Untouchable

Hermione had three disgruntled visitors at her bedside. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley traipsed grass, mud, and brackish water through the hospital wing and collapsed on the cots next to Hermione. They were still wearing their sodden clothes from last night and their soiled running shoes. Harry grunted his greeting. Ron swiped a piece of her toast before retiring to his makeshift bed. “Hello to you too.” She mouthed, butter knife in hand. They would have slept quite happily at least until Madame Pomphrey came to know of their arrival. She charged onto the bay and screamed at the pair, rousing them from their stupor. And so, they were promptly discharged before they had even been admitted.

Hermione’s third visitor arrived unannounced half an hour later, quiet as a cat. He stared her down uncomfortably almost willing her to wake from a light sleep. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Gosh, it’s you.” How unexpected. The sage green curtains around her cot were drawn, save for a small gap. Theodore Nott sat on a stool at the foot of the bed with his back to the gap.

“How is the hangover, Granger?” Nott asked in a condescending tone.

Hermione could feel her headache coming back swiftly. “It’s fine.” She said curtly.

He rolled his eyes.

“How kind of you to drop by. I certainly was not expecting it. Were you visiting someone in the hospital wing?” She enquired. “Malfoy perhaps?”

 He snapped in retort. “Do you wish me to pass on your apologies to Malfoy?”

“No, thank you.” She said stiffly. “Did you forget something then? Is that why you are here?”

Could this interaction get even more uncomfortable she thought to herself. Hermione waited for him to get to make his point or leave preferably the latter. He looked settled on the stool at the edge of her bed. She took a moment to observe him. His eyes were red-rimmed, the bags under them darkening with each fist rub. Hermione cleared her throat. “Madame Pomphrey mentioned that you brought me here, which I am grateful for.” She clasped her hands together. They were clammy. “And thank you also for helping the girls last night. I hope we did not cause you too much trouble.”

His expression remained unchanged from bland, bored, and mildly irritated. Hopefully, he would leave soon, and she could put this whole sordid mess behind her.

“It’s not going anywhere.” He spoke sharply.

She blinked a few times and covered her hand with her mouth. “Gosh, did I say all that aloud? Must be the fire whisky talking!” She laughed to dispel the awkwardness. She had not drunk any firewhisky and could not abide the taste of it.

Nott guessed as much but said nothing. In a masterstroke of deflection, he picked up the charts affixed to the end of Hermione’s bed and flicked through its pages. If she had any suspicions about his capabilities, they were quickly forgotten.

“Excuse me. Do you mind? That is confidential?”

Judging from his micro-expressions, it made for an interesting read. She strained for a look.

“There was a love potion in your system as expected. Your drink was spiked.”

“What?” She said, shocked. “Give me that!” Hermione lunged forward.

“Fortunately for you Granger, it was not amortentia but a crude and half-baked concoction. He batted her hand away. “Your admirer lacks financial means - a Weasley, perhaps?”

Hermione bristled, knowing his scathing commentary was starting strong.

 “However, I cannot imagine why anyone would want to spike your drink?” He squinted at the page. “Fear not - Madame Pomfrey also suspects that you were not the intended target.”

She snapped. “If you do not hand me back my chart now, I will scream for Madame Pomphrey. I am sure the last thing you will want is to be associated with a muggle-borne Gryffindor because gossip travels fast.”

“You should have thought of that yesterday before you decided to pay me a visit.” He looked up from his reading. “Madame Pomphrey already knows that I am here. She was quite touched by my concern for your recovery.” He added offhand. “I forgot you tell you that I brought you flowers. I left them at the nurse’s station. I was told it was a muggle convention.”

Hermione felt like she had been knocked sideways. He continued regardless. “You presented with confusion and an altered mental status – in a state of disarray, Granger. You were found wandering the corridors and were brought in by an unnamed male student who provided a brief collateral history. Your diagnosis is intoxication/poisoning with an off-label love potion. You received supportive care only. You refused next of kin involvement and so your head of department was informed instead.” He turned the page. “That was your clinical summary. Try to remember the details. Your account of events must align with Madame Pomfrey’s.”

“Why did you get me flowers? Who told you to get me flowers?”

Nott inhaled slowly, the bridge of his nose held between his index and thumb, his countenance far from meditative. “Try and keep up Granger. I took the liberty of discarding your hideous footwear in the great lake.” In truth, he brought the flowers to impress Madame Pomfrey, to suggest that he may have romantic inclinations towards Granger, gain Pomphrey’s sympathy for their ill-fated inter-house relationship, and buy her trust and silence. He figured that Pomfrey, despite her unflappable demeanor, was a romantic old bird at heart and not one to stand in the way of ill-thought, hormonally driven adolescent infatuation. Blaise had agreed.

Hermione was speechless momentarily, but she found her voice quickly. “You threw my shoes away? How dare you throw my shoes away? Is this a joke? They were my best pair!”

“I weighed them down with stones, of course.”

“Are you going to buy me a new pair, Nott?” Hermione snarled; half tempted to throw a slipper at him to get him to look up from his reading. She then remembered how he had disposed of another pair like a body in the great lake. It was an utterly terrifying thought.

He snapped. “Now is not the time Granger to become hysterical.”

She flinched. Had he just read her mind?

He caught himself and took a steadying breath. “You need to pay attention to what I am telling you. He added, “While you convalesced this morning, I placed a memory charm on Draco Malfoy.”

“You put a memory charm on Draco Malfoy?” She repeated, her brain struggling to compute. “Why? Why are you telling me this?”

“Malfoy is the only person from Slytherin who can place you in the dungeon. Thanks to the charm, he will not be able to recall you hexing him last night. You never visited the dungeon last night. Do you understand me?”

She stared at him in confusion. "When did you place the memory charm?"

He ignored Hermione's question but the truth was he had gone to Malfoy's bedside while Blaise had been chatting with Madame Pomfrey, collecting his medication refill and getting a checkup with a focused history and physical examination done. 

“You and Madame Pomphrey will be questioned if Malfoy’s father orders an official inquiry. You got drunk at or after the Gryffindor party and I found you roaming the corridors and brought you to the hospital wing. I visited you this morning. We spoke for some time at your bedside. That is all you know. I advise you to inform your gaggle of female friends to say the same thing. They never left the Gryffindor common room.”

“Who is going to believe that?” asked Hermione incredulously.

“A lot of my male housemates,” Nott said solemnly. “They would rather believe Gryffindor boys attacked them than the Gryffindor girls had given them the run-around.”

“But Harry and Ron have alibis.”

“So what?” He snarled. “If the inquiry does not go anywhere, it will eventually be shut down.”

 “Why are you so afraid of an inquiry? What is the worst to happen if they find out the truth? Will we be suspended?” She asked. A question that made perfect sense in her head sounded jilted and wanting when spoken aloud. She could have kicked herself.

“Do you want to be suspended?” His tone was pithy.

“No…” Her voice trailed off.

This entire conversation was like pulling teeth. He sympathized with Granger’s parents. “Your little prank has set events in motion in Slytherin house, which cannot be undone. It has also uncovered other details. Malfoy’s father will be arriving very shortly. I suspect he had some plans for his son’s future which have now gone awry. I am trying to clear up the mess that you and your friends have left.”

“What other details?”

He shook his head in exasperation.

She asked the question she should have asked all along. “Why are you helping me, Nott?”

“I am not helping you, Granger. I am helping myself. You had better heed my advice instead of asking pointless questions.”

Realization dawned on her as she surveyed the drawn curtains around her bedside and considered the flowers and the medical notes. “I am your alibi. That’s why you’re here.”

He dropped his gaze for half a second, the closest to an admission of guilt she would ever receive.

“That explains the flowers. Pomfrey is only going to remember that you visited me and will deny the fact you went near Malfoy.”

“Don’t forget Montague.”

“What on Earth did you do to Montague?” She caught herself and rephrased the question to better elicit an answer. “What did Montague do to you?”

He looked at her with the cold contempt and indifference of a commuter, being asked to donate to a charity whose cause he didn’t care for by an unknown person in a tabard rattling a bucket of coins, who had singled him out of a crowd and asked him for money. He was exactly the sort of person to lie about the lack of change in his pocket and keep moving.

 She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling with anger. “You have made me complicit.”

He admonished her. “You were always complicit Granger.”

She could have sworn.

“If you are feeling courageous like a true Gryffindor, you should tell someone of authority that I put a memory charm on Malfoy this morning. While you are at it, you can tell them how you and your friends hexed Malfoy into a coma outside the dungeons, trespassed into the dungeons, stole Polyjuice from Professor Snape’s office, impersonated several members of Slytherin house and caused an explosion as you did in Professor Slughorn’s potions class. Montague was injured in the said explosion. He is in the next bay if you would like to convey your regards.”

“I had nothing to do with the explosion. It was not my fault!” Hermione said vehemently. “I did not do anything to Montague!”

“Well, I did. I implanted a false memory in his brain this morning that I was collapsed in the broom closet next to him when in fact I was hauling you all of the way to the hospital wing from the dungeons.” Theo shrugged in response. “So, you are not feeling brave enough to own up to your actions? You would have made a good Ravenclaw, Granger.”

“Or a Slytherin, it would seem.” Hermione hissed.

“You would have to demonstrate some form of agency if you wanted to qualify for Slytherin House.”

“Is that why Flint sent all the Slytherin girls back to the dormitories? Don’t make me laugh.” She said laconically. The flowers and the apparent concern none of it meant anything. She could not bear to look at him. What she had perceived initially as a kind and thoughtful gesture was merely a ploy. She had never met anyone as manipulative as him, whose cunning and ruthlessness outflanked her at every turn. Then it struck her. “You have made a considerable effort for a simple memory charm. What else have you done?”

He flinched.

“What did you do?” she asked him sternly.

To her surprise, he answered her. “I searched Malfoy’s person for a letter, Granger. That’s’ all.”

“What kind of letter?” She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

His pupils narrowed with disdain. “The kind of letter that keeps someone awake at midnight to post it in secrecy.”

Hermione’s pulse skittered but feigned disinterest. She needed Nott to keep talking especially when he was being unusually forthcoming. She studied the folds in her blanket. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No.” He lied.

“And you are telling me all this because…”

He deadpanned. “You are in no position to share it with anyone. It will cost you just as much as it will cost me. I want you to know that.”

Hermione stared in silent apprehension just wondering who she had got into bed with.

Madame Pomphrey peered her head around the curtains. Hermione jumped at the intrusion but regained her composure and smiled primly at Pomfrey as though she had male visitors all the time to her boudoir who wooed her with flowers. Nothing unbecoming had possibly happened in their ten-minute exchange. She dabbed her flushed cheeks and decolletage with a tissue. There were no fans available for use in the hospital wing. What a disgrace. She would just have to make do. 

Pomfrey paid her no mind. “Theodore, I am afraid visiting time is over. Professor Snape is looking for you.”

“Certainly.” His whole posture changed as he stood from slouched to ramrod straight. He tucked the stool into a corner and put on his outer robe, fastened the buttons, and bowed his head. Her chart was already back in its docket, as though it had never left it. Nott drew the curtains back, carefully, as though not to wake a baby from sleep. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Hermione.” He used her given name. How considerate. His exit was formal like a statesman. Both women watched him go, his carriage and rhythmic stride unmistakable even into the distance. Long moments passed.

Madame Pomphrey said, “He brought you some gardenias.”

“He did, did he? “Hermione said absently.

“For health and safety reasons Granger, I cannot allow the flowers onto the bay. They remain at the nurse’s station. I have kept them in water for you.”

"Thank you." Hermione blushed.

Madame Pomphrey cleared her throat. “It’s a lovely gesture, Granger, you must admit.”

“I suppose it beats having my drink spiked.”

Madame Pomfrey added. “It probably wasn’t your drink, dear.” She drew the curtains closed in Hermione’s startled face.

Black billowing robes rounded the corner from the hospital wing, its occupant a pasty contrasting complexion. A murder of crows greeted Theodore Nott. Professor Snape wasted no time with salutations. “There you are. You have been summoned to the Headmaster’s office.”

Only Snape could turn the word summoned into three syllables. Theo’s stomach tightened. He inclined his head in a mock show of respect and fell in step behind his Head of House. He passed Blaise Zabini around a corner. He nodded subtly to his friend who retreated into the shadows, turning back to the dungeons. Nott now needed to buy him time as much time as he could afford.

Snape’s eyebrows rose at his lack of protest, though his stride did not falter. Theodore Nott had been expecting the summons. “You’re a hard man to find. Where were you this morning?”

“I was at the hospital wing with Blaise to collect his medication.”

“A two-man job, is it?" Snape said dryly.

“We went to check on Montague after the Gryffindors attacked us last night.”

“Well, your little escapade to the hospital wing early meant that you and Zabini missed my announcement to the common room.”

“What a shame,” Theo said blandly, his tone tempered just so that it was impossible to tell whether he was being genuine or pithy.

“I don’t quite know what happened last night or how Draco Malfoy ended up like a vegetable but I assure you I will get to the bottom of this.” Snape's dark boots punctuated each word with a dull thud. Theo was surprised the stone beneath their feet did not crack with the force Snape was applying. The pace he kept was furious and Theo found himself having to lengthen his long stride to keep up. He drew his breath between his teeth and in the even tone he could manage, he said, “That is most reassuring, Professor.”

“I told your peers there will be no reprisal attacks against Gryffindor House in the meantime.”

They rounded past a suit of armor. Theo instantly had a comical picture of himself wearing it with a Medieval long sword standing beside Draco in a corseted dress while he tried to fight Gryffindors invaders on Draco’s behalf. His lack of sleep was making him feel irritable and delirious. He wiped the smirk off his face before it registered with Snape. He would be the first person to throw Malfoy into dragon fire given the opportunity. “Of course. I think that is a sensible suggestion. We are all interested to know exactly what happened before seeking out justice.”

“There is very little evidence to suggest the Gryffindors were even present for the attack.”

Theo drew up short. “What are you saying?” He stopped to catch his breath but did not want Snape to have the satisfaction of knowing he had bested him physically. The Professor slowed his pace and turned to look at Theo, scrutinizing his micro-expressions. “The Gryffindor Quidditch team have airtight alibis that place them very far away from the dungeon.”

“I see. You suspect an inside job.” Theo inserted faint indignation in his voice at the accusation that one of his peers was responsible for attacking Draco.

“Is it an inside job?”

Theo said sharply, “I know what I saw. I saw Potter drawing his wand on Malfoy. If you think I am lying to protect myself or another Slytherin…”

“You are going to be asked the same question in the headmaster’s presence. You had better have a good answer for it than simply bleating your innocence and expecting him to believe you on the account of your excellent character.” Snape cut him off. The boy was a wolf in sheep's clothing. He was a boy who rarely pushed himself to the spotlight and worked better behind the scenes. The beige persona Nott worked to cultivate might be a smoke screen that worked on his classmates, but it was easy to see through if one had a discerning eye. The problem the boy had gotten too comfortable being beige and underestimated. Theodore needed to discard the wool coat and show Dumbledore his teeth and claws. He needed to argue with enough strength and conviction in the Headmaster’s presence that he could not be pinned down, tripped up, or phased by the questions put to him. Dumbledore was not a wizard to be trifled with or lied to. Feeding him half-truths was not advisable. Dumbledore was a far better Legilimens than Nott or perhaps Nott’s father in his old age. The issue surrounding Draco’s attack had escalated to the extent that Snape could not intervene or speak on the ungrateful boy’s behalf. “I think know you a lot more than you are sharing, and you have done quite enough damage already, Nott. The stampede you instigated…”

Nott recoiled. “What stampede?”

Professor Snape smacked his brow before regaling with the story of how he, Theodore Nott had supposedly found a second incendiary device planted by the Gryffindor quidditch team; the stampede of half of Slytherin house (the female half) that ensued from the discovery of said device from the girl's dormitories, that resulted in the trampling of three of his housemates Flint included; the destruction of table, chairs, and any furniture that stood in the herd’s way throughout the common areas. It had been a mass exodus of biblical proportions, causing extreme emotional distress that it managed to rouse Professor Snape from his sleep. The Professor woke to a scene of carnage and terror. Snape explained a highly distraught Greengrass sister relayed the inciting incident to him in between theatrically overblown sobs (“I did my best to keep it to myself as Nott told me to but I could have died. We all could have died and my slipper-socks are ruined!”) She had named Theodore Nott as the prime instigator. Snape told him he could easily expect afterschool detention till the new year for fabricating a terror attack by the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

“But Professor, I was the one who was attacked. Blaise and Montague can tell you…”

“Not good enough.”

“Well, Madame Pomfrey can tell you…”

“Save your breath.” Snape glanced over his shoulder at his student. “You will explain yourself to the Headmaster and the Board. And do better.”

"You did not give me a chance to finish," complained Nott.

"Then argue plausibly instead of pleading facts." 

“Does my father know?” Theo asked warily. That was the last thing Theo needed. The words were out before he could retract them. He realized exactly how it sounded and Snape affirmed his suspicions quickly.

Snape turned to him with surprise at the mention of his father. “Your father won’t be able to rescue you from this mess, Nott. And I strongly suggest you don’t involve him at this stage or mention him in your interview with the Headmaster. It will not serve your purpose.” They resumed their walk at a brutal pace. More accustomed to Nott’s withering sarcasm and silent hostility, Snape did not know what to make of his apparent disinterest. The boy’s hard-edged gaze seemed dull to the point of lethargy. It could not simply be from a lack of sleep. He wondered if Nott had used his magic abilities excessively the night before. For all his posturing, the boy had never managed to acquire his father’s Legilimency. A fact lamented by the Dark Lord who described Theodore’s abilities as stunted in comparison. While Nott had been skulking around the hospital wing, his bosom companion and fellow incompetent wayward were notably absent. When they arrived at the phoenix’ revolving staircase outside Dumbledore’s office, a firm hand grabbed Theo and shook him out of his sleepless reverie. “Look sharp!”

Theo wondered whether his Head of Year for unfathomable reasons had pre-empted and shared his interview questions, forewarning him of the crimes he would be accused of and giving him minimally constructive feedback having found his answers wanting. He almost felt guilty about sending Blaise into Snape’s storeroom to loot his stash. He straightened up. It was best not to dwell on it and keep moving forward. Theo entered Dumbledore’s office for the first time, taking in little of the magical artifacts adorning the room, the phoenix perched, a pensieve, or the reams of magical tomes. He was greeted warmly by his headmaster.

“Hello Theodore, take a seat. Professor Dumbledore enquired politely. “Are you well? You look a little peaky. Sherbet lemon?”

Nott declined the proffered confectionary. “No thank you, Professor.”

Lucius Malfoy flicked his white mane over his shoulder and regarded Theo haughtily, velvet robes sprawled over the back of the armchair. He tapped his redundant but highly ornate walking cane against the armchair leg.

Nott barely acknowledged Malfoy Senior’s theatrics on a good day, but today he was on his best behavior. He inclined his head in a show of respect. “Mr Malfoy.”

Lucius Malfoy would not reciprocate the gesture and kept tapping, his jaw tightening like a trap.