Chapter 40: Shadows in Daylight
POV: Barrett
The castle breathed around him.
After Potions, while the rest of the Ravenclaw first-years ascended back toward the tower or scattered into the courtyard for lunch, Barrett lingered behind near the dungeons. His strides were calm, unhurried—but purposeful.
His mind wasn't on food.
It was on the Marauder's Map.
A magical artifact of legendary use, crafted by four teenage miscreants with too much time and too much talent. A map that showed every passage, every person, and every secret within Hogwarts castle—alive with movement and hidden names.
He needed it.
Not for mischief. Not even for curiosity. But for what lay beneath the surface of this castle. The secrets that weren't written in books. The ones locked behind stone and shadow. The ones Barrett could feel whispering to him when the corridors emptied and magic thickened the air.
But there was a problem.
According to scattered mentions in magical archives—and a few overheard conversations between portraits in the Astronomy wing—the map had long ago been confiscated by Argus Filch.
And Filch, for all his lack of magical ability, was a paranoid hoarder who kept anything remotely useful locked behind creaking doors and cats.
Normally, a job for stealth. Midnight thievery.
But Barrett didn't like waiting.
He made his way to the second floor, past a row of enchanted suits of armor still muttering about yesterday's dusting. His fingers brushed the edge of the crude parchment map passed down by Ravenclaw upper-years—useless for his purposes, but useful for locating Filch's office.
Filch was most often in one of three places:
Chasing Peeves. Lurking by the Great Hall, mumbling about muddy footprints. Feeding that feline terror of a creature, Mrs. Norris.
So Barrett formulated a diversion.
He carefully whispered a single phrase under his breath, and a charmed ink pellet—slid into the cracks of a nearby stone wall earlier—burst into motion near the Charms corridor, splattering blue goop across a tapestry.
The enchanted tapestry screamed.
Moments later, Filch's shrill voice echoed down the hallway:
"WHO DID THIS?! WHO DARES VANDALIZE LADY SILVERWIND?! I'LL HAVE YOUR FINGERS NAILED TO THE WALLS—!"
Perfect.
Barrett slipped toward the now-empty corridor leading to Filch's cluttered little dungeon-office. The door creaked, but he silenced it with a murmured charm.
Inside, the place was a disaster of locked cabinets, confiscated items, and smelly cloaks. Dust covered nearly everything except a long, iron shelf where several glowing items hummed faintly under protective wards.
A locked drawer.
He reached toward it—then froze.
Because someone else was already there.
Hermione Granger.
She was standing across from him, frozen with her hand halfway to the handle of a drawer. Her eyes wide. Caught.
"You?" she said sharply, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.
"You," Barrett replied calmly, though inside his mind clicked into overdrive.
What was she doing here?
A Muggleborn, rule-abiding first-year with an obsession for books and house points… sneaking around in daylight, attempting to open Filch's desk?
He narrowed his eyes. "You're not here for the lemon drops."
Hermione huffed. "You're stealing."
"I could say the same," he countered smoothly.
Her mouth opened. Closed.
Barrett turned his attention back to the drawer. "I assume you're looking for the Marauder's Map."
Her jaw tightened. "You know about it?"
"I knew about it before you did."
"That's highly unlikely."
"You'd be surprised."
He knelt, murmured a quick unlocking charm—older than what they taught at Hogwarts—and the drawer clicked open with an ancient groan.
Inside lay several rolled parchments, one of which pulsed with faint enchantment. Barrett reached for it.
"Stop," Hermione snapped, stepping forward. "That's school property. You can't just take it."
"I'm not taking it," Barrett replied, eyes cool. "I'm recovering it."
She crossed her arms. "Says who?"
Barrett reached into his robe and pulled out a small folded parchment. A letter—aged, weathered, and marked with an unfamiliar crest.
He passed it to her.
Hermione frowned and read it:
To the one who walks between shadows and stars,
If you've found this letter, then you've reached where we once stood. We were Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs—and we built this map in defiance of rules and in service of mischief. But we also built it to remember where the walls hide what they shouldn't.
If you're here to find secrets—we trust you'll use them well.
The map is yours. But beware: Hogwarts remembers.
— The Marauders.
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "Where did you get this?"
Barrett met her gaze. "I was told of the Marauders by someone who knew them. He passed on the letter. Said I'd know what to do when the time came."
A half-truth. The letter was real. The man was dead.
Hermione was silent for a moment. Then, reluctantly, she stepped aside.
"You're still stealing," she muttered. "Even if you dress it up like some noble quest."
Barrett smirked slightly. "So are you."
Hermione flushed. "I just wanted to study it. Understand its charm structure. Not use it for sneaking around and—"
"Breaking into secret chambers? Hunting down mysteries? Escaping professors?" he offered.
Her lips pressed into a line. "That's not what I said."
Together, they stepped out into the sunlight again, the map tucked into Barrett's robe, both walking side-by-side—yet keeping a slight distance.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the central staircase, where the chatter of students picked up again.
Hermione turned to him.
"Just so you know... I'm watching you."
Barrett tilted his head. "Of course. I'd be disappointed if you weren't."
She walked off toward the library.
He stood for a moment longer, then slowly unrolled the map under a stone archway, tapping it with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
The parchment came alive.
Little inked footsteps danced across corridors. Names flickered like fireflies. Rooms opened, passages revealed.
Barrett smiled faintly, but his mind was elsewhere.
He didn't believe for a second that Hermione Granger was just a curious bookworm.
And he knew—knew—she didn't believe he was just a particularly clever Ravenclaw.
She was watching him.
But he was watching back.
And the castle?
The castle was watching both of them.