Untouchable

"If I had a glass, I would toast to that.”

Montague seemed pleased the conversation had gone as planned and that his old friend had taken the bait. Blaise smiled weakly, rather than correct his delusions. They lapsed into another awkward silence. It had been many months since they had a one-on-one conversation and Blaise realized that despite their similar background, he did not have much to say to Montague anymore, even less when he was sober. Montague struggled with small talk generally and he wiped damp perspiration off the back of his neck with a handkerchief, the efforts of steering this conversation physiologically evident. Blaise glanced at the grandfather clock, its constant ticking a growing irritation. “We should probably join the search. We can’t be seen sitting around too long, doing nothing.”

“Yes, we ought to,” Montague said distractedly. He paused a moment, lost in thought. “I wonder what she was doing in there?” Montague said quietly, as though speaking to himself.

“Who?”

“The girl in the kit cupboard.”

Blaise frowned at the memory of the girl in the kit cupboard, a vague and distant one. “Oh, her? She was enjoying a quiet tipple.”

Montague scratched his forehead. “Have you ever seen her before?”

“No.” Blaise deadpanned, rubbing sleep from his reddening eyes, wishing this night would end. He tried to think. He had seen her somewhere but try as he might he could not place her. Her hair was black as a crow’s wing. She had the warm freckled complexion of a farmhand. Something was off, not just in her appearance but her demeanor too.

Montague said with a puzzled expression. “But Nott seemed to know her.”

Blaise snorted. “What are you talking about? If I’ve never seen the girl before, how would Nott know her.”

“Nott pulled her out of the kit cupboard and then he asked me to reseal the wards.”

Blaise rolled his eyes at the replay of events and began drumming his fingers against the solid armrest with growing impatience. “Why is that relevant?” He instantly regretted asking the question.

Montague fixed him with a hard glare. “We never saw what was inside the kit cupboard.” He rose to his feet with a groan, “I think I know why your friend is taking so long. Follow me.”

Hermione scrunched up her eyes as soon as the door opened and held out in front of her face to shield it from the light, “Ginny is that you?” She called out desperately.

“No.” Nott closed the kit cupboard door behind and strode into view. Granger was lying on her front behind a pile of sports bags stacked high and haphazardly. He nudged past the makeshift barricade and kneeled next to her. She tried to lift her head and look over one shoulder, snatching a glimpse of the stern-faced stranger whose red eyes were offset by grey pupils. He was haggard, unshaven, and hair mussed but Nott was a sight for sore eyes all the same. All the air in her lungs rushed out in one breath. For some odd reason, he reminded her of Harry, and she greeted him with the easy familiarity of a friend. “How did you find me?” She croaked, voice splitting. “Is Ginny alright?”

“No time to explain,” Nott said curtly. “Can you stand?” He had been detained. He had run into Pucey and Warrington twenty minutes ago after dropping Weasley off outside his room. They were so convinced they had cornered the invisible Gryffindors in the first-year boy's dormitories, that they had asked him to assist. He could not refuse them but he deeply regretted the lost time. Granger looked awful, her skin wan with a pale sheen of sweat coating it, as though she had been fighting a fever all night. He could not decide whether she was almost delirious with an infection or intoxicated with something illicit. He placed the back of his hand on her forehead. She was warm to the touch but not overly so. Maybe it was the latter. “What’s wrong with you?” He said, not to one to mince his language. His expression was grave.

“I’m not sure.” Said Granger breathlessly, she tried to roll onto her side to face him but the effort required was too much, and gave up halfway and rolled back onto her front. She pressed her cheek to the flagstone floor and panted.

“You should not have come here.”

She fixed him with a look of surprise, turning her chin ever so slightly. Granger’s eyes were huge and glazed. Her gaze found him in the half-light and seemed to wander over his shoulder. Nott glanced behind him just to be sure. “So, you know why I am here then?”

His staid expression faltered for a second. Nott cleared his throat. He was not quite sure why he was here. It was a completely unfathomable and irrational decision to tell his housemates that Potter had attacked Malfoy. Hours later he still could not make sense of it. What had possessed him to say such a thing? He had no doubt he would ruminate on that impromptu decision and regret it even more than he was doing right now. He was paying for his poor judgment in installments with added interest. Theo had lied to his housemates and in doing so inadvertently protected Granger. The niggling voice in his head said it was the other way around. Here he was rushing to her aid again. How nauseating. Whatever his reasons, he needed to get rid of her and fast.

Granger gave him a crooked disarming smile. “Are you here to rescue me?”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

Nott pulled her to stand and when Granger continued to lean heavily against him, he took her arm and loped over his shoulder. Hermione turned her face towards him expectantly, the beads of sweat forming on her neck. Her forehead lolled against his shoulder, and she rested it there as though she had a claim to it. If Theo turned to the left, his lips would have brushed her forehead. Her pulse was fast and thready in the tight grip he maintained on her right wrist. If it wasn’t a reaction to his proximity, he deduced it was probably an effect of her sickness, whatever the cause. “Come on,” Theo said gruffly. He opened the kit door and scanned the corridor both left and right before hauling the witch out with him, toppling brooms as he dragged her limp form.

A glass wall immediately came into view; a spectacular window into the lake that extended down the entire length of the corridor. It was like looking out into a storm. Some pinpricks of white light would flash and flit by. Bursts of bubbles would erupt from somewhere. Sometimes a tail fin would momentarily come into view but few creatures tended to stray so close to the building. Theo slowed his pace. It was a view he had enjoyed in solitude from the first year. This corridor was a deserted one running to the older girls' dorms on the far left. Surprisingly so: it did not appeal as a hideout for star-crossed couples. Too eerie and too much nature? It had appealed to him. It was the only stretch of carpet in the dungeons that was blue and black – from the lights. The silver decor on the walls was a metallic grey in the same light. The lights and colors were calming. It anchored him whenever he walked through here which was rare now. He used to walk Tracey back to the girls’ dorms through here. Granger gasped in wonder at the sight of it. Hermione straightened and then lurched forward unexpectedly. "Oh!" Her abdomen spasmed, the pain exploding behind her belly button. She felt her gorge rising and retched.

"Granger!" Nott caught her waist at the last minute and held her swaying body away from his. Her knees folded like paper napkins. She cupped her mouth to hold back a wave of nausea. He reacted fast and not so gently guided her to the door behind their backs. She slid down and lay in a crumpled heap at his feet, flexing at her ankles, knees, and hips. He braced his head on his forearm on the wall. "Merlin."

A soft whimper.

"What am I to do with you, Granger?"

A soft moan followed that sounded suspiciously like... "It hurts."

A normal person would have felt sympathy. Theo knew his limitations; however, he needed her cooperation if he wanted her to disappear quietly. He said flatly. "Do you think you can get up now?"

The question was left unanswered. The sound of a door opening at the far end of the corridor started them both. Theo sprang into motion. Hermione was pulled roughly to her feet and before her feet caught up with the rest of her body, before her brain could even begin to coordinate movement, they were running like the damned.

Her wrist was locked in his grip like a vice. "Whose following us?"

No answer, because truthfully, he didn't know. He didn't have time to look. Theo would not wait around to find out, because frankly speaking nothing could be more incriminating than being caught with a Gryffindor.

She turned to glance over her shoulder. Sensing this movement, Theo yanked her forcefully. She could feel the pull of his arm all along the ligaments in her shoulder. The sharp clicks of his shoe heel on the marble floor, became dull as he moved onto the carpet. There was no time wasted between the toes lift off and the heel landing of the alternate foot. She could hear him thinking as he was running, thuds punctuating a mental checklist. She could barely keep up with him. Hermione lost her footing, lost a shoe, and rolled over one ankle. Her kneecap hit the carpet, pain shot up like lance through a nerve-ending and Hermione smothered a small scream. Theo stumbled on with her. He dragged her kneeling form for half a step before promptly turning, gripping her underarms, and hauling her to him. The back of her head awkwardly knocked his chin. When her feet contacted the ground, they were sprinting even faster. This time, she was in front, the pulps of his fingers prodding the small of her back, dictating the pace. It was a pace she could not sustain, unsteady from the fall and the loss of one shoe. She fell back. He took her hand and took the lead.

Conscious thought evaporated. Adrenaline flowed relentlessly. It was comforting in a way not to have to think. Hermione now understood why survival was just an instinct and how it served as a mechanism, to keep a person alive. But to switch off entirely in the presence of a man who could take care of all the details, was a blessed relief for a girl who could never contain her thoughts. Their steps were pounding, lungs heaving like bellows and breaths sounded harsh in the corridor, palm to palm, fingers entangled. Hermione could hear his thoughts; a dull drumming on the side wall of her mind. If they weren't running like the damned, she would put her ear to that wall, to catch the whisper of that train and know him. But she could not speak. Her breath was spent on hard ongoing exertion, but her other senses were open. She trained them all on him. The thick dark brown hair washed out and fell into his eyes like blades of black grass and onto the bridge of his straight noble nose. Like some avenging anime antihero in freeze frame. If she ever had the opportunity to explain to him what that was, she would surely chicken out. But as it was, she couldn't speak.

There was no light in the corridor that opened its square jaw and swallowed them whole. They straight hurtled into its black mouth, numbered doors on the right stood in a single file of grey teeth and dark water through the glass partition on their left. All she could see was him. They ran, hand in hand, house loyalties and common sense forgotten. In this moment, Nott was hers. This moment belonged to her for as long as it lasted. It was a wave that was building and building before it crashed. It was reaching its tipping point now. Everything that had been said and gone before them were memories hovering in cold suspension. Like flecks of dirt and grit raked from the bottom of the lake and now pressed to the glass partition. Hard promises of retribution between a pureblood wizard and a muggle witch. Now they were weightless, peripheral, and floating in the rising swell. He was at the very center. This moment was hers for as long as it lasted. It was not going to last. Because in the next moment, she knew the wave would tip, the debris it carried would be dropped. The glass would smash. The silt and sludge of memories would soak through her like ice water and stain her. It was only ever a mind-numbingly pleasurable fantasy about a boy who had nothing to offer her. It was all that she could hold on to even when she felt it slipping. All she knew was that she was running. Running and falling. She heard him speak, but it was just noise being filtered through her ears. Then she stopped moving. She felt pressure over her hair beneath the base of her skull and a strong hand over the small of her back. The axis of her body shifted obliquely. A sudden weightless feeling overcame her and she was lowered to the ground.

"Granger?"

She tried to speak. Her eyelids were growing heavier. "I can’t move. Everything's dark." Her mouth seemed detached, flapping like a useless appendage. Her head lolled backward on the carpet. "What..." She could see through the crack between her eyelids his face and all its sharp angles. As the gap began to close, those edges began to blur and soften. “Don't... don't go." She croaked.

"I'm right here. " He said tonelessly.

She moaned softly into the carpet.

When her eyes closed, her body had melted completely to the floor, Theo stood up and assessed the situation. He should have foreseen this. He straightened her skirt out of courtesy. The rest of her, he left sprawled on the carpet. Something had been in the fire whisky. That was a fact. Granger had been acting strangely even before the spell was wearing off. She had been distracted. So was he to be fair, but he had been thinking hard. She had been decidedly vacant. Jenny Weasley had unknowingly ingested Veritaserum. It was plausible that Granger had consumed a similar potion. It was not a truth serum. She had been at a party. Supposing her drink was spiked? Could it have been Amortentia? What did it matter? Did it account for her fever and delirium? This was not the time to dwell on the cause of her condition. It was now time for damage control. He had to move her. The question was how and where. Granger, unlike the company she kept, did not have an invisibility cloak to hand or the map of Hogwarts to guide her. If she could not be moved, he had to distance himself physically from her. He watched the peaceful rise and fall of Granger’s chest and huffed. The wizard took off his turtleneck jumper and wrapped it around her, pinning her arms to her sides. He squatted and in one slick move, rolled up her wadded form against the glass wall and cursed his misfortune. Nott looked back up the corridor they had sprinted down and saw two indeterminate black shapes jogging at speed from the direction of the girls’ dorms.

“Nott? Is that you?”

Theo knew that voice anywhere. It carried the distance. Blaise had his wand stretched out in front of him. Beside him was Montague. Theo’s fingers dove into his pocket and wrapped around his wand. If Granger had felt like a warm and solid weight, his wand felt like a steel bar of power.

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you,” sneered Montague who had tracked his movements from thirty steps away. “So, keep those hands where we can see them.”

Nott looked behind him to his right at Granger’s ghostly form pressed against the glass wall and made his decision.

Nott walked towards them quickly and sure-footed. As he got closer, their wand hands rose higher. Blaise was aiming mid-chest and Montague was aiming at his head, rather predictably. He kept his gaze focused on Blaise who looked at him through the cold eyes of a stranger. It was a scene out of a bad dream but a change of loyalties was never unexpected.

“Where have you been?” Blaise said.

Theo could always push his luck and test those loyalties now. He would know where he would stand with Blaise and kept walking.

“Stay there and don’t come any closer.” Montague bellowed.

Theo sauntered towards them with his hands in his pockets, taking his sweet time. He spied Granger's discarded shoe a few paces in front of him and without dropping his gaze, he kicked the shoe with the back of his heel. His stride did not break. He made a mental note to retrieve it later. He walked till he drew level with the pair with Blaise directly in front of him and Montague warily standing side on. Nott could feel the pulsation of Montague’s wand now at his glabella, though he did not deign to look at his nemesis. His gaze never faltered. “I’ll tell you everything.” He said to Blaise.

“Start talking. Montague is staying whether you like it or not.” The wand tip hovering over Nott’s sternum did not move.

It was not the response he hoped for. While he had been with Granger, Montague had been with Blaise. He could imagine some of what had been said in that exchange and none of the words would have been favorable. At the same time, Nott needed to know very quickly whether their alliance could be salvaged and repaired or whether it was past all that. “Put your wand away.”

"We will also be examining the kit cupboard for evidence of your misdemeanors." Montague offered lazily.

Theo glared. His top jaw clamped down on the bottom like a bear trap. "Be my guest."

Blaise said calmly. “You are not going to put me in this position, Nott where I end up sticking my neck out for you whenever you ask me to. You better have a good explanation for where you have been, for all of this and Montague is staying to hear it.” His wand jabbed the center of Nott’s chest, a definitive punctuation mark at the end of his statement. "Then we will be checking the kit cupboard."

If Theo Nott was in the business of offering counsel, he would have advised his fellow housemates to never to ask him for an explanation. Nott was not in the habit of explaining. Instead, he preferred to present factual evidence (skewed in his favor), allow the other party to draw their questionable conclusions, to reach an outcome which rather predictably suited him and his needs.

If Blaise could articulate his roommate’s micro-expressions, this particular one translated loosely into “Make me, you son of a bitch.” He held his wand steady and prayed that his infuriating roommate did not provoke him into using it. His thoughts distracted him briefly and when he turned his attention back onto Nott, the tool was looking somewhere over Blaise’s shoulder, equally distracted.

Blaise stilled. “What is it?”

Montague made to turn sharply but stopped as Theo held out his hand and snarled in a low whisper. “Don’t!”

“What’s going on?” Blaise asked.  His grip tightened around his wand hand, not quite sure whether to believe his roommate or whether it was just a ruse. Nott could come up with highly elaborate ruses.

“Who’s behind us?”

Nott shook his head.

“You can’t see them?” Montague pressed.

“They could be using an invisibility cloak.” Nott retorted.

“Have they seen us?” Blaise’s lips barely moved under his breath.

Theo craned his neck for a better view. “No, I don’t think so.”

Montague said. “What exactly can you see?”

 “A door opened at the far end of the corridor.  The kit cupboard, I think. It opened and closed by itself. Then it opened again.” He presented the evidence rather dispassionately allowing his fellow housemates to quickly reach an inevitable joint conclusion.  In truth, Theo felt rather triumphant. "I'm sure the explanation for where I have been can wait."

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Ginny muttered. She had left the quidditch kit store in disarray an hour ago and regretted it now. “Hermione! Hermione, can you hear me?” She dared not use an illuminating spell and felt her way around a stack of hideously expensive brooms, nearly tripping over a bag of quaffles. A snitch rolled off a top shelf and smacked her on her crown. “Ouch!”

 “Are you alright in there?” A muffled voice called from outside in the corridor and knocked on the door.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ginny answered. She took a step forward and yowled as she banged her foot against a rack of beaters’ bats.

“What in Merlin’s name is she doing in there?” Another voice muttered. Probably Parvati.

Ginny felt like screaming but held her tongue. She picked her way slowly to the back wall, confirming what she already suspected it. “Hermione’s not here!” She called out eventually.

Parvati wrenched the door open and looked inside for herself. “You’re joking me!”

“Hermione is not here. I’ve checked.” Ginny snapped. She came out of the kit room and huddled under the stretched cloak. It was unnerving looking into the faces of three fellow comrades in the guise of mortal enemies up close and personal. 

“So, where is she then?” Ange slammed.

“I don’t know. I told her to stay in this room. She was so ill, she couldn’t stand. I mean, where could she have even gone?”

The group groaned collectively. After everything they had achieved this evening despite all the difficulties, they had fallen at the last hurdle. They had no idea where to begin looking for their missing group member.

“What are you doing?” Pav exclaimed as Ange elbowed her out of the way from under the cloak. “I am going to check. I need to see this for myself!”

Ginny huffed. “She is not there, I’m telling you.”

“I don’t care. I need to know!” Ange snapped. As she opened the door, she glanced down the corridor in a single sweep which came to a shuddering stop.

Katie inhaled sharply when she noticed it too. “Ange, look! She gestured frantically. “The lights at the other end of the corridor. They just went out!”

“We have company,” Montague stated.

Theo drew his wand with a nod from Blaise.

“On three.” ONE. All three boys backed themselves against the wall, facing the glass partition. TWO. Montague extinguished the torches immediately above their heads. Theo glanced down the corridor at the dark figure curled up on her side against the glass. In the dim light, she looked like a discarded duffle bag. He sighed softly, both annoyed and reassured by her situation. She was not going to wake up any time soon and this was probably a blessing. He would still have to ensure her safe return to Gryffindor house. The logistics of how he would achieve that were still to be determined. But for now, she would keep.  He turned his focus up the corridor. In his peripheral vision, he observed Montague wiping his clammy hands off his trousers. Theo could not help but smirk. THREE. A quick flick of his wrist and he felt the power surging through his wand. Hexes flew like bolts of white lightning ahead of them as the boys cast their spells simultaneously while sprinting. It was like a wall of magic traveling up the corridor and punching their opponents flat, twisting their limbs, squeezing airways, shooting pain all over. Did someone use the Cruciatus curse?

Before they arrived at the spot, a single figure lay prone on the ground, still with the fight hexed out of them. A tall muscled boy curled on his side in form-fitting robes. A Slytherin. The last Slytherin that any of them were expecting. Theo drew up short and nearly barreled into Montague. Blaise covered his gaping mouth with both hands, dropping his wand to the floor and dropping to his knees.  Montague looked up to the ceiling in bewilderment as though the victim had fallen out of the sky at the precise moment that three of his housemates decided to flex their wands. Perhaps he was religious. Who knew? Theo mused lazily while the other part of his brain racked to press an advantage over a situation that was unraveling.

Words were failing Montague, breathless from the run and the added surprise. “I don’t believe this.”

Blaise shook his head. “What is he doing here? Seriously what in Merlin’s name is he doing here?”

Theo said nothing as his mental cogs turned furiously, planning his next move, his exit strategy. The door to the kit room was now closed. Blaise’s wand was still on the floor. Montague remained shell-shocked. One of their number had used an unforgivable curse in an unprovoked attack. A minimally conscious Draco Malfoy was lying in front of them.

The hairs rose on the back of Theo’s neck. “It can’t be Malfoy, Theo repeated. “It must be some kind of enchantment. He was sent to the hospital wing. We saw him go.” Internally he was kicking himself for advising Ginevra to use the Polyjuice potion. This could only be entirely her doing.

“Did we?” Montague snarled but quickly lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “The last we saw of him was when the girls were holding a candle-lit vigil. They could have taken him back to the dormitories.” He pulled out her embroidered kerchief and began dabbing his forehead in earnest.

Theo said sharply. “The dormitories? I hope not.  Malfoy had a concussion!"

Montague stuttered. “A what?”

Blaise interrupted. “We did this! Not the Gryffindors. We did this!” He looked rattled, as if he had seen his mother’s ghost and was told his future. 

Theo said nothing and considered the alternative. Perhaps it had been Blaise who had used the Cruciatus curse. Naughty.

Montague said. “Is he breathing?” He knelt beside Blaise and slapped Malfoy’s cheeks twice. He felt for a pulse, all over Draco’s neck that Theo was sure Montague did not know what he was feeling for. Was he trying to play the piano? He rolled his eyes and wondered if it was worth telling Montague to check behind Draco's ear for his missing pulse. Now was not the time to be juvenile and he resisted the temptation. Theo stated, “It was Crabbe’s job to make sure Malfoy made it to the hospital wing safely. Like I said, this can’t be Malfoy.”

Montague snapped. “Are you blind, Nott! He pointed. “Look at him!”

“None of this makes any sense. We need answers.”

“We need to deal with this quietly before anyone else finds out what happened here," Montague said, his whisper now rising to a shrill pitch.  The veins in his temples looked ready to pop.

Blaise snapped. “His father is probably on his way already. The whole house is awake. How do you suppose we are going to deal with this quietly?”

“We need to move him.”

Theo pinched the bridge of his nostrils. “Where to? You’ll have to be more specific.” He stood, feet pointing to the kit cupboard. Take a hint, boys. “How far do you think we can carry him before someone runs into us.” He drawled. “Even if we ran into a first year, how could we explain this mess?” Sling him into the kit cupboard.

Blaise looked up at Nott sharply. "What did you just say?"

"B…Beg your pardon. Theo stuttered.

"I have an idea." Said Montague, drawing himself to his full height, to share his epiphany. "We shall sling him into the kit cupboard!"

Blaise blinked a few times. He looked at Theo and then back at Montague. Nott tried to appear nonchalant and then changed tack by injecting some weak praise for his arch-nemesis. "A fair suggestion." He coughed. "What do you think Blaise?"

Montague did not allow sufficient pause to hear Blaise's input. "Thank you, Theodore. Can you take the legs for me, please? Zabini, help me with his arms." Montague reached behind him and prised open the door to the kit cupboard.

Nott braced himself internally for a volley of fire. Nothing happened thankfully. Not yet anyway. The Gryffindors taking residence in the kit cupboard were stockpiling their ammunition for an explosive showdown. It was just a matter of when.

Blaise bumped his shoulder and mouthed furiously behind Montague's back." Oh, it's hypnosis now, is it?" He shook him off but Zabini was not going to be ignored so easily. "First it was Legilimency and now its hypnosis."

"Don't be absurd," Nott said gruffly. It was the very opposite of Legilimency. Not only was he losing his abilities, but he was also transferring his skills to other Slytherins to be used against him. His father would have turned in his grave if he were dead. Better yet, it would knock a few years off his father's current life expectancy. He bent forward and caught the material around Malfoy's ankles in a firm grip. He motioned to Montague. "Ready when you are."

"Okay, lads. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!"

On the count of three, several events happened in quick succession. Zabini and Montague swung Malfoys' form forwards. Nott threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the barrage of hexes hurled like primitive spears from the kit cupboard. He landed gracelessly on his back. White light exploded in a retinal-searing starburst engulfing all that was in front of him. Moments later, he was leveled flat by a brick wall of sound. The noise from the explosion pummeled through his eardrums. The silence that followed was welcomed. It meant his eardrums had ruptured. His mind drifted to Malfoy's last moments and compared the similarities. The Gryffindor witches were a force to be reckoned with. He scrambled to his feet, tripping forward as he tried to stand. He coughed weakly into his fist and waved his wand hand in front of him, in a feeble attempt to keep the dust of his nose and eyes. One rational thought sprang to his mind. Granger. Theo sprinted.