CHAPTER TEN

- Weasley & Weasley -

Fi soon learned that if you taught no classes in the afternoon, you spent your night roaming the corridors.

Two days after the start of term was Fi's free period, in which she did nothing more than host office hours and spend the afternoon working on her wards or reading books she borrowed from Madam Pince's library. She had two students pop by for consultations: the first-year Hermione Granger who asked a plethora of questions about the feasibility of various spells, and a sixth-year Slytherin who said he had heard from one of his classmates that she could preform wordless spells and wanted some pointers.

Fi rather hoped her little displays of magic wouldn't arouse suspicion in the faculty.

After dinner, it was Fi's turn in the rotation to patrol the corridors. She returned to her office with the grimness of a prison inmate awaiting sentencing, watching the warm glow of the sun slip over the lawns and dive behind the eerie trees, stretching wide shadow toward the castle as torches sputtered to life along the grounds. Curfew came, the clock tower chimed the hour, and Fi slipped from her sanctuary with a weary sigh, sealing the office behind her as she went.

This will be a nightmare.

Exploring the castle at night proved as onerous as it was during the day. Fi set out without any true destination in mind, robes rippling about her lithe frame, thinking of her lesson plans and, in the abstract, the Masked Ones. Hogwarts soon convoluted her path, stairs switching, door leading to all the wrong places. At one point Fi wound up in the dungeons, though she hadn't headed in that direction. She walked the lightless passage, listening to the plop! plop! plop! of dripping water.

"The bloody students are less likely to hurt themselves than I am," Fi muttered to herself as she sought the stairs that would lead her out of the dungeons again. She whacked a shin on a serpentine bench bordering one corridor. "Bugger."

Five minutes later she almost ran headlong into Professor Quirrell.

"My apologies," she told the cringing man, fighting the urge to cringe herself. He had his wand illuminated and it cast light over both professors and a generous swath of the dungeon, though his face remained in shadow from the lay of the turban. I thought I was the only one with patrol tonight?

"T-t-that's alright, Delph-ph-ph—."

"Fi," she said, holding up a hand. "Just Fi is fine." Spare me, please.

Quirrell nodded, relieved. Fi had the morbid desire to see how exactly the man managed to teach his class, and she figured the next time he had a lesson, she would linger in the hall and listen to how he managed. She had the greatest sympathy for the poor dear, but she couldn't understand why he would subject himself to this kind of environment when he jumped at the sight of his own shadow and couldn't string words together.

A second light joined theirs and Fi winced when Professor Snape appeared from a corridor she hadn't even realized to be there, hidden in the dark as it was. He glowered upon recognizing Fi and Quirrell.

"Another midnight meeting?"

Another? Fi shook herself with no small measure of frustration. She was quite cold from mucking about in the dungeons and was annoyed she had been told it was her responsibility to patrol tonight when there was obviously some kind of miscommunication. "Why are you awake?" she growled, flicking a look at both Quirrell and Snape. "It's my night to patrol on the schedule."

"So it is, Dullahan." Snape said her name with bitterness. "Which makes me curious why you and Quirrell would be meeting outside my private potions store."

Fi brightened. "You have a potions store?" She craned her head to look by him, but with a flick of his wand, Snape slammed the door in the corridor behind him closed, locking it. Fi pouted. "If you didn't want to share you could have just said so."

"I do not share."

As the brief conversation unfolded, Quirrell seemed to struggle with centering himself, and at length he managed to stutter a hasty apology, taking his leave. Snape made to step by her.

"Wait—."

His flat eyes snapped to hers, narrowed and hard.

"How do I get out of here? This bloody castle—."

The Potions Master moved on without a word, flicking his wand for the added benefit of returning Fi to the miserable dark. "Professor—Snape! Snape!" When no response came, Fi slouched. "Bugger. He can be a right prat."

To Fi's delight, the castle appeared to grow bored of her and eventually deposited Fi back on the upper levels. She stumbled out of a passage hidden behind a rather ugly portrait of a warty magizoologist, covered in cobwebs and flushed from hiking up what had been a near vertical set of stairs. She would never admit so aloud, but her sudden exploration of the hidden tunnel had been rather exhilarating.

"Yes, well, back to it then," Fi muttered, breathless, unsure of where exactly she was. The magizoologist grumbled about being shaken, then dropped into a heavy doze again. Brushing off her robes, Fi decided to head where the moonlight shone brightest through the windows, as she had had enough of bumbling about and stubbing her toes in the dark. She could have summoned a light to follow her, but knew from experience any wizard with any knowledge would find that peculiar and would want to know how she accomplished it.

Walking, Fi heard a snicker of smothered amusement. She paused, thinking one the portraits was having another laugh at her, and the sound came again. The hedge witch mustered her intent, lips pursed, then waved her hand toward her feet to silence their movement. Fi stepped around the next bend in the corridor, and she had no problem spotting the two boys hiding behind a suit of armor, smothering their mirth as they bent over a bit of parchment and whispered to one another. The open bag at their feet gave off a pungent odor.

Fi snuck behind the pair. She leaned over the boys, red-heads with freckled noses wearing Gryffindor cloaks over their night things, short and with baby fat still clinging to their stocky frames. They couldn't be much older than her tiny first-years and were definitely younger than the class of moody fifth-years she'd taught the day prior. The parchment held between them proved to be some kind of map, a clever thing, the ink upon its grubby face in constant flux as tiny feet meandered about the drawn floors, little flags written above them.

Some kind of Trace, Fi decided, a bit envious she didn't have a map like that. Tied to the castle itself, I would say.

Severus Snape and Quirinus Quirrell still mucked about in the dungeons, the former circling his stash of ingredients labeled S. Snape's Storeroom while Quirinus seemed to keep coming back to that same corridor, lingering. Fi wondered if he was lost, and why his name appeared smudged on the map.

The floating labels all jostled for position near where the various dormitories lay. As a Professor, Fi knew where all the dormitories were in case of an emergency—or, in this instance, if she needed to return chortling boys to their beds—though she had only been issued the password for the Slytherin common room, given that it was her assigned house. She could spot all her first-years tucked tight in their beds, though she wondered who Peter Pettigrew was, as he hadn't been on her roster.

Dumbledore was in his office, Minerva in her quarters. Fi didn't know why it made her rather giddy to see D. Dullahan's Office / Rooms, but she liked to think it meant the castle begrudgingly accepted her presence here. She did not, however, like that Everild Everdeen appeared as well and made a mental note to improve her wards.

It took a minute for Fi to study the many complex folds of the paper and find the corridor in which they stood. The two boys were Fred Weasley and George Weasley. Fi grinned when she realized she herself did not appear on the map, her Will greater than the map's Tracing Charm, which was undoubtedly the reason behind the boys' rather lax behavior. They seemed to be discussing the best route to A. Filch's Office.

"Fascinating," Fi whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Oh, you pair must drive Filch absolutely spare."

Both Weasleys froze, then whipped about, the one named Fred smacking his head on the armor's greaves. George clutched the map to his chest.

"Who—?!"

"Professor Dullahan," Fi said with a small smile. "It's very nice to meet you both."

Both Weasleys looked at her, then at the map, then back again, growing paler and more flustered as they did so.

"That is the niftiest thing I've seen in a while," Fi told them with a nod toward the map. "But I'm afraid I won't show up on it, boys. I'm Unplottable as it were." She arched a brow. "Did you make it?"

Both gave their heads a shaky jerk.

"Found it in Filch's office—," Fred managed.

"Our first year," George finished.

"Fascinating." Lowering her hand, Fi wiggled her fingers a bit, waiting, and George reluctantly handed the map over. She sent her fingertips across the parchment's surface and sensed within it a vast network of very precisely laid Charms and perhaps a modified Developing Potion, but nothing beyond the skill of a clever schoolboy or girl. Nothing Dark. Her reservations about the Dark Arts were far less stigmatizing than other witches and wizards, but Fi would not lay temptation in a child's hands. "Who is Peter Pettigrew? I didn't see him in class."

"Peter—?"

"Oh—."

"We're fairly certain he's a ghost up in our tower," Fred said, glancing at George.

"Haven't seen him around, but Flitwick says ghosts don't always want to be seen, yeah?"

"And he's been about since we started using the map."

"Hmm." Fi turned the parchment over, lost in thought. "I wonder if I could recreate something similar to help me get about…."

The twin Weasleys continued to stare at the hedge witch, unsure what to make of the peculiar woman muttering to herself. At length, Fi handed the map back to George and nudged the bag with her foot, plucking at the flap to peek inside. "What are these, then?"

"Err—."

"Well, you see, ma'am, we were just on our way to return these to Mr. Filch—."

"Yes, return them. Dungbombs, they are."

"And, we must have missed curfew. Right shame, isn't it, Fred?"

"That it is, George."

Fi exhaled, and reached into the bag to extract one of the Dungbombs, wrinkling her nose when she noticed the dirt now clinging to her skin. "I suppose I should confiscate these—but I think we'll return this one. Come on, then, you two."

Grabbing the bag by the straps, Fi hoisted it up and held the foul object away from herself as she marched down the corridor with both Weasleys trailing in silent shock. Filch's office was near enough, and Fi swatted aside the paltry wards outside the entrance, confident neither red-head would recognize the motion. She jerked open the door to the dark, musty smelling office. "What do I do with this? Just give it a throw?"

Fred gave an uncertain nod.

Fi tossed the Dungbomb inside and quickly shut the door. A moment later, a faint hiss issued somewhere within the confines to indicate the bomb had gone off.

Both young boys were staring wide-eyed and gobsmacked at Fi, a hint of anxiety swirling in the depths of their expressions as they tried to make sense of what had occurred. "He called my Puck a wretched bird," Fi calmly explained. "Poor Puck only shrieked at his nosy cat when it came snooping where it did not belong. Anyway…lead me to the Gryffindor House, if you would."

They nodded, then stumbled into action, showing Fi the proper path while whispering urgently to one another. Fi began to recognize some of the portraits and passages they walked by. She decided they were in the western portion of the castle, though she had no memory of crossing the inlet. Perhaps the dungeons plunged farther into the earth than she realized.

Fred and George eventually stopped before a picture of a rather plump woman dressed in a flouncy pink dress. They turned to face Fi and she saw how their shoulders rose toward their ears, waiting for punishment. She set the bag by her feet, drew in a breath as if preparing to yell—then grabbed each boy by a cheek and pinched.

"Ow—! Ow, ow, ow—!"

"Blimey that stings—!"

"Five points from Gryffindor," Fi said, adopting a strict tone. "For not being clever. You shouldn't rely wholly on a bit of Charmed paper. If you mean to make mischief, use sense, boys. What if I had been the Potions Master? Hmm?"

"Well, if you had been—."

"We would have seen you coming, wouldn't we?"

Fi pinched a little harder and earned watery-eyed winces. "If you don't think Severus Snape or any professor of this school capable of Confounding a Trace Charm, then you should give up your life of pranks and be good, well-behaved students. What if I had been dangerous? You need to be more aware of your surroundings."

She released her hold on them. Fred and George rubbed their faces, sullen but repentant. "Sorry, Professor."

"Get yourselves off to bed." Fi made shooing gestures toward the portrait. "And don't let me catch you up and about after curfew again. If you mean to misbehave, you'd better learn to be faster and cleverer than me."

The Weasleys were quick to obey Fi, hurrying as if certain she would change her mind and drag them both down to the dungeons for a round of midnight torture. She snorted, giving her hand a quick twist to Vanish the stinky bag next to her. Without even knowing the man, Fi knew Snape would not be happy if he learned she had let a pair of Gryffindors off with nothing but a warning and a bit of posturing. It went against Fi's nature to reprimand children when—in her eyes—they had only been acting like the boys they were. She would have more luck telling a Hippogriff to grow a second head than she would telling teenagers not to get into trouble.

Hopefully they're smart enough to avoid the dungeons, Fi thought with a slight shake of her head, turning on her heels. I have an inkling the Head of Slytherin is far less forgiving than myself.