CHAPTER 9:
The Marauder's Map
The Gryffindor Quidditch team, sans Wood who wanted more time to sulk in the showers, joined Harry and Angelina at the Hospital Wing to tell them the bad news. Fortunately, they were both in good physical condition, though justifiably devastated. Harry had never lost a Quidditch match before. And to make matters worse, Harry's broom had been swept away by the terrible winds after he had fallen –
"And it hit — it hit — oh, Harry — it hit the Whomping Willow." Hermione sighed. The Whomping Willow was a very violent tree that stood alone in the middle of the grounds.
"And?" he said, dreading the answer.
"Well, you know the Whomping Willow," said Ron. "It — it doesn't like being hit."
"Professor Flitwick brought it back just before you came around," said Hermione in a very small voice.
Slowly, she reached down for a bag at her feet, turned it upside down, and tipped a dozen bits of splintered wood and twig onto the bed, the only remains of Harry's faithful, finally beaten broomstick.
Harry was beside himself with sorrow and Christina saving him only made matters worse. He seemed more embarrassed than thankful. They were arguing over it the next day when the Gryffindor Quidditch team had returned to check in again on Harry. Hermione and Ron still by his side.
"What would you rather have happened, you died?" Christina said in disbelief.
"I would've been fine." Harry waved off.
"Er—Harry, listen mate—" Fred started, but Harry shook his head, "I wasn't that high up!"
Christina laughs mockingly, "Tomorrow you wanna go back out there? You were fifty feet above the Hufflepuff stands, how about we push you off at that height? Hm?"
"Christina—" Hermione starts.
"You ungrateful little brat - next time, I'll let you die!"
Christina storms out of the Hospital Wing and quickly heads down the clocktower steps. She hears someone following behind her and assumes it's Fred. She's genuinely shocked when she turns to see Hermione at her heels.
"Oh—hey."
"Hi." Hermione says, breathless. The Hospital Wing doors swing open again and Ron comes out, bustling down the steps.
"Oh, good, you got her." Ron says. Christina has a feeling she's about to be scolded. She rolls her eyes and folds her arms, "I've been got."
Ron reaches her down the steps, "Christina, Harry is bang out of order."
"Wh-what?" Christina sputters.
Hermione joins in as well, "You saved his life!"
Ron nods furiously, "He's just mad cause you're a girl – and in front of the whole school."
Christina looked between the two of them and suddenly felt very emotional. Being an outsider, it was such a warm feeling of acceptance for people to not only understand her, but to defend her. Tears started welling up in her eyes.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asks, concerned.
Christina swallows thickly, "I'm gonna be honest, I really thought you were gonna take his side." She finishes with a laugh.
"Why?" Ron asks.
"I dunno … you've been his best friend for two years?" She says, feeling like this was obvious. She turns to Hermione, "-And you hate when I use my natural … whatever it is."
"Oh, Christina that's not true at all! I'll admit I was … nervous at first—" To this, Ron barks out a laugh, "Nervous? You were mental." Even Christina laughed.
Hermione sighs, "Alright, Ron. But … you're our friend too. And we wouldn't side with Harry just to side with Harry."
"Specially when he's being a tosser." Ron chuckles. Christina bit her bottom lip, feeling uplifted and subsequently dramatic for feeling so. She throws out her arms and brings in both Hermione and Ron for a hug.
"Thanks, guys."
Harry was shortly released from the Hospital Wing, though Christina still hadn't received an apology from Harry despite Hermione and Ron egging him on to do so. Christina let it go, figured his ego was somehow more hurt than his body from the fall.
Malfoy was only making Harry feel worse. He and the rest of the Slytherins were almost beside themselves with glee at Gryffindor's defeat. Malfoy had finally taken off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing Dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face. Christina cackled with glee, causing Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor. Worth it.
"If Snape's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts again, I'm skiving off," said Ron as they headed toward Lupin's classroom after lunch. "Check who's in there, Hermione." Hermione peered around the classroom door.
"It's okay!"
Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless, he smiled at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill.
"It's not fair, he was only filling in, why should he give us homework?"
"We don't know anything about werewolves —"
"— two rolls of parchment!"
"Did you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered them yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly.
The babble broke out again.
"Yes, but he said we were really behind —"
"— he wouldn't listen —"
"— two rolls of parchment!"
Professor Lupin smiled at the look of indignation on every face.
"Don't worry. I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."
"Oh no," said Hermione, looking very disappointed. "I've already finished it!"
They had a very enjoyable lesson. Professor Lupin had brought along a glass box containing a Hinkypunk, a little one-legged creature who looked as though he were made of wisps of smoke, rather frail and harmless looking.
"Lures travelers into bogs," said Professor Lupin as they took notes. "You notice the lantern dangling from his hand? Hops ahead — people follow the light — then —"
The Hinkypunk made a horrible squelching noise against the glass. Christina shivered.
Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to be everyone's favorite class. Week after week, Professor Lupin brought in creatures for them to examine and fight, no essays necessary, to Hermione's dissatisfaction.
Things started to get better between Christina and Harry as Quidditch practices continued. Having been reassured by Professor Lupin that Dementors only preyed on Harry because of his traumatic past, he seemed more confident than ever.
Harry wasn't the only person exuding confidence, Fred too continued to pursue Christina just as he promised. It was the night before the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff quidditch match, the match that determined if Gryffindor had a chance after their loss to Hufflepuff, when Fred approached her at the Gryffindor common room.
Christina and Hermione were completing Divination homework in the corner when Fred dropped a pathetic looking wildflower on their work. Hermione, lacking the awareness of the gesture, swatted it off the table without even looking up at Fred.
"Oy!" He shouted.
"What? Don't litter on us. It's rude." Hermione sneered.
"It's not litter, you bat." Fred reached under the table and picked it back up. "It's a flower."
Christina tilted her neck to get a better look at this 'flower', "That's a pretty rough looking flower, Fred."
"It's nearly December! Don't they say it's the gesture? Thought that counts!" He exclaims. Christina snickers and takes the flower from his hand, "Thank you for the weed." She winks.
He shakes his head at her, smirking, "That's cruel."
"I'm sorry."
"It's an invitation, actually." He eggs on. Hermione raises an eyebrow at Fred, "You know you could've transfigured a flower."
"Hush, Merlin. I was wondering, Christina –"
"Yes?" She cuts him off, grinning.
"If you would—"
"Mmhm—"
"Accompany me to the Quidditch match tomorrow." Fred asks nervously. Christina's eyebrows raise, though it's Hermione who responds, "As a date?!"
"Hermione!" Christina shoots her a look.
"As a date." Fred confirms. Hermione brushes her bushy hair off her shoulder and raises her nose in the air, "That doesn't count as a date."
Fred scoffs, "Does too."
Christina stares Hermione down, "Will you shut-up?" She says in a low, threatening tone.
"It's true." Hermione shrugs, dipping her quill in ink.
"True that you should shut-up? I concur with Christina." Fred winks. Hermione lets out an aggravated sigh and snatches her paper and quill from the table, "You two are ridiculous."
She stomps off and Christina sighs. Fred takes Hermione's seat at their two-person table.
"She was doing my homework, you know." Christina says, turning the wilted flower over in her hand.
"I'll help you." Fred offers. Christina barks out a laugh, "No you won't."
"No, I won't. Date? Match? Tomorrow?" Christina looks at the ginger boy in front of her, face starting to match his hair. She tucks a strand of hair behind her hair and looks down at the flower again, "Do I have to wear this flower?"
"No." He promises.
"Can you wear this one?" Christina uses her natural powers to break off a chunk of the castle wall to her right and morphs it into a closed rose. He smiles widely and takes the flower from her,
"Of course, miss."
He uses his wand to burn a hole in his robe and skewers the rose so that it's now a boutonniere. She bites her lip,
"Then it's a date."
Waking up the following morning, Christina didn't feel the any sort of nervous energy or panic. She had really only been on one date before – it was to the movies and an adult chaperone was in attendance. For that date she spent hours figuring out her outfit, what make-up to wear, things to say on the date – but with Fred, she felt a sense of ease, they were friends, and she knew they'd have fun no matter what she wore or what make-up she decided on. In the end, she ended up wearing something simple, a red sweater, her Gryffindor scarf, jeans, and her Hogwarts robes.
Christina meets Fred in the Gryffindor common room, Fred wearing the stone flower she had made him the previous night. They ended up walking down and enjoying some breakfast before the match and to Christina's surprise, he took her hand on their walk over to the pitch.
"You're really going for it, huh?" She asks, trying to lighten the situation. He smiles and swings her hand.
"Praying for a win or a loss?" He asks, changing topics. She laughs, "Praying for a win! Why wouldn't I be?"
"Yeah, but think of Wood-"
"A lot of girls do." Christina trails off. Fred laughs, shaking his head.
"He's gonna be wound so tight, he may implode." He continues.
"Well hopefully I can just stay and cheer from the sidelines." Christina and Fred enter the pitch and begin the ascend to the Gryffindor stands.
"You liked playing." Fred nudges her. "I could tell, you were …"
"Terrified?" She finishes the thought.
"Exhilarated." His eyes widen and she shakes her head, "Mmm."
They enter the stands and take a seat close to the banister, Christina leans down to look at Madam Hooch talking to both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff captains.
"Same look you gave me last night." He winks.
"So definitely terrified."
"Maybe a mix." Fred drapes an arm around Christina as she shakes her head, laughing.
The match was no contest, Ravenclaw was getting nearly every goal and frequently to boot. After an hour, the score was 130 to 20. The snitch still had yet to be caught despite Hufflepuff playing so poorly. Christina and Fred were watching the game so intensely and were screaming and shouting so loudly that Christina started losing her voice. She couldn't help but laugh at herself.
Hufflepuff scores and Christina and Fred sit back in the stands, disappointed.
"Liquorish wand?" Fred whips out a black candy wand from his Gryffindor robes, Christina laughs and shakes her head, "Not a fan of liquorish, tragically."
"Sugar mouse?" He again produces the sweet from his robe pocket.
"Sugar mouse?"
"Chocolate frog?" He offers. Now she's laughing loudly, voice cracking as she does it, "Where are you getting all this?!"
"Cockroach cluster?"
She throws her head back, laughing, "I'll talk the chocolate frog." She takes the frog from his hand and quickly puts it in her mouth. The chocolate melts instantly, she sighs slowly in relief.
"You thought I'd let you starve out here?"
"You remember we had breakfast, right?"
"Psh, breakfast. Where's the fun in that?" Christina stares at Fred, their eyes locking, and she feels so pleasantly lost in his eyes. Something familiar about them, they reminded her of home. It's only when a Hufflepuff chaser zooms past them that she's snapped back to reality.
She turns to Fred, "What does your brother think about all this by the way?" She gestures between the two of them, referring the date.
"Which one?"
"Which do you think?!"
"Bill doesn't know you at all." Christina shakes her head, smirking and letting her head fall into her lap. "Nor does Charlie." He continues.
"Fred." She sighs.
"Oh, what did I think of it? I'm thrilled to be honest. Glad you said yes." He pats her on the back and she lifts her head back up, "GEORGE!" She shouts at him, clarifying.
"I'm Fred, thought you knew that." He says in a mock-offended tone. She takes his hand, squeezing it out frustration and when she's about to let go, he holds on.
She bites her lip, shaking her head and watches Ravenclaw score another goal.
"You're hopeless." She mutters, smirking.
"That's one word for it."
Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff that day which meant Gryffindor was not out of the running after all, although they could not afford to lose another match. Just as Fred suspected, Wood became repossessed of his manic energy, and worked the team as hard as ever in the chilly haze of rain that persisted into December. The team saw no hint of a Dementor within the grounds. Dumbledore's anger seemed to be keeping them at their stations at the entrances.
With Wood's practices becoming more frequent and lengthier, Christina found she spent most of her time with the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This gave her an excuse to spend even more time with Fred who only became flirtier after their date to the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff game. It seemed every practice someone was rolling their eyes at their amorous banter, Fred's come-ons or Christina's bashfulness. Still, they hadn't kissed yet. Everything was very PC for the time being, though Christina was ready to take that next step, she didn't want to rush into anything.
Two weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, had decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays.
Christina had no plans of returning home for the holidays as she lived impossibly far away and the break wasn't long enough to justify that amount of travel. Fortunately all of her closest friends would be staying home as well. Harry had no positive relationship with his aunt, uncle or cousin so he didn't want to go home, Hermione said she needed to use the library … of course. Ron said he couldn't stand to be at home with his older brother Percy, and Fred said he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her. She was smitten.
To everyone's delight except Harry's, there was to be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of the term. "We can do all our Christmas shopping there!" said Hermione. "Mum and Dad would really love those Toothflossing Stringmints from Honeydukes!"
Christina watched Harry's face turn morose and felt awful for him. Hogsmeade was every bit as amazing as everyone had said it was and she truly felt for Harry having to be the only third year forced to stay back at the castle. Christina was confiding in Fred and George about the situation over dinner when the twins suddenly turned to one another, seemingly talking telepathically.
"What?" Christina asks, eyes darting between the twins. They lean in closer so that other diners can't hear, "What if we knew a way Harry could go."
Christina gives them a skeptical look, "Without getting caught?"
"Without getting caught." George confirms.
"What is it?"
George pulls something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on the oak table. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Christina, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.
"Okay … do you write something on it?" Christina asks.
"This, Christina, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the parchment fondly.
"Old parchment?"
"Old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Christina had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."
"Well… when we were in our first year, Christina — young, carefree, and innocent —"
Christina snorted. She doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.
" — well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch."
"We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor and it upset him for some reason —"
"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —"
"— detention —"
"— disembowelment —"
"— and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous."
Christina cranes her neck again, she holds up the parchment, "This?"
"Well, what would you've done?" said Fred. "George caused a diversion by dropping another Dungbomb, I whipped the drawer open, and grabbed — this."
"It's not as bad as it sounds, you know," said George. "We don't reckon Filch ever found out how to work it. He probably suspected what it was, though, or he wouldn't have confiscated it."
"What is it?!" Christina asks, exasperated.
Fred took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that Fred's wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:
Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP
It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Christina bent over it. A labeled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves the Poltergeist was currently bouncing around the trophy room. And as Christina's eyes traveled up and down the familiar corridors, she noticed something else.
This map showed a set of passages she had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead —
"Right into Hogsmeade," said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. "There are seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four" — he pointed them out — "but we're sure we're the only ones who know about these. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in — completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. This one on the third-floor, the entrance is right outside one of the classrooms, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."
"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," sighed George, patting the heading of the map. "We owe them so much."
"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," said Fred solemnly.
"Then," said George briskly. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it —"
"— or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.
"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank." George demonstrated so and the intricate map again went blank. Christina shook her head in astonishment. Was she ever going to get used to the feeling of absolute awe at the magical world she had thrust upon her?
"You want me to give this to Harry?" Christina asks, gesturing to the map.
"Harry? No! You! You keep it." Fred pushes the map closer to Christina who quickly shoves it right back, "Me? No - are you sure? This is like … a huge deal..."
"It's a wrench, giving it to you," Fred admits, "but your need's greater than ours."
"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."
Christina found herself in sitting in front of the Gryffindor fireplace late that night, holding the parchment in her hands and weighing the decision in her mind. If she was a good person, she'd tell Harry about the map, help him have a good time and go to Hogsmeade. But … she felt like he didn't deserve it. He had been rude to her in the past, and they still weren't back on perfect terms, though things were getting better … there was also the fact that there was a mass murderer on the loose, trying to kill Harry. Would this map help him get killed? She hoped not … so maybe not showing it to him would be protecting him, not just Christina being petty … then again, the look on Harry's face when he saw there was another trip to Hogsmeade. It broke her heart. But what would Hermione say if she found out it was Christina who let Harry leave the castle?
"Hey." Christina turns to see Harry join her at the couch, looking solemn with grey circles under his eyes.
"Oh – hey. What're you doing up?" Christina places the wiped parchment on the small table in front of her, careful to not let it get too close to the fireplace.
"Can't sleep." Harry shrugs.
"Perhaps the bright light of the fire will help you fall to sleep." Christina kids. Harry chuckles politely, though he seemed to be in no mood for humor.
"Excited for tomorrow?" Harry asks, slumping his back into the soft couch.
"Um …"
"It's alright. You don't have to feel bad for me."
"I do feel bad for you." Christina says, eyeing the parchment again. Just be the better person…
"Well, don't." Harry says coldly. Or not.
They stare at the flames flicker in the fireplace, casting shadows around them. "You're a really good Quidditch player, by the way. Feel like I never said that." Christina says out of the blue.
"My dad was too apparently. Genetic, I suppose." He shrugs.
"Wish I had those genes …"
Another pause.
"Lupin's sister, that's your mum, right?" Harry suddenly asks. Christina turns to him, nodding. "Yeah."
Harry plays with his hair, ruffling the back, "I like Lupin. He's nice. I bet your mum was nice too." Christina stared at him, it seemed like he wanted to say something more poignant but was too hesitant to do so. Maybe he was reconsidering asking Christina for help to get into Hogsmeade. Ironic, considering she now had two ways of getting in.
"Thanks, Harry."
"Lupin's been helping me with the dementors – or, well he said he would help me." Harry continues.
"What do you mean?"
"After the holiday, we'll be having private lessons. He's gonna teach me how to fight off the dementors."
She raises her eyebrows, impressed that he even asked Lupin for help, "Really? That's awesome. Wish he'd teach me that stuff. I wanna know everything." She says wistfully.
"Well, why don't you come?" Harry offers. To this, Christina is hit with a pang of guilt.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I mean, he's your uncle. Can't imagine you wouldn't be invited." He shrugs, as though the answer obvious. She bites her lip, feeling bad about not immediately telling Harry about the map now.
"That's … thanks." She goes with.
"Don't mention it."
Just give him the map, be a good person – Was he a good person after I saved his life?!
"You know I didn't mean to embarrass you at that match." Christina says suddenly.
Harry swallows thickly, "Don't—I know."
"Didn't seem like it." She laughs quietly.
"No, I … I – you have to understand, I –" he sighs, trying to formulate a sentence, "Thank you for saving me. I wouldn't have survived without you. That's all."
She snorts, "You sure? You seemed to be struggling there for a second." She elbows him and he finally cracks a smile, "I'm sure."
The two stare at one another, seemingly on even better terms, when Christina is again reminded of the information she was keeping from him. Her face falls and Harry reads directly into it, "Well, I better be off." He stands, "-Light's keeping me up now." He chuckles.
Christina stands, "Harry, wait—" He turns. She fiddles with her fingers, trying to speak, "You know … I think Fred and George might be able to help you get to Hogsmeade." She lands on, not wanting to show him the map just yet. "They told me they snuck into Hogsmeade last weekend." She lies. Harry's eyebrows raise, "Last weekend?"
"Yeah, they said there's a second passageway on the third floor corridor. I bet I could ask Fred exactly where it is—"
"And you're sure he wasn't just messing with you?" Harry asks. He had every right to assume they were joking.
Christina nods, "Positive."
Harry stares at her for a moment, contemplating if it was a joke as well, and decides to believe her. He again, plays with the back of his hair, shoving his hands into his pajama pockets, "Yeah, I mean, er, that'd be great if you could ask—"
"Find me tomorrow before everyone leaves." Christina quickly cuts in. Harry seemed relieved, and then excited, "Yeah, alright. Thanks!"
"Don't mention it."