Draco's Mudblood - Draco Malfoy Fan Fiction - *Year One*

The Owners of the Map

Isobel was sure this was a horrible idea –the consequences of getting caught scared her beyond comprehension– but that didn't make it a bad idea...

If anything, it sounded fun.

Deciding not to read into her new rebellious streak, or the fact this wasn't her first time sneaking around the halls after curfew, Isobel snuck a glance around the corner. The corridor was dark, only lit by silver moonlight in small intervals from high up windows. Small particles of dust danced around her fingertips, settling. It was a peaceful scene, still and serene.

Isobel thought of her first few weeks at Hogwarts. How nothing was how she'd imagined but still everything she could have asked for in its own way. How moments like this, in the calmness of the night, she stood in a hall she would come to memorise: the intricacy of the swirling window sills, the imperfections in the tile floors, the run-down finish on the bannisters from years of fingers trailing down them. Pressure built in her chest, pushing against her rib cage but not in a painful or scary way; she felt full, warm and overwhelmed and...

And something on her shoulder.

George Weasley stood behind her, a finger over his maniacal grin. Fred followed shortly behind and sent Isobel an identical smile.

The "date with destiny" began.

The silence in the corridors was a sharp contrast to the traffic they got during the day, but that didn't make Isobel feel any less like she was being watched. She checked over Fred's shoulder for the Map and watched Filch's footsteps appear on the other side of the school, loosely following Peeves. Leaving his office empty and the halls they crept through deserted.

Isobel watched as George leaned before the door of Filch's office and whispered the incantation, before lightly kicking the door open.

There were literal chains on the walls. Filch wasn't lying about his old torture devices, displayed proudly above his desk and shining as though recently polished. The mace chain and associates were the only clean things in the room; His leather chair was peeling in spots from constant wear, dust piled in the corners and the small window to the right of his desk let in a splash of silver moonlight, illuminating the divots and ink stains on the dark wood of the desk. The towering cabinets lining the walls of the small room seemed the only other occupants kept nice, though the few specks of scorch marks on them left the impression that the Twins had been here before. For a groundskeeper responsible for cleaning, his office really was a dingy mess.

"I'll start here," Fred called, taking a side as George wordlessly took the other. A quick alohomora opened the drawers to reveal possibly hundreds of folders. "American, would you mind looking with us?"

"I agreed to be a lookout, I don't want to get caught looking through Filch's stuff too..."

"Don't worry about Filch," George pushed the Map into her hands, urging her to watch as Peeves' marker seemed to drag Filch in circles around the Trophy Hall. "We convinced Peeves to help us out a little bit. If he can keep Filch away long enough for us to wipe our records-"

"And steal back some of our stuff-"

"Then he can help us with our next prank. Trust me, he won't be back for a while." When Isobel didn't make an immediate move to assist, Fred gave her a soft pat on the back while George flicked open one of the drawers of Filch's desk. "Here, why don't you look in here, yeah? If Filch comes in, he won't even see you."

It was undeniably hard to say no to the twins. Isobel walked around to the front of Filch's desk and picked her way through the drawer George had opened, flipping through name after name. There were plenty of last names she recognized, mostly from Gryffindor, followed by dramatised descriptions of the "crimes" committed. Her favourite example of this was a write-up for "ripping the flowers delicately and painstakingly planted across the grounds and mutilating them into a spherical shape of death, before parading the decrepit corpses around the grounds", describing the act of creating flower crowns as some kind of satanic ritual.

It wasn't until she reached the bottom drawer that she stopped fully in her tracks.

"Guys, look at this," she said, standing slowly with a folder in hands. The drawer was packed with small vials of fluorescent liquid and what looked like eraser sized fireworks. The folder was covered in a thick layer of dust from years tucked into the farthest corner of the desk, as though pushed so far to be out of mind. She trailed her fingers over the rusted label, the paper under with a name in slanted, almost hateful writing.

She pried the Map from George's fingers and pointed to the matching name. "This was their map," she whispered. "The Marauders."

Fred and George watched as she lined up the Map with the listed names of the Marauders. "Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs... Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black and James..."

Her stomach dropped.

"No way,"

"James, as in-"

"Harry's dad," George finished, looking at the map in awe. "Who would've thought? I mean look at their records," he said, flipping through and reading from the stack. "14th February, 19*, James Potter and Sirius Black spelled the Great Hall attendants to the Valentine's Tea event to, upon drinking the tea, fall in love with-"

"ALBUS DUMBLEDORE?"

Isobel shoved Fred's shoulder and hissed at him to keep his voice down. George, on the other hand, was bent over the desk with soundless, nearly wheezing laughter. Isobel slapped him quiet anyways, watching him joyfully wipe tears of hysteria from his bright red face.

"Oh please, we need to take this back with us. Think of all the brilliant ideas we could get from this!" George wheezed some more, clutching his stomach in pain.

"That's really not a good idea-"

"Yes, well, we're not all that bright, are we George?" Fred asked, snatching the contents of the Marauder's folder and stuffing it under his arm, save for the Map in his other hand. Isobel gave both of them a look of disapproval, trying to unravel the uneasiness creeping up her spine. There was no way...

Jesalynn had told countless stories of her time at Hogwarts when Isobel moved to London with her. Even before, whenever Jesalynn would visit her in New York, she would put Isobel to bed with fictional stories of wizards and witches and their adventures on the grounds of a magic school, fighting off giant squids and chasing one another on broomsticks. She could even remember a story of human-like animals running through forests and playing under a full moon together...

She'd named them Prongsie, Snuffles and Moony. The coincidences piled up and toppled down around her.

Fred made a noise of worry, pointing urgently to the Map. Filch was heading this way, still far enough to make an escape, but just barely. With a surprising amount of delicate speed from the Twins, they stuffed the last of the papers and a few knick knacks from the Marauders' drawer into their pockets and slipped from the office.

It wasn't until they were passing the Entrance Hall that they stopped and doubled over. George and Fred whipped their heads around to take a moment to breathe. "That was close."

"Too close." George agreed.

Fred gave Isobel a smile of triumph. "If it weren't for the American here, we wouldn't have found these beauties," he said, his sides crumpling as he patted the hidden papers.

"No need to thank me," Isobel said. She felt around her pockets for her wand, her fingers brushing past the small metal trinket beside it. An idea flickered like a candle flame in her head. "Actually, do you guys think we could make one more stop?"