true, boys?”

Incomprehensible muttering broke out at once. When McGonagall pushed her spectacles back onto her nasal bridge, Harry took it as another good sign – it wasn't. “When is Hermione Granger’s birthday?”

Harry had expected this question. “18^th September.” He remembered it was the nineteenth and nearly kicked himself. Hermione had not exactly been subtle in her reminders.

“I was asking Weasley!” Professor McGonagall scolded. “Don’t interrupt me in the future, Potter!” She pointed a gnarled finger at Ron. "What does VS stand for?"

Ron bit his lips. 

Come on, Harry said under his breath, say it!

Ron spluttered. "Victoria's chamber."

"Chamber?" McGonagall asked.

"Secrets - I mean secrets!"

"And who is Victoria, Mr Weasley?" The Professor asked. She turned to Harry. “I thought you said this was Granger’s perfume bottle.”

Fred and George shot each other’s looks of confusion.

Ron took the opportunity to mouth at Harry. Harry, who is she?

Harry spoke up. "Victoria's Secret is a well-known brand of muggle perfume. He explained the word brand. “It’s a company that makes perfume.”

“I’m not asking you again, Potter!” She turned to the Weasleys. “That’s very sweet of you, boys. Did you write Granger a card as well?”

“Yes, we did.” Ron blurted when he hadn’t even remembered Hermione’s birthday.

Hermione Granger is partial to this brand of perfume?" McGonagall unscrewed the bottle lid and bent to sniff at potent male cologne. "Oh my!" The Professor clutched her temples.

"A light and fruity mix with a bit of vanilla,” said Fred.

Professor McGonagall looked like she was about to fall out of her chair. She clutched the side of the table for support.

“She likes to knock ‘em dead, our Hermione.” quipped George.

“Send for Granger immediately." The Professor said feebly. Ron let out a premature sigh of relief. At that precise moment, a lightning bolt struck through the window, and he shot a look at McGonagall. "Professor, you can't be serious about the run."

She lowered her glasses from her nose bridge for the second time that night. "Oh, but I am, Mr. Weasley."

Hermione fumed as she left McGonagall's office, nearly slamming the door behind her. She clutched the dastardly bottle VS to her chest as she exited and barreled into a posse of girls outside.

"Well? What's happened?" Angelina asked her, looking ludicrously in a nightgown thrown on top. "What did McGonagall want?"

"This perfume bottle, which was apparently my birthday gift, has so graciously been returned to me," said Hermione dramatically. She waved the bottle above her head, half tempted to throw it out of a window.

"It's yours?" Parvati asked.

"No!" Hermione denied it vehemently. "It's not even a perfume bottle; it's a bottle of Veritaserum! It belongs to Professor Snape, and the boys have tasked me with returning it to Snape's secret storeroom in the dungeons!"

The girls sighed disappointedly in unison.

Ginny asked. "Where in the dungeons?"

"I don't know. Harry didn't have time to tell me. He said it was in his office, behind a cupboard, or maybe he said it was in a cupboard in his office." And Hermione, despite an abundant store of goodwill, wondered why Harry hadn't trusted this hazardous, hare-brained scheme to the girl he loved. He probably didn't want to risk a copper-toned hair on her head, though he considered Hermione expendable. Don't forget reliable - an adjective to stir the loins.

"You are not going alone," said Katie Bell. "We are all coming with you…well, except Alicia and Lavender." Alicia gingerly raised her broken wrist, encased in a splint, and mouthed sorry.

"Someone should probably check on Lavender." Said Hermione drolly, and Lavender had not been seen for a couple of hours.

Angelina took charge. "We can use Harry's invisibility cloak. Hermione, you'll know where it is kept."

"We can only fit three people under the cloak," Hermione said pointedly, though reassured and comforted by their united front.

"Right, but the Slytherins will hardly let us waltz into their territory. I say we take as many wands as possible," said Angelina, unfazed.

"I agree with Angelina." Said Katy Bell. "Who knows what we're walking into."

"I'm going with you," Parvati said firmly. She glanced at Ginny, who shifted her weight from one foot to another. "What about you?"

"Sure," said an apathetic Ginny Weasley. "It'll be fun."

It was decided that five Gryffindor girls, Angelina, Katie, Parvati, Hermione, and Ginny, would brave and enter the snake's lair.

Thirty minutes later, following a quick detour to the Gryffindor tower, the girls found themselves cross-legged or squatting on the floor facing an uninspiring wall of the Hogwarts cellar. Angelina was convinced of all the walls, this one was the entrance, but no one knew how to enter the dungeons. Angelina, Katie, and Parvati were huddled underneath the invisibility cloak and sat directly facing the supposed door. Hermione and Ginny had to contend with hiding in an alcove a short distance away. The plan was for the three under the cloak to enter the dungeons as soon as it was opened from the inside. They would help the other two girls get inside when it was safe.

Hermione babysat the youngest member of their group, which was not the night she had envisioned. Hermione's maternal instincts were tested and found wanting. For her part, Ginny Weasley clung to her side like a limpet, presumably on Ron's instructions. How had this slip of a girl managed to conceal a relationship with her equally secretive best friend? She had indeed pulled the wool over Hermione's eyes and Ron's. Did Ron even know? Hermione was not going to be the one to break it to him.

Katie sighed deeply, head resting on Angelina. "We've been sat here for over half an hour, and I can't believe no one has left or gone into the dungeons."

Parvati insisted. "There has to be at least one Slytherin prefect whose finished rounds."

Angelina explained. "Slytherin prefects I know don't take their duties seriously. They don’t even bother showing up for rounds and Snape doesn’t punish them for their absence. We could be here a long time."

"I thought this was the house that gets laid the most," Ginny said loud enough to cover the distance between them.

Hermione raised an index finger and shushed her.

"I'm so bored," Ginny whispered loudly, craning her head out of the alcove, allowing the sound to echo down the corridor.

"Ginny!" A chorus of voices hissed from under the invisibility cloak. "Be quiet!"

Hermione shook her head but felt something sharp poke her ribs. "Ginny, what are you doing? Are you drinking something?" Hermione remembered the two bottles left outside Professor's office. She saw Ginny struggle to pull a bottle from her robe's pocket in the half-light; a quarter of the bottle was empty. "Is that firewhisky bottle that Professor McGonagall confiscated this evening?"

Ginny yawned. "I thought taking the edge off my nerves would be useful!"

The invisibility cloak rustled ominously. Angelina swore. "Bloody hell! Hermione, is she drinking already?" Angelina ordered.

"I just had a sip. One sip." Ginny hiccupped in protest.

"Bring the fire whisky here, for Merlin's sake!” Angelina hissed.

Katie warned. "Angelina, we don't have room for a bottle under the cloak, and it will slow us down."

"It doesn't matter." Angelina said brusquely. "Hermione, hurry up!"

Parvati admonished quietly. "Bringing her was a bad idea. Weasley is going to get us all caught!"

Hermione grated. "Ginny, let go!" she wrenched the glass bottle out of the younger witches' iron grip and elbowed her way out of the alcove, twisting like a contortionist until she was free. Hermione breathed deeply to fill her lungs, unaware of the pin-drop silence. Straining to see where the three girls under the invisibility cloak might be sitting, she called out. "Where are you?"

An unexpectedly deep voice answered the call. "Granger?"

Hermione spun sharply on her heel to face Draco Malfoy at the entrance of the Slytherin dungeons.