[HP] Butterfly Bound -- Chapter 04
Title: Butterfly Bound
Chapter 04: New Routines
Rating: M (and/or R)
Words: 5,440
Summary: 6th year AU. Theodore/Hermione. When Harry lies dying from an unbreakable curse, Hermione is desperate to find a cure. After a summer of hell, Theodore wants nothing to do with the war. A Nott family heirloom provides the answer to both their prayers, but only if they can work together to survive the heirloom's demands. And even if they succeed, there's still a war to win...
Notes: Written for the 2012 Finish-a-Thon and
edellin's fic request.
Warnings: Torture-physical/emotional, psychological mindfuckery, kidnapping, gore, disturbing imagery, cannibalism, and death.
Hermione had never wanted to see the Hogwarts Express less. From the matching glum expressions on Ron and Ginny's faces as Mrs. Weasley fussed over them, they felt the same way.
It was ridiculous, she thought, that they'd spent most of the summer just a Floo away from the library only to have to take the train to the school. Logically, she knew why: people would wonder if they weren't on the train. It would be bad enough when they realized that Harry wasn't with them. Professor Dumbledore had managed to keep his affliction from the public.
Harry is off training for the war. That was the excuse they were supposed to use to explain his not being on the train.
It was reasonable. Plausible. It was a total farce.
And Hermione begrudged the time away from books that might be able to help Harry. After a summer of looking, though, cold and slick dread filled her stomach at the thought that maybe, just maybe, there wasn't a way to help him.
Professor Dumbledore had assured them that what Harry was under was not leaving him trapped in a nightmare that would break him eventually. At least his dreams were sweet. That was a small comfort.
"Finally," Ron groused, shrugging his shoulders irritably as he slouched over to her. "Mum's gotten worse than ever."
Hermione smiled slightly, almost mechanically, as she glanced around Ron to see that Ginny was engulfed in a hug that lifted her off her feet. "She's worried," Hermione said. "Who can blame her?"
"Me," Ron said promptly, without shame. "Your parents don't fuss that way. Not that I don't understand but... it's a bit much, really."
The old, familiar twist of guilt in her stomach was subdued. Even the mention of her parents was little in comparison to the fact that Harry was lost in dreams and no one could wake him. "My parents don't know," she said. "That's why they don't fuss."
It had started back in first year, her lying to her parents, and then she'd never quite been able to shake the habit. As the years went on and the dangers got worse, truth to tell, she didn't try very hard to change her ways. It was better for them if they didn't know what she got up to every year.
She wondered when that lie had started sounding like the truth to her in reality instead of just a weak excuse. Hermione couldn't remember. She tucked an errant bit of hair back behind one ear as Ginny joined them, looking as disgruntled as Ron.
"Let's go and grab seats," Hermione said hurriedly as the train blew a warning whistle. "Ginny, do you mind looking after our things while we're in the meeting?"
Ginny rolled her eyes as if to say yes, of course that's fine, and they hurried onto the train, lugging their trunks down the crowded middle until they found a compartment that was empty.
"Quick," Hermione said, "we've got to change into our robes and get ready. There's supposed to be new security on board this time around."
"Don't nag," Ron replied. "I know. I got the same letter you did, remember?"
Ginny just shook her head and occupied herself with chatting to Luna and Neville as they entered the compartment. With a muttered hello, Hermione went to go and change.
A few minutes later, she and Ron entered the Prefect's compartment together. Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff greeted them with smiles. Padma Patil and Terry Boot each waved a hand in their direction, never looking up from their game, which looked like a complicated mess of cards to her. The other Prefects either said hello or ignored them as was their wont.
"Where are the Slytherins?" Ron murmured in her ear, startling her as they took seats.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed the room again. He was right. Only three of the houses were represented in the room. None of the Slytherin Prefects were here yet. "Odd," she said thoughtfully.
"You don't suppose that Dumbledore kicked them all out?" Ron asked, sounding hopeful. "Imagine that! Grand start to the year."
For all that he sounded hopeful, though, he didn't sound optimistic. She felt much the same way, push come to shove. It was a nice fantasy, given that they'd had nothing but trouble with the Slytherins.
But there's no way he would kick out an entire quarter of the school just because a few of them got in our way. The truth of that statement left her feeling slightly out of sorts.
"They're not late yet," she said reasonably, instead of giving into the urge to say anything juvenile. "Perhaps they're just talking with friends."
Ron's eyebrows rose. "All of them?"
"Why not? There's only six of them. That's not very long odds."
They bickered comfortably about the matter, both of them, Hermione thought, seizing gratefully on the distraction. And if they were arguing, there was less of a chance that anyone would interrupt them to ask about the war, or Harry.
Neither of them wanted to talk about Harry. Neither of them wanted to admit that there was a good chance that all of the Slytherins missing had been amongst the kidnapped and then returned children of the summer. Hermione shivered. What had their summers been like?
As the argument, such as it was, trailed off, she glanced at Ron, who'd fallen silent, with the same look he had in his eyes when he was deeply into a game of chess against an opponent who actually challenged him as he studied the room. It was tempting to ask him what he was thinking about. Hermione left him to his thoughts, though, if only because they had no idea here who was really on their side or not.
Hope would lead them to believe everyone was. Hope, she thought, was a cruel gift.
Minutes ticked by and the Slytherins still had not appeared. She wasn't the only one who began glancing uneasily at the doorway, as if by doing so, the Slytherins would appear quicker.
Ron was more engrossed in his thoughts and did not do the same. Hermione nudged him and he looked at her. "Now," she murmured, "they're late."
His eyes narrowed at the door.
"Well," said Head Girl, Jessica Williamson of Hufflepuff, standing and smoothing down her robes nervously, "we should probably get--"
The door to the compartment slid open and one after another the Slytherin Prefects filed in.
And they don't look well at all.
The best term to describe them, Hermione thought, was subdued. They looked pale, a few of them looked like they'd lost weight. None of them had summer tans. Even more out of the ordinary, they said nothing as they arranged themselves in the compartment.
"Glad you could make it," Jeremy Ansley, the Head Boy and a Ravenclaw, said briskly, without even a trace of sarcasm. Even when Hermione glanced at Pansy, the other girl didn't give the habitual sneer. "We were just about to start."
Pansy didn't even register her presence, Hermione realized and felt troubled for it. She, if she was honest, strongly disliked the other girl. But this was out of character for Pansy and that was… unusual. Even more so when paired with the tired, tight expressions of the other Slytherins.
What had happened to them?
Hermione filed it away to talk about later with Ron and the others-how she wished Harry was awake!-and resigned herself to the fact that it was not, in any way, likely to be her business.
It was tempting to believe that and hard too at the same time.
After all, she couldn't forget that most of the Slytherins were part of You-Know-Who's side and even if they were not, they were most certainly Dark wizards and witches as the majority.
Exceptions can happen, she acknowledged generously as Jessica and Jeremy took it in turns to explain the duties of the Prefects to the newcomers in their group, but I have seen nothing to prove any of them are one.
She wished Ginny was here and wondered why she wasn't. Her marks were good and as far as Hermione knew, Ginny did not earn many detentions.
Perhaps Ginny had not wanted it, Hermione thought unhappily. Or perhaps, because of the diary…
"And now," Jeremy said, looking grave, "we've been asked to cover a few new rules and duties for the Prefects. Those of you who know your history," his tone implied that they'd all better know their history, "these adapted rules will sound familiar and for good reason."
Hermione straightened in her seat, leaning forward interestedly while Ron slumped back, as if there was only so much attention the both of them could pay to this meeting and the more one of them exhibited, the less the other would do. There was only one set of rules she could think of that fit Jeremy's graveness. "Are you talking about the rules from-"
Padma interrupted her, dark eyes keen. "The Dark Lord Strictures?"
"I've heard of those," Ron said slowly. "Dad said they saved a lot of lives. They weren't originally meant for Prefects but rather for the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement's Hit Wizards to follow when guarding an occupied building."
"We're not being expected to fight, are we?" asked one of the fifth year Hufflepuff Prefects. Hermione made note to get the new Prefects names later and commit them to memory. "We're not anything like the Aurors."
All of them were careful not to look at the Slytherins as that was said. No, Hermione thought, we're not at all like the Aurors.
Some of us are the enemy.
"No, no," Jessica soothed, with a laugh that comforted, from their expressions, none of them. It certainly didn't do anything for Hermione's nerves. "We said they were adapted from, not that they were exactly the same." Her bight brown eyes were as frank and open as her voice. Hermione could see why Professor Dumbledore would have chosen her as Head Girl.
"What do you want us to do then?" It was Malfoy's voice but it wasn't, she thought, Malfoy's usual half-snarl, half-sneer. It wasn't even a proper drawl. Hermione tried to place if she'd ever heard Malfoy sound so… human… before and couldn't.
When she glanced at Ron, to see if he'd noticed, she found him staring at his hands, frowning heavily in thought.
"In past years," Jeremy said, "patrol has been done in either groups of two or by each Prefect alone. This year, you'll be operating in groups of four."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. That would double the time it took them to complete their patrols. From the grimacing going around the room, she wasn't the only one who'd immediately spotted that downside.
"How will the teams be decided?" Ernie asked, like this was an exam and he was going to be quizzed on it.
Not, Hermione conceded, that she was really much better. It was only because he'd beaten her to the question that she wasn't the one who sounded like that.
"One from each House," Jessica said, grimacing as if she anticipated some argument. "Each team will consist of two boys and two girls. The teams are split by year."
Hermione fought not to let her lip curl. That meant she'd be working closely with either Malfoy or Pansy on an almost daily basis. I do not need this.
"Why?" Susan asked, toying absently, nervously, with her long braids. "Wouldn't it make more sense to let us go with teams we'll be comfortable in? With friends?"
"It's strategy," Ron said, interrupting the Head Girl and not giving any sign that he'd noticed. His eyes were still focused on his hands and Hermione wished, perhaps irrationally, that he'd look up. "If we're with our friends, we're likely to trust them. Right now, we can't trust anyone so they're putting us with people who we don't want to work with. Also, with four of us on a team, it's lower odds that we'll be overpowered if there's one, or even two traitors in the group."
They were all silent for a moment, contemplating that.
It was an ugly thought.
Jessica sighed. "Weasley's about got it right. The official party line is that it's to foster inter-House unity and to encourage us to mingle outside of our Houses."
"Who believed that?" inquired Nadia, Gryffindor's seventh year Prefect. "That's flimsy."
"The Board of Governors believed it enough to approve the rule change," Jessica said evenly. "I know it's crap," there were a few muted giggles as the Head Girl said that so plainly, "but in public, you will act as if you believe in it."
"Or what?" asked a fifth year Slytherin.
"You'll be stripped of your badge," Jeremy said flatly. "The Headmaster is insistent that these rules remain in place and to do that we are expected to uphold his wishes. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay Prefect. Give up your badge and we'll have your Head of House choose someone to take your place."
None of them moved. Hermione was pretty sure that the look on her face matched the wide-eyed horror on Padma's at the very thought of their badges being taken away. It was something that they'd worked hard for.
It was an honour.
"Only thirty-nine Prefects have lost their badges in the more than thousand years that Hogwarts has existed," said Jeremy. "We have been supports, we have been guides, we have been defenders. For this war, we are the watchers. If anything out of the ordinary happens, you are to alert the nearest Head of House. If you suspect the nearest Head of House in instigating something out of the ordinary, you are to head directly to the Headmaster's office. Even if he cannot meet you, there are measures in place to ensure you can give your report. None of you are to be alone at any time while on patrol. You are not to split up."
"Who are we with?" Ron asked, his voice shattering the solemn quiet that had fallen with Jeremy's words. He looked up from his hands now and his blue eyes were hard. "And what other rules are we adapting from the Strictures? Not just that one, right?"
Hermione bit her lip. While she could think of a few new rules, she had no way of knowing the exact content of the Strictures and as such, couldn't narrow her guesses down. The actual rules were not available to the general public.
To keep the Wizarding public safe was the official line of reasoning for that lack of transparency.
How much did Ron know about them? she wondered. He sounded like he knew a great deal.
Was that because his dad was in the Ministry? Or was it something that the pure-bloods learnt? Hermione mentally stomped on the resurgence of that old complaint. No, it wasn't fair that the pure-bloods got things that the Muggleborn didn't but she didn't know if this was yet another way they were privileged.
There wasn't anything she could do about it right now. Yet. One day, she'd find a way to make it fairer for everyone. But today… today was about the new rules.
"We're going to be here for a while," Jeremy told them all. "I suggest you settle in comfortably."
"What about patrol on the train? Aren't we supposed to do that?" asked a seventh year Slytherin.
"Aurors are handling it," Jeremy said. "Any further questions?"
None of them had any that they were willing to ask. Jeremy took a deep breath. "All right," he said, "if you've got any from here on out, please hold them until we're done outlining everything. You can ask your questions after the overview. Jessica?"
Jessica smiled reassuringly at them all, her bearing not confident, Hermione thought, but resolute. It was astonishingly effective as the Head Girl began speaking about the changes at Hogwarts this year and what their role would be.
Hermione leaned forward, listening intently, her hands absently tugging out parchment and a Self-Inking Quill to take notes with. But even as she listened, she couldn't help but notice that Ron was still frowning and not, from his expression, from the rules they were having laid out.
What's wrong? she scribbled on a corner of her notes and nudged him pointedly.
He glanced at the note and then shook his head, mouthing the words 'not here'. She settled back, feeling unsatisfied and yet not having the time to dwell on it.
It was getting dark by the time they left the Prefects' compartment and Hermione's head felt like an over-soaked sponge. She found it distinctly unfair that of her and Ron, he looked less overwhelmed by the new regulations they were expected to abide by and enforce than she was, and as a result she was left feeling distinctly out-of-sorts.
"Since when do you actually listen to a lecture?" she asked, knowing her voice was on the waspish side.
Ron rubbed his nose. "I like strategy," he said absently. "The meeting was interesting."
It was entirely disgusting, Hermione thought, that he could have such a good mind for the things he wanted to learn and such absolute mediocrity for the rest of what people tried to teach him.
She drew in breath to respond and nearly walked into him as he stopped abruptly.
"What's Nott doing in our compartment?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"What?" Hermione pushed past him to see that he was right. Nott was leaning in the doorway of their compartment, talking to someone too quietly to make out the words.
With a quick glance exchanged both her and Ron continued towards the compartment. As they approached, Nott looked up, his face as pale as the other Slytherins though she couldn't remember ever seeing him with a tan, and his eyes darkly shadowed. "Weasley," he said coolly. "Granger."
"Nott," Ron replied, sounding surly. "Get lost on the way to your compartment?"
"Just talking," Nott replied. "I'm leaving now," he added, to the inside of the compartment. "I'll talk to you later. The library, tomorrow after class?"
There was a murmured assent.
Then, with a nod, Nott left. Hermione peered in the compartment as Ron muttered about how freaky was it that a Slytherin was being practically civil. "Did he really just come to talk?"
It was Luna who answered her. "Oh yes," she said, "we do that sometimes. He knows quite a lot about unusual creatures."
Neville and Ginny looked bemused and Hermione half-seriously wondered if their faces would be stuck that way.
"This," Ron said from behind her, "has been on hell of a day."
Hermione could only agree.
The first strange thing that Theodore thought was both curious and noteworthy was that, upon reaching Hogwarts, the welcoming feast was postponed for two hours. Word filtered through the students and, when Professor Snape herded them down to the dorms, thin-lipped and cold, Theodore wondered why. The first years, all Unsorted, were escorted off by Professor Burbage who talked to them kindly.
There had been times, over the years, when Theodore had not wanted to come back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts, for most Slytherins, was something to be endured, struggled through, and survived. Not something that was overly enjoyed.
It was hard, being hated by most of the school when the majority of them were guilty of no crime except that of being cunning, clever, ambitious, and born to pure-blood families. Theodore slumped on his bed and leaned back to stare up at the dark green canopy.
He didn't like that, this year, he was glad to be back. Not when this year was the first year that he felt he'd really done anything that deserved the hatred of his classmates. But then, he thought, I am hardly the only one who has. This was a summer to remember for all the wrong reasons.
Still, privately, he resented this deviation from the usual first night back routine. It would have been a comfort, given everything else.
Blaise set himself more decorously down on the next bed over. At eleven and aware that the other boys in their grade were far more open with their supposed allegiances (for eleven year olds, Theodore had realized, mostly parroted what their parents believed and he'd learnt this summer that when it was rhetoric, it was far different than reality) they had decided to form an alliance of neutrality. It had served them well for the last five years.
He had no doubt it would serve them well for the next two.
Blaise leaned back against his headboard and watched the rest of the room. Malfoy had done the same as Theodore and just collapsed on his bed in a parody of relaxation. Crabbe and Goyle were much the same as ever--harder to read, harder to guess--though Goyle was frowning a little. But that, Theodore thought, could be from anything. Perhaps he left his favourite pair of socks at home.
"Harsh summer?" Blaise murmured when it seemed like the others weren't paying them any mind.
"The hardest," Theodore replied just as quietly. "I'll tell you later--library tonight?"
Blaise nodded. "I want to check out a few books in any case. Mother mentioned a few spells that 'might prove to be useful in this unsuitable climate'."
Theodore smiled reluctantly at Blaise's careful imitation of his mother. "That could be anything from the weather to the war," he observed. "Hopefully it's the weather. Even with warming charms, it gets drattedly cold here about."
"Don't I know it," Blaise said. "I spend most of the year freezing and then she deplores the state of my jumpers come winter break and again at Easter. She doesn't understand but then, she went to Beauxbatons and they've far more care for personal comfort there."
"Helps that their castle isn't this old drafty thing. Hogwarts has stood for a thousand years and more and it shows." Theodore was of the opinion that it had been a drafty thing even back when the Founders had been around. "Probably Gryffindor's fault," he opined, "thinking that adversity would build character instead of just misery."
"Some would say that counts as character."
Theodore snorted and sat up, running one hand through his hair. "I disagree."
"So do I." Blaise's grin was sharp-edged. "But then, neither of us are Gryffindors."
Theodore found himself smiling slightly and was glad for it. "Come on," he said, pulling himself up off the bed. "Let's get unpacked before room inspection and then we'll head to the library."
"Draco," Blaise called to the prone boy. "Unless you want to fail inspection too, you'd best be moving. It'd look bad for our Prefect to cost us detention on the first night back."
Malfoy muttered something under his breath that didn't sound complimentary and then began the slow process of getting up and putting his things away. Theodore turned his gaze to his own trunk and sighed. He hated packing. And unpacking. It was much easier at home when he could just order a house elf to do it. Still, he didn't want to earn himself (and, he supposed, the rest of the boys) detention for not being ready.
The Slytherin dorms were long, rectangular rooms. Each four-poster bed had a cabinet beside it that was meant for their clothes and a few shelves and a desk meant for their books. Professor Snape made it clear to all incoming Slytherins that they were to be properly unpacked before attending to the rest of the evening. To enforce this, the Professor had determined that it was most effective if everyone had to suffer for the failure of one person to comply. The power of peer pressure, Theodore thought wryly as he magicked his robes into place. Harnessed for evil, for a certain degree of evil.
It was clever, though, he had to concede that. The daily inspections kept the dorms from ever looking like a pigsty which was something Theodore appreciated. He just wished that they could skip a few steps. I could live out of my trunk and do so neatly. I wonder how many could say the same?
He cast a glance at the other boys in his dorm, carefully hiding his dubiousness behind a blank mask. Anyone who looked at him would think he was merely taking a moment's pause from unpacking. Malfoy, Theodore decided. Not Blaise, he's too much of a clothes horse despite being stuck in uniform most of the time. Crabbe and Goyle aren't organized enough. But Malfoy could do it and so could I.
Two out of five, he thought, turning back to his trunk, would never be good enough for Professor Snape. Not that there weren't pluses to the cabinets and shelves, of course, because it was far easier to find the proper text when they were all lined up neatly, and there were protections on the cabinets and desks that stopped people from snooping about others' things. Theodore knew that Professor Snape held the master key, so to speak, to those enchantments and could, if he wanted, see anything they had hanging around.
To Theodore's knowledge, however, Professor Snape never did that. If he had, then he'd done it so subtly that no one had noticed and while that was a minor cause for concern, it was more a cause for admiration. Well done, Professor, he thought as he set the last of his school books on the shelves and moved onto his more recreational and auxiliary text books.
With unhurried and non-furtive movements, Theodore slipped the book he'd stolen from his father's library onto his shelf and tapped it once, twice, thrice, with his index finger. The book quivered and then subsided, taking on the guise of a book on herb lore. Nothing overly exciting there, he thought, because he was the only one in this room who liked Herbology. It was the perfect disguise as far as it went. While it left him uneasy to have it just sitting out there, where anyone could see it if they wanted to look, he knew the book could protect itself.
To anyone but him who picked it up, it really would be a book on herb lore.
That was the best protection he could give it. He certainly didn't know enough warding spells to out-smart their Head of House and even if he did, using them here would earn him a rapid place in detention for months because they were all Dark spells. I suppose I should look up a few Light wards, Theodore mused. If only because it would be simpler than having people harping on me for using blood all the time.
He shrugged and supposed that it wouldn't hurt. Blaise had a few things to look up. Now Theodore could rightly say that he had at least one thing he wanted to get some reading done on quite legitimately. And no one, not even Dumbledore's staunchest supports would be able to say he was doing something wrong by studying up on wards.
In fact, Theodore mused, I have all the right classes on my schedule. I could even claim that I'm looking into a career as a ward specialist and they wouldn't be able to tell differently.
Not that he needed a career; most of the purebloods in their year level didn't, if they were in Slytherin. They were old-blood and old-money and that meant if they didn't want to, they didn't have to learn to do anything but run the family estate. But I would rather do something else with my time, Theodore admitted. If I am lucky, perhaps I will discover I enjoy wards enough to make my plausible lie a truth.
He settled an ancient picture of his parents on the shelf, added a few more knickknacks and declared himself done. Turning away from his shelf and cabinet, he tapped his wand sharply on the top of his trunk. His trunk, used to this routine now, shrank down to be pocket-sized. Theodore set his trunk beside the picture and collapsed on his bed again, which gave him an easy way to observe his dormmates.
He was unsurprised to find that Malfoy was nearly done, just turning to shrink his trunk; Blaise was just now getting to his books, his cabinet doors standing slightly ajar, likely because he couldn't close them. Crabbe was rummaging through his trunk for something and scowling; Theodore wondered if he'd forgotten something at home. Goyle was... huh, Theodore arched his eyebrows. Goyle was shrinking his trunk and putting it away.
Well done, he thought. You finally learnt organization.
"Almost done, Blaise?" he asked quietly. "You're going to run into the inspection time if you don't pick up the pace."
"Help me?" Blaise replied. "I've got everything but my books and you've seen all of them before."
Theodore sighed and picked himself up off his bed again and went to help shelve books. "The things I do for you," he muttered and shook his head.
Blaise laughed softly. "You do it for yourself. Look--Malfoy's helping Crabbe."
Theodore glanced across the room. Helping wasn't quite the word he'd use, as Malfoy was lounging on his bed, propped up on one shoulder, and waving his wand casually to send Crabbe's books and things to their proper places. "Crabbe doesn't look too happy about that," he noted. "Wonder why? Notice Goyle doing nothing to help?"
"Interesting," Blaise said, both of them keeping their gaze on their own work and their voices low. "I wonder why. Could it have anything to do with your summers?"
Theodore thought about that as he shelved Charms for the Charming and a few back-issues of Transfiguration Today. "Possibly," he allowed. "Though I didn't notice anything between them." He made a face. He'd been quite busy noticing other things and made a note to check in with Daphne about Astoria. No doubt he wouldn't be the only one but it was a duty of the older purebloods to look after their younger counterparts.
And while there were likely others as young as she there, she was already one of ours. Theodore considered that and thought it sounded right. Yes, he'd do that.
"Sounds fun," Blaise murmured dryly. "Being with them all summer."
"Not my idea." Theodore set the last magazine on the shelf. "Most definitely not my idea."
"All right then. We'll talk about it in a bit."
Theodore double-checked the trunk, before Blaise shrunk it, to make sure they hadn't missed anything and then, for the third time that night, set himself back down on his bed.
"Done," Malfoy declared imperiously, "all of us. In time for inspection."
Theodore smiled slightly. It was easier to take Malfoy when he was being a brat about things like inspection and heckling Crabbe and Goyle. He seemed a lot more harmless and, in seeming so, became easier to deal with. Not that he was harmless, Theodore thought, studying his own hands. But then, of them, he was certain that only Blaise had not killed someone this summer.
Not something to be proud of, having done so, Theodore thought. Lucky Blaise. Even though it had been just a Muggle and therefore not a real person anyway... they'd felt pain and been scared and hadn't understood what was happening to them and why. Theodore could sympathize with that even while feeling that they were missing the most important part of being alive--the magic.
As the other boys settled down, Theodore forced himself to lower his hands and then, thinking better of it, flopped flat on his back and then stretched, slipping his hands around the back of his head to rest there. He couldn't give into the temptation to stare at them if he was using them for something else, right?
He closed his eyes and even when the inspection came--in the form of Professor Snape, on his early evening rounds--he didn't bother to open them. He was tired and it had nothing to do with how much sleep he'd been getting.
Just the war, Theodore thought, as the Professor swept out of their dorm in a swirl of black robes. They'd passed. Only difference is, I might have an out. Might.
And even that wasn't certain.
"Come on," Blaise said. "We've got three-quarters of an hour before we're due at the feast. Let's get to the library before the Ravenclaws get the best books first."
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Originally posted on DW. Comment there. (Unless you want to comment here. That's fine too.)
Chapter 04: New Routines
Rating: M (and/or R)
Words: 5,440
Summary: 6th year AU. Theodore/Hermione. When Harry lies dying from an unbreakable curse, Hermione is desperate to find a cure. After a summer of hell, Theodore wants nothing to do with the war. A Nott family heirloom provides the answer to both their prayers, but only if they can work together to survive the heirloom's demands. And even if they succeed, there's still a war to win...
Notes: Written for the 2012 Finish-a-Thon and
edellin's fic request.
Warnings: Torture-physical/emotional, psychological mindfuckery, kidnapping, gore, disturbing imagery, cannibalism, and death.
Hermione had never wanted to see the Hogwarts Express less. From the matching glum expressions on Ron and Ginny's faces as Mrs. Weasley fussed over them, they felt the same way.
It was ridiculous, she thought, that they'd spent most of the summer just a Floo away from the library only to have to take the train to the school. Logically, she knew why: people would wonder if they weren't on the train. It would be bad enough when they realized that Harry wasn't with them. Professor Dumbledore had managed to keep his affliction from the public.
Harry is off training for the war. That was the excuse they were supposed to use to explain his not being on the train.
It was reasonable. Plausible. It was a total farce.
And Hermione begrudged the time away from books that might be able to help Harry. After a summer of looking, though, cold and slick dread filled her stomach at the thought that maybe, just maybe, there wasn't a way to help him.
Professor Dumbledore had assured them that what Harry was under was not leaving him trapped in a nightmare that would break him eventually. At least his dreams were sweet. That was a small comfort.
"Finally," Ron groused, shrugging his shoulders irritably as he slouched over to her. "Mum's gotten worse than ever."
Hermione smiled slightly, almost mechanically, as she glanced around Ron to see that Ginny was engulfed in a hug that lifted her off her feet. "She's worried," Hermione said. "Who can blame her?"
"Me," Ron said promptly, without shame. "Your parents don't fuss that way. Not that I don't understand but... it's a bit much, really."
The old, familiar twist of guilt in her stomach was subdued. Even the mention of her parents was little in comparison to the fact that Harry was lost in dreams and no one could wake him. "My parents don't know," she said. "That's why they don't fuss."
It had started back in first year, her lying to her parents, and then she'd never quite been able to shake the habit. As the years went on and the dangers got worse, truth to tell, she didn't try very hard to change her ways. It was better for them if they didn't know what she got up to every year.
She wondered when that lie had started sounding like the truth to her in reality instead of just a weak excuse. Hermione couldn't remember. She tucked an errant bit of hair back behind one ear as Ginny joined them, looking as disgruntled as Ron.
"Let's go and grab seats," Hermione said hurriedly as the train blew a warning whistle. "Ginny, do you mind looking after our things while we're in the meeting?"
Ginny rolled her eyes as if to say yes, of course that's fine, and they hurried onto the train, lugging their trunks down the crowded middle until they found a compartment that was empty.
"Quick," Hermione said, "we've got to change into our robes and get ready. There's supposed to be new security on board this time around."
"Don't nag," Ron replied. "I know. I got the same letter you did, remember?"
Ginny just shook her head and occupied herself with chatting to Luna and Neville as they entered the compartment. With a muttered hello, Hermione went to go and change.
A few minutes later, she and Ron entered the Prefect's compartment together. Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan from Hufflepuff greeted them with smiles. Padma Patil and Terry Boot each waved a hand in their direction, never looking up from their game, which looked like a complicated mess of cards to her. The other Prefects either said hello or ignored them as was their wont.
"Where are the Slytherins?" Ron murmured in her ear, startling her as they took seats.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed the room again. He was right. Only three of the houses were represented in the room. None of the Slytherin Prefects were here yet. "Odd," she said thoughtfully.
"You don't suppose that Dumbledore kicked them all out?" Ron asked, sounding hopeful. "Imagine that! Grand start to the year."
For all that he sounded hopeful, though, he didn't sound optimistic. She felt much the same way, push come to shove. It was a nice fantasy, given that they'd had nothing but trouble with the Slytherins.
But there's no way he would kick out an entire quarter of the school just because a few of them got in our way. The truth of that statement left her feeling slightly out of sorts.
"They're not late yet," she said reasonably, instead of giving into the urge to say anything juvenile. "Perhaps they're just talking with friends."
Ron's eyebrows rose. "All of them?"
"Why not? There's only six of them. That's not very long odds."
They bickered comfortably about the matter, both of them, Hermione thought, seizing gratefully on the distraction. And if they were arguing, there was less of a chance that anyone would interrupt them to ask about the war, or Harry.
Neither of them wanted to talk about Harry. Neither of them wanted to admit that there was a good chance that all of the Slytherins missing had been amongst the kidnapped and then returned children of the summer. Hermione shivered. What had their summers been like?
As the argument, such as it was, trailed off, she glanced at Ron, who'd fallen silent, with the same look he had in his eyes when he was deeply into a game of chess against an opponent who actually challenged him as he studied the room. It was tempting to ask him what he was thinking about. Hermione left him to his thoughts, though, if only because they had no idea here who was really on their side or not.
Hope would lead them to believe everyone was. Hope, she thought, was a cruel gift.
Minutes ticked by and the Slytherins still had not appeared. She wasn't the only one who began glancing uneasily at the doorway, as if by doing so, the Slytherins would appear quicker.
Ron was more engrossed in his thoughts and did not do the same. Hermione nudged him and he looked at her. "Now," she murmured, "they're late."
His eyes narrowed at the door.
"Well," said Head Girl, Jessica Williamson of Hufflepuff, standing and smoothing down her robes nervously, "we should probably get--"
The door to the compartment slid open and one after another the Slytherin Prefects filed in.
And they don't look well at all.
The best term to describe them, Hermione thought, was subdued. They looked pale, a few of them looked like they'd lost weight. None of them had summer tans. Even more out of the ordinary, they said nothing as they arranged themselves in the compartment.
"Glad you could make it," Jeremy Ansley, the Head Boy and a Ravenclaw, said briskly, without even a trace of sarcasm. Even when Hermione glanced at Pansy, the other girl didn't give the habitual sneer. "We were just about to start."
Pansy didn't even register her presence, Hermione realized and felt troubled for it. She, if she was honest, strongly disliked the other girl. But this was out of character for Pansy and that was… unusual. Even more so when paired with the tired, tight expressions of the other Slytherins.
What had happened to them?
Hermione filed it away to talk about later with Ron and the others-how she wished Harry was awake!-and resigned herself to the fact that it was not, in any way, likely to be her business.
It was tempting to believe that and hard too at the same time.
After all, she couldn't forget that most of the Slytherins were part of You-Know-Who's side and even if they were not, they were most certainly Dark wizards and witches as the majority.
Exceptions can happen, she acknowledged generously as Jessica and Jeremy took it in turns to explain the duties of the Prefects to the newcomers in their group, but I have seen nothing to prove any of them are one.
She wished Ginny was here and wondered why she wasn't. Her marks were good and as far as Hermione knew, Ginny did not earn many detentions.
Perhaps Ginny had not wanted it, Hermione thought unhappily. Or perhaps, because of the diary…
"And now," Jeremy said, looking grave, "we've been asked to cover a few new rules and duties for the Prefects. Those of you who know your history," his tone implied that they'd all better know their history, "these adapted rules will sound familiar and for good reason."
Hermione straightened in her seat, leaning forward interestedly while Ron slumped back, as if there was only so much attention the both of them could pay to this meeting and the more one of them exhibited, the less the other would do. There was only one set of rules she could think of that fit Jeremy's graveness. "Are you talking about the rules from-"
Padma interrupted her, dark eyes keen. "The Dark Lord Strictures?"
"I've heard of those," Ron said slowly. "Dad said they saved a lot of lives. They weren't originally meant for Prefects but rather for the Aurors and the Magical Law Enforcement's Hit Wizards to follow when guarding an occupied building."
"We're not being expected to fight, are we?" asked one of the fifth year Hufflepuff Prefects. Hermione made note to get the new Prefects names later and commit them to memory. "We're not anything like the Aurors."
All of them were careful not to look at the Slytherins as that was said. No, Hermione thought, we're not at all like the Aurors.
Some of us are the enemy.
"No, no," Jessica soothed, with a laugh that comforted, from their expressions, none of them. It certainly didn't do anything for Hermione's nerves. "We said they were adapted from, not that they were exactly the same." Her bight brown eyes were as frank and open as her voice. Hermione could see why Professor Dumbledore would have chosen her as Head Girl.
"What do you want us to do then?" It was Malfoy's voice but it wasn't, she thought, Malfoy's usual half-snarl, half-sneer. It wasn't even a proper drawl. Hermione tried to place if she'd ever heard Malfoy sound so… human… before and couldn't.
When she glanced at Ron, to see if he'd noticed, she found him staring at his hands, frowning heavily in thought.
"In past years," Jeremy said, "patrol has been done in either groups of two or by each Prefect alone. This year, you'll be operating in groups of four."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. That would double the time it took them to complete their patrols. From the grimacing going around the room, she wasn't the only one who'd immediately spotted that downside.
"How will the teams be decided?" Ernie asked, like this was an exam and he was going to be quizzed on it.
Not, Hermione conceded, that she was really much better. It was only because he'd beaten her to the question that she wasn't the one who sounded like that.
"One from each House," Jessica said, grimacing as if she anticipated some argument. "Each team will consist of two boys and two girls. The teams are split by year."
Hermione fought not to let her lip curl. That meant she'd be working closely with either Malfoy or Pansy on an almost daily basis. I do not need this.
"Why?" Susan asked, toying absently, nervously, with her long braids. "Wouldn't it make more sense to let us go with teams we'll be comfortable in? With friends?"
"It's strategy," Ron said, interrupting the Head Girl and not giving any sign that he'd noticed. His eyes were still focused on his hands and Hermione wished, perhaps irrationally, that he'd look up. "If we're with our friends, we're likely to trust them. Right now, we can't trust anyone so they're putting us with people who we don't want to work with. Also, with four of us on a team, it's lower odds that we'll be overpowered if there's one, or even two traitors in the group."
They were all silent for a moment, contemplating that.
It was an ugly thought.
Jessica sighed. "Weasley's about got it right. The official party line is that it's to foster inter-House unity and to encourage us to mingle outside of our Houses."
"Who believed that?" inquired Nadia, Gryffindor's seventh year Prefect. "That's flimsy."
"The Board of Governors believed it enough to approve the rule change," Jessica said evenly. "I know it's crap," there were a few muted giggles as the Head Girl said that so plainly, "but in public, you will act as if you believe in it."
"Or what?" asked a fifth year Slytherin.
"You'll be stripped of your badge," Jeremy said flatly. "The Headmaster is insistent that these rules remain in place and to do that we are expected to uphold his wishes. If you don't like it, you don't have to stay Prefect. Give up your badge and we'll have your Head of House choose someone to take your place."
None of them moved. Hermione was pretty sure that the look on her face matched the wide-eyed horror on Padma's at the very thought of their badges being taken away. It was something that they'd worked hard for.
It was an honour.
"Only thirty-nine Prefects have lost their badges in the more than thousand years that Hogwarts has existed," said Jeremy. "We have been supports, we have been guides, we have been defenders. For this war, we are the watchers. If anything out of the ordinary happens, you are to alert the nearest Head of House. If you suspect the nearest Head of House in instigating something out of the ordinary, you are to head directly to the Headmaster's office. Even if he cannot meet you, there are measures in place to ensure you can give your report. None of you are to be alone at any time while on patrol. You are not to split up."
"Who are we with?" Ron asked, his voice shattering the solemn quiet that had fallen with Jeremy's words. He looked up from his hands now and his blue eyes were hard. "And what other rules are we adapting from the Strictures? Not just that one, right?"
Hermione bit her lip. While she could think of a few new rules, she had no way of knowing the exact content of the Strictures and as such, couldn't narrow her guesses down. The actual rules were not available to the general public.
To keep the Wizarding public safe was the official line of reasoning for that lack of transparency.
How much did Ron know about them? she wondered. He sounded like he knew a great deal.
Was that because his dad was in the Ministry? Or was it something that the pure-bloods learnt? Hermione mentally stomped on the resurgence of that old complaint. No, it wasn't fair that the pure-bloods got things that the Muggleborn didn't but she didn't know if this was yet another way they were privileged.
There wasn't anything she could do about it right now. Yet. One day, she'd find a way to make it fairer for everyone. But today… today was about the new rules.
"We're going to be here for a while," Jeremy told them all. "I suggest you settle in comfortably."
"What about patrol on the train? Aren't we supposed to do that?" asked a seventh year Slytherin.
"Aurors are handling it," Jeremy said. "Any further questions?"
None of them had any that they were willing to ask. Jeremy took a deep breath. "All right," he said, "if you've got any from here on out, please hold them until we're done outlining everything. You can ask your questions after the overview. Jessica?"
Jessica smiled reassuringly at them all, her bearing not confident, Hermione thought, but resolute. It was astonishingly effective as the Head Girl began speaking about the changes at Hogwarts this year and what their role would be.
Hermione leaned forward, listening intently, her hands absently tugging out parchment and a Self-Inking Quill to take notes with. But even as she listened, she couldn't help but notice that Ron was still frowning and not, from his expression, from the rules they were having laid out.
What's wrong? she scribbled on a corner of her notes and nudged him pointedly.
He glanced at the note and then shook his head, mouthing the words 'not here'. She settled back, feeling unsatisfied and yet not having the time to dwell on it.
It was getting dark by the time they left the Prefects' compartment and Hermione's head felt like an over-soaked sponge. She found it distinctly unfair that of her and Ron, he looked less overwhelmed by the new regulations they were expected to abide by and enforce than she was, and as a result she was left feeling distinctly out-of-sorts.
"Since when do you actually listen to a lecture?" she asked, knowing her voice was on the waspish side.
Ron rubbed his nose. "I like strategy," he said absently. "The meeting was interesting."
It was entirely disgusting, Hermione thought, that he could have such a good mind for the things he wanted to learn and such absolute mediocrity for the rest of what people tried to teach him.
She drew in breath to respond and nearly walked into him as he stopped abruptly.
"What's Nott doing in our compartment?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"What?" Hermione pushed past him to see that he was right. Nott was leaning in the doorway of their compartment, talking to someone too quietly to make out the words.
With a quick glance exchanged both her and Ron continued towards the compartment. As they approached, Nott looked up, his face as pale as the other Slytherins though she couldn't remember ever seeing him with a tan, and his eyes darkly shadowed. "Weasley," he said coolly. "Granger."
"Nott," Ron replied, sounding surly. "Get lost on the way to your compartment?"
"Just talking," Nott replied. "I'm leaving now," he added, to the inside of the compartment. "I'll talk to you later. The library, tomorrow after class?"
There was a murmured assent.
Then, with a nod, Nott left. Hermione peered in the compartment as Ron muttered about how freaky was it that a Slytherin was being practically civil. "Did he really just come to talk?"
It was Luna who answered her. "Oh yes," she said, "we do that sometimes. He knows quite a lot about unusual creatures."
Neville and Ginny looked bemused and Hermione half-seriously wondered if their faces would be stuck that way.
"This," Ron said from behind her, "has been on hell of a day."
Hermione could only agree.
The first strange thing that Theodore thought was both curious and noteworthy was that, upon reaching Hogwarts, the welcoming feast was postponed for two hours. Word filtered through the students and, when Professor Snape herded them down to the dorms, thin-lipped and cold, Theodore wondered why. The first years, all Unsorted, were escorted off by Professor Burbage who talked to them kindly.
There had been times, over the years, when Theodore had not wanted to come back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts, for most Slytherins, was something to be endured, struggled through, and survived. Not something that was overly enjoyed.
It was hard, being hated by most of the school when the majority of them were guilty of no crime except that of being cunning, clever, ambitious, and born to pure-blood families. Theodore slumped on his bed and leaned back to stare up at the dark green canopy.
He didn't like that, this year, he was glad to be back. Not when this year was the first year that he felt he'd really done anything that deserved the hatred of his classmates. But then, he thought, I am hardly the only one who has. This was a summer to remember for all the wrong reasons.
Still, privately, he resented this deviation from the usual first night back routine. It would have been a comfort, given everything else.
Blaise set himself more decorously down on the next bed over. At eleven and aware that the other boys in their grade were far more open with their supposed allegiances (for eleven year olds, Theodore had realized, mostly parroted what their parents believed and he'd learnt this summer that when it was rhetoric, it was far different than reality) they had decided to form an alliance of neutrality. It had served them well for the last five years.
He had no doubt it would serve them well for the next two.
Blaise leaned back against his headboard and watched the rest of the room. Malfoy had done the same as Theodore and just collapsed on his bed in a parody of relaxation. Crabbe and Goyle were much the same as ever--harder to read, harder to guess--though Goyle was frowning a little. But that, Theodore thought, could be from anything. Perhaps he left his favourite pair of socks at home.
"Harsh summer?" Blaise murmured when it seemed like the others weren't paying them any mind.
"The hardest," Theodore replied just as quietly. "I'll tell you later--library tonight?"
Blaise nodded. "I want to check out a few books in any case. Mother mentioned a few spells that 'might prove to be useful in this unsuitable climate'."
Theodore smiled reluctantly at Blaise's careful imitation of his mother. "That could be anything from the weather to the war," he observed. "Hopefully it's the weather. Even with warming charms, it gets drattedly cold here about."
"Don't I know it," Blaise said. "I spend most of the year freezing and then she deplores the state of my jumpers come winter break and again at Easter. She doesn't understand but then, she went to Beauxbatons and they've far more care for personal comfort there."
"Helps that their castle isn't this old drafty thing. Hogwarts has stood for a thousand years and more and it shows." Theodore was of the opinion that it had been a drafty thing even back when the Founders had been around. "Probably Gryffindor's fault," he opined, "thinking that adversity would build character instead of just misery."
"Some would say that counts as character."
Theodore snorted and sat up, running one hand through his hair. "I disagree."
"So do I." Blaise's grin was sharp-edged. "But then, neither of us are Gryffindors."
Theodore found himself smiling slightly and was glad for it. "Come on," he said, pulling himself up off the bed. "Let's get unpacked before room inspection and then we'll head to the library."
"Draco," Blaise called to the prone boy. "Unless you want to fail inspection too, you'd best be moving. It'd look bad for our Prefect to cost us detention on the first night back."
Malfoy muttered something under his breath that didn't sound complimentary and then began the slow process of getting up and putting his things away. Theodore turned his gaze to his own trunk and sighed. He hated packing. And unpacking. It was much easier at home when he could just order a house elf to do it. Still, he didn't want to earn himself (and, he supposed, the rest of the boys) detention for not being ready.
The Slytherin dorms were long, rectangular rooms. Each four-poster bed had a cabinet beside it that was meant for their clothes and a few shelves and a desk meant for their books. Professor Snape made it clear to all incoming Slytherins that they were to be properly unpacked before attending to the rest of the evening. To enforce this, the Professor had determined that it was most effective if everyone had to suffer for the failure of one person to comply. The power of peer pressure, Theodore thought wryly as he magicked his robes into place. Harnessed for evil, for a certain degree of evil.
It was clever, though, he had to concede that. The daily inspections kept the dorms from ever looking like a pigsty which was something Theodore appreciated. He just wished that they could skip a few steps. I could live out of my trunk and do so neatly. I wonder how many could say the same?
He cast a glance at the other boys in his dorm, carefully hiding his dubiousness behind a blank mask. Anyone who looked at him would think he was merely taking a moment's pause from unpacking. Malfoy, Theodore decided. Not Blaise, he's too much of a clothes horse despite being stuck in uniform most of the time. Crabbe and Goyle aren't organized enough. But Malfoy could do it and so could I.
Two out of five, he thought, turning back to his trunk, would never be good enough for Professor Snape. Not that there weren't pluses to the cabinets and shelves, of course, because it was far easier to find the proper text when they were all lined up neatly, and there were protections on the cabinets and desks that stopped people from snooping about others' things. Theodore knew that Professor Snape held the master key, so to speak, to those enchantments and could, if he wanted, see anything they had hanging around.
To Theodore's knowledge, however, Professor Snape never did that. If he had, then he'd done it so subtly that no one had noticed and while that was a minor cause for concern, it was more a cause for admiration. Well done, Professor, he thought as he set the last of his school books on the shelves and moved onto his more recreational and auxiliary text books.
With unhurried and non-furtive movements, Theodore slipped the book he'd stolen from his father's library onto his shelf and tapped it once, twice, thrice, with his index finger. The book quivered and then subsided, taking on the guise of a book on herb lore. Nothing overly exciting there, he thought, because he was the only one in this room who liked Herbology. It was the perfect disguise as far as it went. While it left him uneasy to have it just sitting out there, where anyone could see it if they wanted to look, he knew the book could protect itself.
To anyone but him who picked it up, it really would be a book on herb lore.
That was the best protection he could give it. He certainly didn't know enough warding spells to out-smart their Head of House and even if he did, using them here would earn him a rapid place in detention for months because they were all Dark spells. I suppose I should look up a few Light wards, Theodore mused. If only because it would be simpler than having people harping on me for using blood all the time.
He shrugged and supposed that it wouldn't hurt. Blaise had a few things to look up. Now Theodore could rightly say that he had at least one thing he wanted to get some reading done on quite legitimately. And no one, not even Dumbledore's staunchest supports would be able to say he was doing something wrong by studying up on wards.
In fact, Theodore mused, I have all the right classes on my schedule. I could even claim that I'm looking into a career as a ward specialist and they wouldn't be able to tell differently.
Not that he needed a career; most of the purebloods in their year level didn't, if they were in Slytherin. They were old-blood and old-money and that meant if they didn't want to, they didn't have to learn to do anything but run the family estate. But I would rather do something else with my time, Theodore admitted. If I am lucky, perhaps I will discover I enjoy wards enough to make my plausible lie a truth.
He settled an ancient picture of his parents on the shelf, added a few more knickknacks and declared himself done. Turning away from his shelf and cabinet, he tapped his wand sharply on the top of his trunk. His trunk, used to this routine now, shrank down to be pocket-sized. Theodore set his trunk beside the picture and collapsed on his bed again, which gave him an easy way to observe his dormmates.
He was unsurprised to find that Malfoy was nearly done, just turning to shrink his trunk; Blaise was just now getting to his books, his cabinet doors standing slightly ajar, likely because he couldn't close them. Crabbe was rummaging through his trunk for something and scowling; Theodore wondered if he'd forgotten something at home. Goyle was... huh, Theodore arched his eyebrows. Goyle was shrinking his trunk and putting it away.
Well done, he thought. You finally learnt organization.
"Almost done, Blaise?" he asked quietly. "You're going to run into the inspection time if you don't pick up the pace."
"Help me?" Blaise replied. "I've got everything but my books and you've seen all of them before."
Theodore sighed and picked himself up off his bed again and went to help shelve books. "The things I do for you," he muttered and shook his head.
Blaise laughed softly. "You do it for yourself. Look--Malfoy's helping Crabbe."
Theodore glanced across the room. Helping wasn't quite the word he'd use, as Malfoy was lounging on his bed, propped up on one shoulder, and waving his wand casually to send Crabbe's books and things to their proper places. "Crabbe doesn't look too happy about that," he noted. "Wonder why? Notice Goyle doing nothing to help?"
"Interesting," Blaise said, both of them keeping their gaze on their own work and their voices low. "I wonder why. Could it have anything to do with your summers?"
Theodore thought about that as he shelved Charms for the Charming and a few back-issues of Transfiguration Today. "Possibly," he allowed. "Though I didn't notice anything between them." He made a face. He'd been quite busy noticing other things and made a note to check in with Daphne about Astoria. No doubt he wouldn't be the only one but it was a duty of the older purebloods to look after their younger counterparts.
And while there were likely others as young as she there, she was already one of ours. Theodore considered that and thought it sounded right. Yes, he'd do that.
"Sounds fun," Blaise murmured dryly. "Being with them all summer."
"Not my idea." Theodore set the last magazine on the shelf. "Most definitely not my idea."
"All right then. We'll talk about it in a bit."
Theodore double-checked the trunk, before Blaise shrunk it, to make sure they hadn't missed anything and then, for the third time that night, set himself back down on his bed.
"Done," Malfoy declared imperiously, "all of us. In time for inspection."
Theodore smiled slightly. It was easier to take Malfoy when he was being a brat about things like inspection and heckling Crabbe and Goyle. He seemed a lot more harmless and, in seeming so, became easier to deal with. Not that he was harmless, Theodore thought, studying his own hands. But then, of them, he was certain that only Blaise had not killed someone this summer.
Not something to be proud of, having done so, Theodore thought. Lucky Blaise. Even though it had been just a Muggle and therefore not a real person anyway... they'd felt pain and been scared and hadn't understood what was happening to them and why. Theodore could sympathize with that even while feeling that they were missing the most important part of being alive--the magic.
As the other boys settled down, Theodore forced himself to lower his hands and then, thinking better of it, flopped flat on his back and then stretched, slipping his hands around the back of his head to rest there. He couldn't give into the temptation to stare at them if he was using them for something else, right?
He closed his eyes and even when the inspection came--in the form of Professor Snape, on his early evening rounds--he didn't bother to open them. He was tired and it had nothing to do with how much sleep he'd been getting.
Just the war, Theodore thought, as the Professor swept out of their dorm in a swirl of black robes. They'd passed. Only difference is, I might have an out. Might.
And even that wasn't certain.
"Come on," Blaise said. "We've got three-quarters of an hour before we're due at the feast. Let's get to the library before the Ravenclaws get the best books first."
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