Winter came, and with it came the season of giving. By “the season of giving”, I mean that every single morning, as all us Slytherins crawled up out of our hole and all them Gryffindors came down from their high tower to endure a far-too-early communal breakfast, Draco Malfoy received a new bundle of packages from his mother. First there was a box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, then there were some sugar mice, then a box of toffees, and then came the stacks of newly minted Wizard Cards, and the stacks of valuable vintage Wizard Cards, and the new cauldron full of soft gloves and socks and a hat that Draco was never going to wear, and then came the full outfits, and the new robes, and once a pet white rat that I never saw again which tapdanced across the table, and then a baby owl of Draco’s very own, named Orion, which he preferred infinitely over the rat. It truly was the season of giving, if you were Draco’s mother. 

Merry Christmas Madeline! And a Happy New Year! 

Read the card my family had sent me. They all signed it and enclosed was a 20$ Barnes and Noble gift card. Please come home soon. I’m bored. Hannah’s handwriting was sprawled across the back of the note.

Tracey Davis’ mom had sent her a strange little iron box that shook dangerously every now and again. She pocketed it after a momentary glance.

“What’s in there?” I asked. She shrugged. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“It’s an enchanted puzzle box. You can’t open it.”

“What’s the point of giving it to you, then?”

“That is the point.”

Mikaela came over with a card in her own hand. Her face was slightly red.

“This is the family Christmas card,” she said. “It says, Seasons Greetings.”

“That it does.” I answered, nodding. 

“It says, Seasons Greetings, Michelle and Larry Fiefer.”

“Oh.”

“On the back of it my parents congratulate me on my son’s scholarship to UMD, and on my daughter Jessica’s new baby.”

“Well, good for Jessica!” I said. “At least the real Michelle and Larry Fiefer probably got a nice heartfealt letter from your parents saying that they loved them. I got a gift card, and Hannah’s bored.” Draco tore the lid off his latest present, a black box with a large white bow, and grinned as he pulled a pair of Nerubian Dragon-hide Quidditch boots. Mikaela watched him. There was something burning in her gaze, and I realized she might be more upset than I thought. “You know,” I said quickly, “I’m pretty sure that Owl Post doesn’t work very well for muggles. They’re probably very confused by it. I mean, owls, right?”

“We’re going home next week, anyway.” She said, still glowering at Draco. “Speaking of which, what are we going to do about the you-know-what?”

By that, she meant the blanket fort.

Using the Marauder’s Map, we had successfully snuck into the laundry rooms and pilfered sheets and blankets from all four houses, as well as a pair of socks we were reasonably certain belonged to Professor Snape, which had accidentally gotten thrown into the wash. We had kept the socks because the idea of a Hogwarts teacher having to wear socks like the rest of us was very odd and amusing. Using the largest secret hallway we could find, and several broken chairs we had borrowed from Filch’s storage rooms, we created a vast network of blankets and pillows. This was not a blanket fort, it was a blanket palace. We had used it as our official clubhouse for weeks, baptizing it with a large and lovely sign which read dangerously, “PERCY IS A DUMB FARTER! NO FARTERS ALLOWED!” We tried to get Neville to come with us one day, but he refused to climb down the rusty ladder in the secret little tunnel in the back of the library. Mikaela said he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, and I called him a wet butt.

The fort turned out to be a great idea. It was a good place to store candy that you didn’t want Crabbe to get his hulk hands on, and to keep library books that you didn’t want to lose. We also practiced dueling in there, an art which Professor Quirrel wouldn’t teach us because he was a wet butt, and also we were first years. Using the miniature library I’d accumulated, we figured out such deadly curses such as Rictusempra, the Tickling Curse, and Expelliarumus, the Disarming Charm,which I was reluctant to allow Mikaela to test out on me.

“Disarming? Like, take off my arms? What if you screw up and that’s what happens?” I asked, shielding my face instinctively. 

“Don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey can probably fix that.” Mikaela said, pointing her wand at me.

Professor Sprout had us de-gnome a turnip patch one day, and in curiosity we captured one of the little potato-looking guys and tried to raise him as a pet in our fort. This went badly; the next day we returned to find that he had somehow escaped from underneath the laundry basket that was to be his home. It had seemed like such a clever idea at the time. 

Mikaela thought about getting her brother David to send her a Nintendo that we could have in the fort, but eventually she decided not to because “he’d say no, and we’ve got nothing to plug it into.”

The time between American Thanksgiving and Christmas was certainly jolly, and everyone was in a rather good mood. And as a sort of bonus, Potter, Weasley, and Hermione Granger were out of commission entirely, spending all their time in the library, going over books. I didn’t have an issue with Harry Potter personally, but ever since his Quidditch victory he’d been quite the Golden Boy of Hogwarts, something I was relieved to discover also irked the other Slytherins. It was something to talk about in the common room. Malfoy, who seemed to fancy himself the Golden Boy, hated Potter more than any other person, and had the most to say about the issue. So much so that it was difficult to have a conversation with him about the matter, although honestly it was difficult to have a conversation with him in general as well. Mikaela, on the other hand, seemed to be somewhat fond of Harry Potter, and usually tried to strike up a conversation with him and the other two when we passed them in the library on our way to our secret fort.

Unfortunately, the missing chairs we used to build our wonderful fort had not gone unnoticed. Filch was currently out with a bad cough and a broken toe, but he would undoubtably uncover our masterpiece over Christmas break, while we were away with our families. And then, we would be ruined. Public school. 

“I suppose we’ll just have to burn the whole thing down,” I said sadly, twirling my spoon through a jar of blackberry jam.

“We have to get the sheets back to the laundry rooms somehow.” Mikaela ignored me. “It’d be too obvious if we did it all at once.” She slid the disappointing Christmas card into her charms book bitterly.

“Nerubian Dragonhide boots!” Draco bragged loudly, ripping off the tag on his shiny new present. “To think, there are people here whose parents didn’t think to send them a thing!”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Mikaela yelled across the table. Draco turned her way and smirked, holding his boots high.

“I wouldn’t feel too bad if I were you, McParlan. I mean, your lot aren’t really the sort to exchange gifts like civilized people, they always insist on getting drunk and making a ruckus with their muggle lights and shows and such. Really, you’re lucky if they haven’t sent you a half-downed bottle of scotch as a present-- they haven’t, have they?” Draco said. Mikaela’s mouth didn’t move. “Probably, it means your stupid muggle parents have already forgotten you. It’s really for the best.” 

The Slytherin table went completely silent. Mikaela’s mouth didn’t even twitch. I looked at her and back at Draco, and stood up.

“Well,” I stammered, “your parents obviously don’t.... obviously don’t understand the true meaning of Christmas!”

“RICTUSEMPRA!” Mikaela shouted. Something bright and red flashed out of the tip of her wand, and Draco fell off his stool.

“Mikaela!” I gasped. Pansy Parkinson stood up.

“What did you do to him?!” She shrieked. Pansy whipped out her wand.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” Mikaela cast. Pansy’s wand flipped out of her hand and onto the floor, where Draco twitched in convulsions of laughter.

“Petrificus totalus!” I heard someone shout. I jumped out of the way of the spell just in time, and Mikaela froze up as it hit her. I turned around to see Gemma Farley at the other end of the table, looking grave.  It was weird to see Mikaela all stiff and stony like a statue.

“What is going on here, Farley?” Percy Weasley demanded, striding over from out of nowhere like some sort of hyena that was lured by the sound of helpless students in pain.

“One of yours this time, actually.” Gemma said. “Caused quite a disturbance, I would say. Someone should take her to her head of house.”

“Miss Farley, may I remind you that it is forbidden for any student to use offensive spells against another?”

“You may not, Weasley. If it weren’t for me, our houses would have deteriorated into a full-on brawl by now.” He looked over at the Gryffindor table, which seemed to be ready to collectively get up and murder us. “I should get an award, shouldn’t I? But I won’t. Just like you won’t win an award every time you quote the school rulebook. This is your problem now.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” I asked, frightened. “Will she stay like this?”

“Madam Pomfrey will take care of it. Move along, please.” Percy waved me away with authority, making only the briefest of eye contact. His look was saturated with smug victory. I sat down unhappily. Percy summoned a gurney and wheeled Mikaela away.

“Mudbloods.” Draco said, standing and adjusting his robes indignantly.

“Gryffindors.” Gemma grumbled, violently slicing a breakfast roll in half with a butter knife.

I hid my head behind a book.

Mikaela came back during lunch with a detention and no time for laughing. 

“So,” I said after a long silence, “How are you?”

She threw me an anguished sidelong glance.

“I have to spend the afternoon mucking out the girl’s bathrooms, because Filch isn’t around.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Yes, it is so bad. We’re going home tomorrow, remember? The fort is still up.”

“Oh. Yeah. We’ll manage, though. It’ll be fine.”

“You’ll have to take it down yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. I can do it.”

Mikaela’s head sunk down into her arms on the table.

“This is a bad day.” She said.

“Yep.” I agreed.

Mikaela didn’t talk to anyone during Potions, and offered Professor Snape a glare so scathing when he criticized our phlegm-stemming potion that he docked Gryffindor ten points. It nearly matched his own. I tried to seem supportive, but I also had to seem apologetic to everyone else, because I didn’t want to end up in trouble, too. Mikaela was not pleased with me, understandably.

Neither of us had ever gotten in trouble for anything before. We had always followed the rules, and when we didn’t, we never got caught. What a mark of shame, I thought, is a detention on a previously perfect record.

“You really shouldn’t have attacked him like that,” Hermione pointed out out of the blue after class.

“I didn’t attack him. I-- It’s-- ugh!” Mikaela fought.

“I’m only trying to help, you know.”

“You’re not the Mom Police, Hermione.” I said helpfully. Both Hermione and Mikaela gave me disdained looks.

A few hours later, Mikaela headed off for detention, and I snuck off to the library, casually hauling an inconspicuous stack of laundry baskets with me. I passed Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione, and as per usual they sat huddled together paging through dusty old books with yellow pages and wood-carved illustrations. As objectively irritating as Potter was, I felt a little bad for him, being sucked into Granger’s little study-psychopathy and all. I gave him a thumbs-up as I passed, which, I believed, confused him.

The laundry baskets made a rather loud rattle when I threw them down the ladder, and that was my first mistake.

The blanket fort stood there on mahogany chair legs, beautiful in its green and red blankets. What a sad thing to destroy it. I spent quite a long while just untying the knots on the chair legs, which I had originally tied so carefully and tightly that if Marcus Flint had fallen on top of our fort he would have simply bounced gently like a baby on a trampoline. Then I found a stack of old drawings I’d done the month before and left there, as well as some wizard cards Mikaela’d traded from Lee Jordan. I spent awhile just sitting there and going over them fondly.

About an hour and a half soon went by, and I found myself sitting intently, reading the short biography of Beatrix Bloxam on her wizard card, surrounded by felled blankets and the half- tied remnants of a once mighty fortress. Just as I realized how long I had been idling, something absolutely horrific happened.

“Hello? Is someone down there?” 

Percy Weasley’s voice bounced off the walls of the tunnel like a swarm of bees attacking from nowhere. I froze up. I mentally paged through the four or five good spells I knew, but I couldn’t discern any practical way Wingardim Leviosa could possibly help me in this situation. Very briefly I entertained the notion of levitating the laundry baskets over Percy’s head and making my escape, but I’d have gotten into even more trouble.

“Excuse me, is someone down there? I can see you have a light on.”

How the hell did he find the secret entrance? Had I accidentally left it open? Had Her-migraine squealed on us? Had Percy been secretly stalking us for weeks, waiting for just this moment?

His footfalls coming down the ladder reverberated throughout the room. I quickly ducked into what was left of the fort and hoped he was too stupid to pull back the curtain.

He wasn’t.

Step, step, step was the sound of his prickish little shoes hitting the floor as he got closer and closer.

“What---!” I heard him exclaim angrily. I assumed he must have seen the “PERCY IS A DUMB FARTER” banner we had made in his honor. StepstepstepstepstepFWOOOSH--- the blanket flew away, and my hiding place was revealed. Percy had crazy-eyes.

“AAH!” I shrieked, unintentionally.

“Johnson!” He shouted in outrage, eschewing the ‘Ms’ for the occasion. “This--- what--- explain yourself!” He demanded. I thought it was rather self-explanatory. “You know what, nevermind! I’m getting the Headmaster. The Headmaster will hear about this, do you understand?! You will stay right there, do you understand?! Actually--- you will come with me. I am getting Headmaster Dumbledore! I am getting Dumbledore!”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I tried to say. “It’s... a surprise party for you?” But he was already grabbing my arm and dragging me behind him up the ladder.

He stormed down the corridors, trailing me behind him. We passed a few people, some of whom glanced at us. I imagined how ashamed I looked and wondered if I would lose street cred. Percy forced me into the Great Hall, where, I was mortified to discover, the majority of the school were eating dinner. Percy barely blinked and did not stop, like a cattle-slaughterer leading a frightened calf to the blade.

“Headmaster Dumbledore! Headmaster, sir! A word, please?” Percy called. Dumbledore, who had been benevolently filling his plate with white grapes, turned. He gave a small smile to me and to Percy, and I felt as if I would cry.

“Aha, Mr. Weasley.” He said. “And Miss Johnson.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore, I was going about my business in the library, researching for Ancient Runes, you know, but nearly all of the books I needed had been checked out, and not returned for weeks. Or at least, that’s what I had believed, until Peeves began to assault me with the very books I had been looking for. When I threatened him with the Bloody Baron and demanded that he stop, he told me that he had gotten the books from a hidden stash beneath the library, where two first-years had secreted them away. Against my better judgement, I followed this information. Headmaster---” Percy said, huffing upsetdly, “What I discovered can only be described as a blatant violation of school principles.” Percy struggled to find the right words. “Miss Johnson and the other first-year, who I have reason to believe must be Miss McParlan of Gryffindor, have constructed an illicit fort in an illicit, closed-off secret tunnel. I believe they have been using it to storehouse library books as well as other stolen items, most likely. And they-- there is a very large banner hanging over it, on which they have written... very crude insults, directed at me, personally, Professor. Headmaster, sir.” Percy attempted a professional nod to distract from his embarrassment, but he was so flustered and crimson that he instead appeared to be impersonating a bobbing rooster.

“We didn’t steal anything!” I argued. 

Professor Dumbledore did a small, odd little smile, which disappeared nearly a second later. I got the feeling it was entirely for my benefit.

“There are many rooms and passages in Hogwarts which are hidden, Mr. Weasley. Many are secret, and many others virtually inaccessible except to those possessing of remarkable agility or uncommon imagination. None, however, would I describe as ‘illicit’ or ‘closed-off’. There is a rather important difference between something which is difficult to do, and something which is wrong.” Dumbledore peered over his half-moon glasses at Percy, who seemed to cool on the outside, but tighten within. “That being said, I should like to see this secret fort for myself.”

“Headmaster!” Percy protested. He was obviously nervous about the Headmaster of Hogwarts seeing an accusation of his being a “farter”.

“Calm down, Mr. Weasley. The House-Elves have complained to me about missing sheets and blankets, and I should like to put their worries to rest. And,” he continued serenely, “if your good name has truly been slandered at the hand of Misses Johnson and McParlan, then, I believe, you are owed an apology by them.”

I didn’t believe I owed anyone an apology, but if it kept me from being expelled, I’d have said one. Before it came to that, though, Dumbledore had Mikaela excused from her detention, which she was initially happy about until she found out that it was because she was in more trouble.

“You were supposed to take down the fort!” she whisper-yelled at me as we followed Percy and Dumbledore down the corridor to the library.

“I’m sorry! I got distracted!” I said defensively. 

Dumbledore, in his blue-and-silver robes, was very tranquil on his way down to the library, humming quietly to himself all the way. We entered under the great archway into the large and ever-impressive library, which smelled, as usual, of leather and parchment and ground spice. Dumbledore seemed to intuitively know his way to the trapdoor on his own, though Percy led the way, the little trailblazer.

“This is the worst. Oh, this is the worst.” Mikaela kept repeating to herself over and over, like a mantra. Dumbledore dropped down the ladder as easily as a ten-year-old, and the rest of us followed, Mikaela rubbing her temples.

“Alas!” Dumbledore exclaimed. 

The fort was gone.

Gone, the whole thing. Every last trace of it. The banner, the chairs, the blankets, the socks nailed to the wall. Just disappeared. Percy gaped, Mikaela gasped.

“Well,” I said, “Obviously this was all a big misunderstanding. Case closed!” We stood in an empty corridor, a tunnel devoid of any decoration or book or wizard card.

“But-- but--” Percy stammered. “Someone must have come in and cleaned up after them! Some other Slytherin, Draco Malfoy, maybe! I swear, Professor, there was an enormous blanket fort here just over ten minutes ago!” Mikaela and I both groaned at the mention of Malfoy, and Dumbledore nodded.

“I believe you, Percy.” He said calmly. “However, since there is no crime here which has left evidence, I cannot persecute Miss Johnson nor Miss McParlan. And, after all, an enormous, hidden, complicated blanket fort is not such a terrible thing to accomplish during one’s spare time at Hogwarts. In fact, I believe it is rather appropriate!” Dumbledore did a little half-smile. “Equally appropriate, Madeline Johnson, Mikaela McParlan, would be an apology to Mr. Weasley. I believe you have caused him quite the unrest, unintentional as it may have been.” Dumbledore put a little more emphasis on the may than I was comfortable with.

“We’re sorry, Percy.” Mikaela said.

“Percy, we are sorry for causing unrest. And also for bugging you.” I said.

“There!” Dumbledore clapped his hands together lightly. “Now, if I remember correctly, there is a lovely plate of dinner awaiting me in the Great Hall, which I would deign to return to.”

Before leaving, Percy gave both Mikaela and I separate looks of pure frustration. We trodded in silence down the darkened corridor alone together, neither able to say a word. Dinner was nearly halfway through, but it didn’t seem to make sense to follow the rest of Hogwarts to the Great Hall. It was simply so absurd-- each and every scrap of our monthlong occupation of this tunnel had gone out like a blip. We just walked silently, for minutes, gaping. The Fat Friar drifted by and waved a friendly hello, and the two of us each gave him an awkward, polite acknowledgment in return. Once he passed by, I met Mikaela’s gaze. I felt my face contort into a mad grin.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” I shouted finally. Mikaela started laughing, and I started laughing. And then, it was like all the tension completely deflated out of the place, and out of the day, and out of my friend.

“What happened?!” She laughed, shaking her hand. 

“I have no idea!” I yelled. “I think Hogwarts ate our fort!”

“There is literally no other explanation.”

“Magic, Mikaela. Magic.”

“Magic!” She clapped.

“Or,” said a cool voice behind us, “you know, a couple of blokes with laundry bags who know a few good charms.” 

The smile dropped from my face. Mikaela turned around before I did.

“Oh.... Hi, Fred. Hi, George.”

I felt the overwhelming urge to bolt. Instead, I turned slowly, and quickly met the eye of each twin before looking down nervously.

“That was a rather nice fort you put up there,” said George. “Very clever, really.”

“Also rather clever of you to figure out the map. Took us ages. How’d you manage, anyway?” Fred asked, stepping forward casually.

“Tracey Davis. She’s a genius.” I answered, trying to seem cool-headed. I took a step back.

“Aha. Did’ya show it to anyone else?” Fred asked.

“No.” I said.

“Right, then. Then that’s only three people we’ll need to kill.” George said. Mikaela and I threw mortified glances to one another, and Fred laughed.

“Only joking, first-years.” 

“We’re just having a bit of fun.” George grinned. 

“We will be needing it back, though.” Fred added, more seriously.

“We didn’t steal it or anything,” Mikaela began to stutter, “I mean, we saw you drop it and Madeline picked it up and I wanted to give it back--”

“So did I! I got distracted, though, and Tracey Davis said it was enchanted, and then the next thing you know, it’s like we’ve got the key to the whole school!”

“I completely forgot about you guys! The map was just so cool.”

“It’s like ambrosia for the sense of adventure.” I added.

Fred and George both nodded. Reluctantly, Mikaela took the Marauder’s Map out of her robe pocket and handed it over to George, who surveyed it, looked surprised for a moment, and said, 

“Mischief managed.” And quite suddenly, the ink receded into the page, as if it had never been there.

“Whoa.” Mikaela and I both sighed at the same time.

“You could’ve asked us to borrow it, you know.” Fred said.

“We would’ve said no, but the point still stands.” George added.

“Sorry, Fred and George.” I said sincerely, far more genuine than the apology I had made to their brother.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Mikaela said. 

“You two really drove us mad for the first week or so,” George said, brightening.

“Didn’t take us long to figure it out, though.” Fred clapped his twin on the back. “We could have come after you sooner, but our hearts were truly won over by that lovely sign you made--”

“‘Percy is a Farter,’ we kept it, in case you wanted it back. Though I wouldn’t mind having it around personally, it could come in use someday.”

“--We thought you two earned yourselves a reward for your efforts. It was rather adorable, really.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

I didn’t know what I thought about being called ‘adorable,’ but I was certainly glad that the twins weren’t half as angry as I’d expected them to be.

“Um... thank you?” Mikaela said uncertainly.

“Just don’t do it again.” Fred shook is finger at her.

“And don’t go blabbing about it to everyone, this map is a well-kept secret we’re not quite ready to share with the world. Maybe someday,” George said,

“But not today.” Fred finished.

So that was the end of the Marauder’s Map. And the end of the first semester. The next morning, Mikaela and I boarded the Hogwarts Express, which took us far away from school, and towards Christmas, and home, and frosty Minnesota winter.