Untouchable

“Gotcha!” Said the Seventh-year Slytherin student as he ducked his head under the doorframe. His companion squealed in delight as he loped his muscled forearm across her waist and swung her bodily into the kit cupboard. Her skirt rode high to expose next week’s washing. Ginny was on her knees, hands held up in surrender. The look on her face turned from abject terror to sheer bewilderment in microseconds. Hermione swatted her wrist and pulled her down to the ground when the purpose of their intrusion became clear.

It took the lip-locked couple an agonizing seven minutes to reach some sort of sweaty conclusion. Hermione was not sure where to look. Ginny who was sitting directly opposite her was pulling all sorts of queasy faces and getting progressively green with the nghs, smooches, and audible wet slap of bodies. The girl could not be placed, but the boy had to be on the Slytherin Quidditch team. In the play of shadows, she assessed his frame objectively. He seemed too thin to be a beater or a keeper. Hopefully, it was not Malfoy. Considering the number of spells, the Gryffindors plied him with before they laid him to rest, if it were indeed Malfoy, it would be a resurrection to end all resurrections. Perhaps, it was Flint. She decided against it, this chap had more finesse. Hermione heard the rustle of more clothing and the telling clack of a belt being loosened. Ginny cupped her mouth and stared at her with pleading eyes. It was a warning. If this doesn't stop soon, I'll projectile vomit at you.

Charmed. Admittedly, Hermione had reached her threshold of endurance. Regardless of whether it would compromise their position, she felt compelled to take some action. Any action. She inhaled deeply and composed herself. You can do this. Nobody ever had the guts to hex Nott and you did it. This is just another step, on the slippery slope to moral decline. Soundlessly she uttered the incantation. Ginny, watching the movements of her mouth, and the flitting of her wand seemed to relax. She was under the mistaken belief that things were being taken care of. Hermione felt like whispering to stay alert and to wait for the fallout. Blowing a hole in the wall while it would be effective immediately was not an appropriate course of action. A more subtle approach was required and they took time to see effect.

The boy pulled back immediately, fumbling with his trousers.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?"

He stammered. "Nothing. Err...hmm?"

The girl pouted her displeasure and reached for him again.

Ginny glared at Hermione, one hand on the ground tapping out growing levels of impatience. What's happening?

Hermione lifted a finger to her lips. 

Ginny's head lolled back on her neck, rolling her eyes. The kissing continued for another minute without interruption. Ginny resumed her tapping. Hermione averted her gaze from the light show above and looked at Ginny.

Poor showing, Granger. Ginny tutted. Not impressed. When Hermione shrugged in response, Ginny's eyes twinkled with mischief. "You could blow a hole through the wall and send them flying. I heard you learned that in potions today."

The boy pulled back again. "Damn it!"

"Seriously, what's going on now, Adrian?" The girl swore.

Ginny twisted her neck up to look at her. Her chin was so close to grazing the girl's knee. Was that Davis? Tracey Davis? Hermione could see the dawning realization in Ginny's eyes. It was Adrian Pucey and Davis.

The boy fumbled with his belt for a few seconds, studiously avoiding his partner's gaze.

His lover was not impressed by the reticence. Davis stamped a foot, missing Ginny by millimeters. "Adrian, what's going on?" Her voice dropped dangerously. "You don't want this?"

"No, I do." He said, "I ...err...need some light."

"Is that all?" Davis squawked. She reached inside her open robes. "Rats, I don't have it."

He handed her his wand without qualm. "Use mine."

"Lumos."

Hermione could not have reacted any quicker than she did. Pulling Ginny low to the ground with her, she scrabbled into a position under a duffel bag. Don't look down, Davis. She prayed. Don't look down.

"It's jammed!" Pucey said, getting impossibly red by the second.

"What's jammed?"

He croaked. "My fliers."

Ginny's jaw dropped.

Tracey looked put out. "Is this a joke?"

Ginny gasped and looked at Hermione.  Her mouth was so wide open she could have swallowed a quaffle. Did you do that? 

Davis took a step towards Pucey.

Hermione’s hand which was braced on Ginny's neck, tugged her head sideways. Not now, Ginny. Ginny turned her head slowly, eyes taking in the narrow margin between her nose and Tracey Davis’s ankle.

"Is this a fucking joke?"

"No! I swear." He tugged harder at the zip, muscles in his forearm bulging in a frantic attempt. Pucey swallowed nervously and turned to face the far wall, resting his head on it, with his hands hastily trying to work the zip.

Tracey stood, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Words were hard-pressed to follow. "Well, this has never happened before..." She fanned herself dramatically. “What do we do now? This isn’t awkward at all.”

Adrian ignored Davis, intently focused on channeling the brute strength in his arms on his fliers. He grunted a few times with exertion.

"Why don't you use your wand?"

He gritted. "Then I wouldn't know where I'd be aiming it in the pitch black." Stupid bint he mouthed under his breath. Davis might not have caught on but Hermione with her rudimentary lip-reading skills managed to. He rubbed his elbow a few times.

"For Merlin's sake, calm down." She fussed with her hair, twirling a lock around her finger and turning on her toes to showcase her voluptuous silhouette.

He did not answer or look up.

"Adrian?"

"I'm in pain right now, Davis." Pucey was doubled over straining and coughing into his fist. “Now’s not the time.”

"This is just plain embarrassing!" Tracey folded her arms across her open shirt. “Are you putting this on?"

He snapped. "Would you stop talking? I'm supposed to be looking for Potter."

Tracey hissed. "Nobody asked you to have a quickie with me in the broom cupboard." Last year Davis had been tolerable. That was last year.

There was a loud snapping noise. Hermione flinched. A metal strip struck her shoulder and pinged off. Was that?

Ginny stuffed a whole fist into her mouth. She nodded, eyes streaming. She jerked her head sideways in the direction of Pucey’s groin.

Davis tried explaining. "I don't think Adrian, you understand how I feel."

Ginny let out a loud snort. A very loud snort. Hermione's eyes sprang to their widest.

"ADRIAN!" Tracey yelped in offense.

"Just give me a second." He was turning a rather unpleasant shade of purple. Hermione mused. Her grandma had a hat that color. She wore it for weddings. At that point, Pucey knocked into something hard and wooden and yowled.

Hermione nearly screamed and pushed Ginny backward. The redhead rolled onto her back and Hermione scrambled forwards. The stack of old beater bats toppled with their metal stand fell like timber, falling sideways from Pucey in a loud clatter. Hermione winced. She covered them both haphazardly with a dusty discarded bottle-green quidditch robe.

"A second?" Davis screamed, "Everything has been on hold while you've been sorting out...whatever it is!" Her hands quivered with raw anger as she tried to do the buttons on her shirt.

Ginny rolled onto her side and tried to sit up, Legs tangling in the robe and pulling it off Hermione's head. Hermione pushed her roughly. Lie still.

Davis threw her tie around her neck and sniffled, adjusting the size of the knot until it was as bulbous as a turnip. "You're making a fool out of me."

Ginny scrambled, barreling into Hermione as Davis turned and opened the door. The telltale triangle of light swallowed more of the floor space. Ginny pushed Hermione back forcefully, crawling forward on her hands and knees. Hermione's ankle, wrapped up in the dusty cloak, turned on as she slipped on a beater's bat. She tumbled.

Davis sniffled.

"Where are you going?" Adrian said hoarsely.

“To check on Malfoy!” she called over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her. The door was flung open a second time as Pucey sprinted down the corridor in pursuit.

“What for?” Pucey shouted as he ran, “He is as good as dead.”

The door closed a second time and the occupants of the cupboard were plunged into pitch darkness. Hermione let out a sigh of relief. That had been all too close for comfort. She shivered and shook herself with disbelief, giving herself a few moments to unentangle herself from the Slytherin quidditch robe, pull her feet out from under the fallen brooms, straighten her clothing, and fix her hair. When she was somewhat presentable, she cast the spell “Lumos.” A warm glow filled the space.

“We nearly got caught.” Ginny giggled, the freckles on her cheek lit like embers.

“Thankfully we didn’t,” Hermione said in reassurance, keen to project an aura of calm and certainty.

“So now what?”

“We wait.” Said Hermione, settling back in her seated position and getting herself comfortable. 

"You want to teach me that spell?" Ginny said eagerly. “The one that pops men’s fliers.”

“What makes you think it was me?”

Ginny gave her a crooked smile. “I know it was you. I want to know where you learned it from. What was the book called?” Her eyes twinkled in mischief.

Hermione sighed. “Sorry I wasn’t clear: we wait in silence.” It was a silence that lasted all of forty-five seconds.

Hermione had an illuminating conversation with Ginny. She had forgotten she had asked Ginny to share her life story before Davis and Pucey’s unwelcome interruption. It was as remarkable as it was an uncomfortable listen. Her unexplained symptoms continued to worsen. Ginny talked with her hands and gushed like a babbling brook, hurtling at speed under the pull of gravity. Hermione stood at the bottom of the metaphorical valley with a bucket to catch a never-ending stream, drenched and knocked her backward repeatedly in an unrelenting current. They moved at pace from Harry to Ron to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Hermione regretted her decision to extract information from Ginny, who had consumed enough Veritaserum to give horses the gift of speech. Her chest tightened. "I think you should slow down." Hermione gestured to the fire whisky bottle in Ginny's loose grip. The young witch huffed and placed it on the ground next to her if it could be called progress. "Mum thinks you are a bit strange. You probably are a good influence on Ron in that you let him copy your homework."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron's homework privileges ended, though he didn't know it yet.

"She thinks it's odd that you don't hang out with other girls. I told her you try to hang out with Lavender and Parvati, but it's difficult to make friends now that you are old, and you've probably left it too late."

Sixteen was hardly old. "Really?" Her heart began to pound like a church bell; her rib cage vibrated with each knoll. The pulse in her wrist felt thready. She tried to count the beats, but when they started merging into each other, she gave up and pressed two fingers against her carotid. Her heartbeat felt regular but unnaturally fast.

"Mum said making friends is hard anyway, but when your interests are too narrowly focused, finding common ground with others is even more difficult. I agree, you're always studying. It's not like you care about quidditch or boys. You're never interested in anything I have to say.”

“Maybe you should say something worthwhile,” Hermione muttered furiously under her breath.

“You're not even that girly. You don't even wear makeup or style your hair properly."

"I'm wearing some now." Hermione retorted breathlessly.

"You can't even tell." Ginny deadpanned after leaning in for a closer look. "And Ron says you're so fixated on being a prefect. That's all you think about after your N.E.W.T. exams. He thinks you are gunning for Head Girl."

"What's wrong with having some ambition?" Hermione yelped suddenly. She leaned forward, both hands on her stomach, trying to move with the pain raking the length of her intestines like a kitchen knife.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked. "Are you having a panic attack?"

Ordinarily, Hermione would have taken offense at Ginny's insinuation, but she spoke plainly and patiently. "I have had some niggling tummy pain since the party. I thought it was indigestion."

"Oh, is that it?" Ginny remarked. "Mum is still really miffed that you didn't want to do an internship with my Dad, as though it was beneath you. She thinks your ambition is going to land you in hot water. ”

"We really should prop the door open." Hermione rasped. The air felt thin. The room was spinning. Hermione loosened her collar and popped her shirt buttons.

“You don't exactly have a line of people queuing outside your door. Who else do you know that works at the ministry and is willing to take on an intern?"

Hermione braced herself forward on her hands and knees, gasping and panting. She reached for the door handle while scrambling forward on her hands and knees.

Alarmed, Ginny shot up and knocked her stretched arm down. “What are you doing? Are you mad? You’ll get us caught!"

Hermione said truthfully. "I feel awful." She dropped her head to the ground and panted.

Ginny bounded towards her and hovered over Hermione, placing a sweaty palm on her back. "Is that time of the month?"

“No.” Hermione shook her head, grimacing in pain. “Listen to me.”

"Maybe you ate something funny." Ginny shrieked. "Was your drink spiked?"

"I don't know," Hermione groaned between gulps of air.

"What's wrong? Ginny patted Hermione on the back between her shoulder blades. "Are you choking on something?"

It hurt too much to even lift her chin and look at Ginny. "No." Hermione spluttered and heaved. “Forget your mother! I need you to listen to me very carefully. You need to use the map and find the girls. Do it now.” She groaned between gulps of air. She tasted waterbrash and tried to swallow it back, gagging in the process.

“What? Why? We are safer in here.”

Hermione let out a sudden low high-pitched moan that rattled the brooms in their stands. “Ginny. please do as I say and get the map.” She ground out in pain.

A second keening moan from Hermione shook Ginny out of her reverie. Ginny pulled out the map frantically, her hands shaking; she placed it flat on the ground. "I solemnly swear I'm up to no good." Her voice quaked. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings. She pointed. "There! I found Angelina. They are in the Slytherin girls' dormitories." The positioning and movement of the dots confirmed Ginny's fears of an organized and systematic search. The corridor was filled with clusters of black dots moving up, down, left, and right. The dungeons were patrolled by trios and quartets of black dots, each representing a Slytherin male student. The next group promptly entered every room exited by a trio. What they lacked in imagination, the Slytherins made up for efficient orderliness. Angelina, Parvati, and Katie were surrounded like sitting ducks. Ginny watched them for a few seconds. Their position seemed glued to the page. Ginny whispered hoarsely. "I'll never get past unseen…I don't have the cloak…"

"You have the map, Ginny! Use the map."

"The others are surrounded. I can't get to them even with the map." Ginny stammered. "Talk to me, Hermione! What should I do?" Ginny said in a shrill voice as she started to panic. Hot tears sprang from her eyelids, and she wiped her cheeks with her sleeve while blowing her nose. She reached instinctively for the fire whisky, but Hermione knocked the bottle flat with her palm. "You've had enough, Ginny!" The bottle rattled as it rolled on its side. The last of Hermione's strength was sapped from the effort, and she collapsed on the floor. The bottle's contents seeped slowly under the kit cupboard door in a pool of liquid amber.

Hermione croaked. "Cover me," The redhead scrambled in search of a rug or a blanket. Alternatively, she found two large duffle bags and stacked them on top of each other in front of Hermione's prone form. While Ginny's blinkered focus remained on Hermione, the marauders' map showed three dots moving at speed toward the kit cupboard. 

"Find the girls and get out of here,” Hermione said quietly behind her barricade of beater bats and bludgers. Energy spent; her head fell back on the stone floor with a long exhale.

Ginny folded the map and tucked it into her inside robe pocket. A bright light flooded the broom closet. Ginny froze, registering the sound of a door opening.

An older Slytherin boy towered over her knelt form and looked almost as surprised at his discovery. She heard two other male voices over his shoulder in friendly banter; one of them asked. "Why did we stop?"

"You are not supposed to go in there, Nott. Not after you and Zabini burned the last batch of Quidditch kit!" Montague said in jest.

Blaise pointed at the puddle of fire whisky pooled under the door of the kit cupboard.

"Great! Now we'll have to find a new hiding place." Montague snorted. "I hope that's not what I think it is." Montague and Blaise squatted for a closer inspection of the amber puddle. "A waste of good liquor."

Blaise tilted his head in Theo's direction. "He saw it first as we were leaving the girl's dorms."

Montague glanced back up the corridor, mentally calculating the distance. "Looks like that's not all he saw." Montague rose and poked his head around the kit cupboard door. "What is going on?" He asked Nott and then Ginny.

There was a scuffle of rubber-soled shoes and tapping on the underside of the door. Ginny realized their mistake, as the intruders pointed to a liquid pool that gave away her and Hermione’s position. Her heart sank. Before she even had time to think of what to do next, her wand flew out of her hand into the iron grip of the man facing her. Ginny whimpered, craning her neck upwards at her stone-faced assailant. “Yew, as well?”

You as well?

She mistook his meaning. “You caught the others?”

Nott held the gaze of the trembling little wretch, who hugged herself and looked down at her feet. The wizard leaned to the left and caught sight of a limp foot behind a stack of duffle bags. He recognized that muggle design anywhere, having been confronted by its owner mere hours ago. Theo’s mask slipped for a moment, and the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Soundlessly, Theo muttered, “Collovaria.” He reached into the broom cupboard and pulled Ginny Weasley into the open with one sharp tug. The girl crumpled the second he removed his grip on her upper arm. Knees buckling underneath, she slid down the doorframe and sank onto her bottom unceremoniously.

Montague who put his head around the door, drew up in confusion. “What is going on?”

“I caught her drinking alone in the kit cupboard,” Nott answered, picking up the empty bottle of fire whisky from behind Ginny’s feet. He displayed it to both of his housemates like an auction exhibit and closed the door silently behind him. “She thought she wasn’t going to be disturbed.” He gestured to Montague to reapply the wards, sealing an incumbent Granger inside and watched Montague intently out of the corner of his eye.

“There is a curfew on. Girls are meant to be back in the dormitories.” Montague said imperiously, back to them. “I’m amazed you can still stand.”

Blaise took the bottle, turning it upside down, almost impressed with her constitution. His brows furrowed as his gaze rested on Ginny’s features. “Where have I seen you before?”

 She shook her head, hiding her face in her hands, sniveling and sniffling even louder. “At yesterday’s quidditch game.”

“You and half the school.” Blaise snorted.

Nott intervened swiftly. “I had noticed one of the fourth-year girls’ beds was empty. Guess we know why.”

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Ginny said, despite herself. She cupped her mouth again in shock.

Nott looked at her sharply, willing her to remain silent. Was she trying to get caught?

“That head of hair is unmistakable,” Montague remarked as Ginny whimpered. “A distant cousin of yours, perhaps?”

Ginny looked at Nott sharply as though she had never seen him before in her life. She hadn’t.

“Certainly not.” Theo snapped.

“She has a propensity for hard liquor.” Montague baited.

Blaise smirked but dropped his gaze onto the floor to avoid the ire of his roommate.

“Even so.”

“I am a Weasley.” Ginny squeaked.

Theo’s eyes could have rolled back in their sockets. Infuriated beyond measure with the Gryffindor girl, he waited impatiently for Montague’s response, considering his limited options for salvaging the situation.

Blaise harrumphed at her crass display.  

Montage tutted. “We have a huge security issue at present which you are making light of. This is a needless distraction. Honestly, I am disgusted at the lies, not to mention the complete lack of remorse. I feel compelled to act,” said Montague, his pastoral duties as a prefect, a rare compulsion. “Five points off Slytherin.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped.

“Not a word!” Montague warned with a jab of his index finger. “Now, run along before I change my mind. You’ve been let off lightly.”

Nott proffered, “It’s probably best if I escorted her back to the dorms in case. Where shall I meet you both?”

Blaise sighed. “Flint wants us to check the common room and get the youngsters up."

Ginny’s shock wore off as they rounded the corner, and she caught a glimpse of herself in the chest plate of a suit of armor. She could barely recognize her puffy face, alabaster white skin, and freckles that had darkened to snow leopard spots. She wondered at the exceptionally high contrast between her hair and skin. Marveling, she brought a wispy lock of her red hair closer to her face. Except it was no longer red but black as a raven’s wing. It was almost the same color as her companion’s hair, who seemed intent on frog-marching her to Slytherin girls’ dormitories.

“Jenny, isn’t it?” He said in a gravelly voice that made her start.

“Ginny.” She corrected him automatically, “Who are you?”

He regarded her coolly. “I ask the questions.” Suddenly, he steered her to the left through a door and down a spiral staircase. Ginny fumbled for the handrail in the dark. The walls closed around them, the radius of the passage less than arm’s-length. She gripped the railing with whitened knuckles and tucked her flexed elbow into her side. Ginny stumbled on an uneven angled step. Before she completely lost her footing, Nott pulled her to her feet with one sharp tug on the scruff of her collar. An indignant Ginny could have sprained her ankle, not that her captor had paused to check. Alarm bells began to ring in her head. Ginny’s fingers itched to pull out the marauder’s map to determine her location, but the staircase continued dropping further into the bowels of the school. She could only liken it to climbing down a well while holding her breath, waiting for water to splash on her ankles. His piercing gaze tracked her movement with the elasticity of a switchblade. She dropped her arm and deliberately wiped her sweaty palm against her thigh, showing her efforts. Forcing herself to disregard the traitorous thought, Ginny cleared her mind and steeled herself for what was to come. Her captor seemed to relax, too, though he maintained an unrelenting pace. At some point, Ginny must have slowed down. The unnamed boy jabbed her hard in the shoulder blades with his wand in response. She swung wildly at him and would have kicked him in the shins, but he lifted her clean off the ground with a casual flick of his wand and a decidedly bored expression. “Are you quite finished?”

“Yes.” Ginny gasped, suspended like a starfish pinned to the stone wall, a meter above the nearest step. If she had dropped, Ginny would have missed it anyway and broken her neck in the freefall. “Put me down,” she croaked.

The stranger cocked his head sideways in question. She dared look at her feet dangling in midair in the black chasm, and panic began to set in. “Put me down!” She thrashed helplessly at her invisible restraints.

 “Who did you bring with you besides Granger?”

The only thing strong enough to momentarily mute the effect of Veritaserum was rabid fear. She shook her head pleadingly.

“Answer my question. Who is using the invisibility cloak if not the two of you?” Nott tightened his grip on his wand and refocused his attention on the hysterical Gryffindor student whose very life depended on it. He liked a challenge. Now was a good time to find out what he wanted to know.

She screamed. “Parvati, Katie, and Angelina!”

Nott bit his lip in confusion with the force to puncture a tire.

“Why have you all come here?”

“To return Snape’s Veritaserum bottle!”

“What?” He drew up short, and for a split second, his concentration wavered. His wand hand slipped, as did his hold on the girl. Ginny screamed in terror as she slid, the rough stones at her back now transformed into a slide. He caught her with a second spell and hooked her to the wall like a painting. A life-size portrait of “A Girl Afraid” by Theodore Nott. A sinister smile pulled the corner of his mouth. The Weasley girl coughed and snorted mucous mixed with tears. Before she had a chance to recover her composure, he pressed his advantage. “Tell me more, Jenny.”

She explained everything in a wretched torrent of saliva, tears, and phlegm, mixed and streamed freely down her face onto her neck. Theo did his best to maintain his composure (and interest) listening to a nonsensical hormonally charged version of events, thin on logic and linear chronology. In short, he understood that in the Gryffindor Quidditch celebrations that had gotten out of hand, Professor McGonagall had meted out corporal punishment to the winning team, namely the boys. There was a side quest to return a bottle of Veritaserum, stolen from Snape’s stores, something else about an active tracing charm and a sordid love triangle with Harry Potter at its apex, Ginny Weasley at the base, and Hermione Granger as a reluctant third party. It was at this point in the story that the Weasley girl started wailing in earnest. Theo pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten. He made it as far as four before asking curtly. “Where were you planning on going just now? The pointed question distracted Ginny momentarily from her imploding psychological distress.

“To get help for Hermione?” she said, as though it should have been apparent from her long-winded monologue.

Theo looked at her blankly. “Hermione Granger - your arch nemesis and rival for Potter’s affections?"

“She is hardly competition.” Ginny sniffled.

“Where exactly are you planning on going to find help?”

“I… was going to have to look at the map to find the other girls.” She said with the expression of a puppy dog rapidly digging a hole to bury herself in.

His interest piqued. “What map?”

Ginny shook her head nervously, realizing her second mistake. She refused to meet his probing gaze, and bit her lip, fearful of what she would say next, what question he might ask, and what he would glean from the open book she presented him with.

“I asked you a question.” The stranger’s voice dropped by an octave. "What map?"

She pretended not to hear him, turning her head to the side.

 “Where is the map?” Theo demanded, changing tactics.

She gestured, bobbing her tear-streaked face, “It’s in my inside robes pocket.”

He relented and lowered her to the step below slowly. It was too far to reach anyway. Letting out a long shaky breath, her legs folded under her like spaghetti and Ginny clung to the handrail like it was a life jacket. His nostrils pinched at the unfiltered display of emotion and stiffly, Theo offered his handkerchief. She pushed her whole face into the stark white cotton and blew noisily. Before she could wipe away the snot clinging to her chin, her Slytherin captor made fresh demands. “Show me the map.”

“No,” Ginny said, her voice quivering.

“Where did you get it from?” He asked sternly. Theo noted how asking the girl direct questions seemed to yield a straight answer, relatively quickly. She was far more responsive than when he issued demands and threats, which were of course statements. It was rather curious.

“It’s Harry’s map. I borrowed it. I can’t say anymore. It’s meant to be a secret.”

He guessed as much that the map belonged to Harry. For a half-blood, Potter had acquired an extraordinary amount of wizarding antiques, some of which he had inherited, some gifted to him, and some he had managed to acquire, perhaps through unsavory means. It was only expected he would loan one or two to his girlfriend in her hour of need. Nott’s lip curled in distaste as he corrected himself; It was Potter who needed the help. Potter had recruited this inexperienced whelp and his intoxicated best friend to fix his sordid mess. How pathetic. If Jenny had been Blaise’s younger sister, Nott would have thought it unbecoming to foster a romantic relationship with a girl who idolized him, secondly was related to Blaise, and thirdly was below the age of consent. As far as he was concerned, it was akin to grooming. Potter’s willingness to send that idiotic girl to infiltrate a different house’s common room, thereby thrusting her into danger on his behalf was appalling. Putting all that aside, he focused on the map in hand. “You are not very good at keeping secrets, are you?”

“Well, I’m trying, aren’t I?” Ginny hiccupped. “I should not have been drinking.”

 “You have had something stronger than alcohol.” Theo mused, “I think your drink was spiked with Veritaserum, which is ironic.”

Little Jenny looked like she would burst into fresh tears any minute. “Harry won’t forgive me if anything happens to the map. He’ll never talk to me again. It was his father’s. Please don’t ask me to do this.” Her lower lip trembled.

“You compromised yourself,” Nott stated bluntly, immune to her theatrics. “Give the map to me now or I will skewer you against the far wall and wait for you to change your mind.” He could be patient. The girl was a squealer; he could smell her fear, mingled with perspiration and cheap sugary deodorant.

 Paling at the threat, Ginny shoved a hand inside her robes and gave it to him. Theo unfolded the parchment with care and when he saw it was blank, his voice acquired a hard edge. “Well?”

“Well, what?” she said haughtily as she slung the used handkerchief over the crook of her folded elbows.

“You keep it. You might need it again.” It was not a threat. It was a guarantee.

“I need to help Hermione!” Ginny said snootily. “You’re wasting my time here.”

“You will tell me everything I need to know about the map in your possession,” Nott said in a commanding tone. Despite any misgivings and thoughts of house loyalties, Ginny opened her mouth and told this stranger everything she knew about the Marauder’s map. She talked about how the map came to Harry, how her brothers had used it before him, how to open it, how Harry had once found Peter Pettigrew on the map, how to seal it shut, and how the map seemed to repel Professor Snape. Judging by the stranger’s intent unblinkered stare, it made for a riveting conversation.

Nott was silent for almost thirty seconds after she stopped talking as though taking in every word and committing it to memory. The clear grey eyes became shrouded with calculation, as he mulled over the details. He turned his attention to the parchment with renewed vigor.  “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Theo was not sure what to expect from Weasley’s verbose description. From the beaten withered parchment sprang intricate lines like a fountain of ink, which curled and swept like parallel brushstrokes across the page. The lines meandered like streams in adjacent valleys, that widened and dropped into rivers, and converged to form canals. Theo’s breath caught. He opened the parchment in full, marveling at the extraordinary detail as the ink lines traced the outline of every room, corridor, and secret passageway into and out of Hogwarts. His attention was seized by the appearance of multiple moving dots, that seemed to represent people moving in real time. Patil, Bell, and Johnson were still trapped in the girls’ dormitories where he had left them. Hermione Granger collapsed in the kit cupboard. He saw Blaise and Montague milling in the Slytherin common room. Harry Potter ran slow laps of Hogwarts’s grounds, with Neville Longbottom and the Weasley twins trailing behind him. Theo could not even fathom how such a map came to be in existence. The work and thinking behind it was incredible. It had to be related to the Homunculus charm. His mind explored the innumerable possibilities it presented and what would happen if such a map fell into the hands of the Dark Lord.

Ginny’s heart clenched in her chest with slow despair. “It’s not yours.”

“You gave it to me.” He said evenly.

“It was never mine to give.” She whimpered. “It belongs to Harry.”

“Potter should look after his possessions better then.” His lips twitched in a half smile as he regarded her coolly, as though he counted her one of them.

She stiffened. “I’m going to tell Harry you stole it.”

“Mischief managed.” He folded the map and tucked it into his trouser pocket. “Do you even know where you are, little lion? Are you in any position to be issuing threats?” Theo stated blandly while Ginny’s tears tracked silently down her cheeks. “You could not find your way out of this dungeon even if I gave you, his map. You were holding onto it when I found you, remember?”

Ginny hiccupped again, “Who are you?”

“You don’t know my name? What will you tell Harry Potter about the man who saved his underage girlfriend and took his Marauder’s map as recompense.”

“You haven’t saved me from anyone. If anything, I am in greater danger now than when you found me in the kit cupboard.”

“We are beginning to understand one another.” He paused. “Maybe I should take you back to the Slytherin girls' dorms where you belong.” Nott reached for her hair, and the wavy lock he picked reverted to red-gold in his hand. He dropped it artlessly and the curl bounced against her shoulder.

Ginny exhaled slowly with growing fear. “What do you want from me?” She said, and it echoed an earlier conversation with an older and wiser girl Gryffindor girl. Granger was currently incapacitated having made questionable decisions in the interim. It was Granger he should have been having this conversation with. It was Granger whom he had spent hours running around like a headless chicken for. He could not articulate why though it was most likely a sense of misplaced guilt for disrobing her and divesting her of a lady’s modesty. The night had not gone as planned. Theo was tired to his very bones. He functioned poorly with minimal sleep. Trying to stay a step ahead of his brethren while adapting continually to a rapidly evolving situation was grueling. The Marauder map falling into his hands was like catching a golden egg falling out of the sky. Any Slytherin in their right mind would take the map for himself and throw the girl to the wolves. Its utility and the potential for misuse could not be understated. Tonight, of all nights it was an added headache and complication. He had to come up with a different plan. He had to think on the spot how he could use it to press his advantage. Nott racked his sore brain and decided he would how he would use the Weasley girl as bait to draw Potter and his Gryffindor teammates into the fray and cover his own back in the process.

“What do you want from me?” Ginny stuttered, discomforted by the stretched-out silence.

Theo knew what he had to say. He had rehearsed internally. “As it happens, I have a job for you. I want you to relay a message to your beloved. If you keep following this passageway, you should reach a grate that feeds into the Great Lake near where Potter is running laps."

An anxiety-ridden Ginny waited expectantly; brows furrowed with confusion. "And then what?"

“I want you to tell Potter the truth. The plan has fallen apart. Granger is puking her guts out in a kit cupboard. Your friends with the invisibility cloak are surrounded and trapped in the dungeons. Tell Potter that his trinkets are soon to fall into enemy hands to be used against him or sold for a lot of money. The women he entrusted to do his dirty work for him have failed in their task. Tell him to come here and sort his mess out. Tell him it would be unwise to come alone. Bring your brothers.”