I have no idea where this came from. All I know is it would have bothered me senseless if I didn't sit down and type it up right now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing whatsoever. Except a pretty awesome miniature Christmas tree I still haven't taken down because I'm lazy.
You say a few wrong words and suddenly everyone hates you. She didn't hate Potter-honestly, she didn't, but she was a Slytherin to the core and saving her own skin sounded a lot better than fighting for some boy who she didn't even care about. But apparently she was in the minority when it came to handing Potter over, and she was given looks of utter disgust. Usually she was the one giving looks.
Sneaking back was a stupid thing to do, such a Gryffindor thing to do. But she couldn't take the waiting, just sitting around with scared little children with snotty noses and tears streaming down their baby faces, screaming for their mothers. She never was a kid person.
A few suspicious looks were thrown her way, but for the most part, people were to busy trying not to get killed to really give her presence much thought. See what's happened she thought darkly. See what one boy has caused. I hope it's worth it.
Not much thought had gone into what exactly she planned on doing when she got there, but apparently her classmates had already decided their fates. Nott, Theodore Nott, pushed his way in front of one of the Patils-Parvati, she noted, watching the red and gold tie swing around her tan neck- and threw a curse at the muscular Death Eater, his own Mark clear on his pale arm. She blinked. What was happening? Nott was quiet and bookish and smart and didn't care about anything or anyone. Nott did not care, and most certainly did not risk his life for a whiny Gryffindor. But then she saw the corpse of Tracey Davies staring with blank eyes to the ceiling, and she understood. Revenge. The need to kill those who had taken something precious, something that was cared about. She decided that she needed to rephrase her previous assessment. Theodore Nott did not care about most things, but damage or,God forbid,destroy something that he did hold dear, and there would be hell to pay.
Stumbling blindly around, wand in hand, watching as her classmates fell to the ground around her, she saw Zabini, in the middle of an unholy snog with Daphne, her blond curls pressed flat against her skull. He was whispering something to the hysterical eldest Greengrass, who clutched at his robes, shaking her head as he shook her off, disappearing into the battle. She saw Draco and her heart did something funny-not beat in little excited flutters as it felt the presence of an approaching schoolgirl crush, but this deep throbbing, an ache at the loss of innocence and the haunted sight of a scared little boy whom she once thought she had feelings for. Subconsciously, her wand raised as a Deatheater snarled at him, wand pointed directly between his wide eyes, but only to drop as the Deatheater dropped to the ground, wand limp in hand. Little Greengrass stood behind, her own wand still pointed at the exact spot where the Deatheater had stood, dropping as Astoria ran to Draco, tiny hands clasped around his neck as she whispered the words. I love you.
It seemed like the impossible was going to happen: Harry Potter was going to lose. Harry Potter was going to die. She realized with a jolt that this wasn't what she wanted. Since Fate had dealt her a particularly awful card, it seemed fit that just as she took her new-found loyalty to heart, she would find a little girl who couldn't be older than a second year, crying big fat tears as the wand of a Deatheater was pointed at her. Maybe it was the baby-fat chubby cheeks, or the soft blond hair pulled back in the scrunchie, or the Hufflepuff tie around her neck (because honestly, Hufflepuffs hadn't done anything, and they seemed so odd when placed in a Battle, as if the whole thing had suddenly become a "What does not belong" picture), or the fact that the daft thing was still screeching about her sister, that she only wanted to find her big sister and she had to come back to find her and she needed her sister. But it was probably all this combined that prompted her to throw herself in front of the girl, only to be blasted to the ground by the curse.
She had hoped for a Death curse, something quick and painless, but this was much worse. Her arm, the one she had thrown up to shield her face, was suddenly on fire. What felt like ropes of flames were winding their way up her arm, cutting into her flesh, searing straight to the bone. Slytherins were brave, Slytherins did not cry out for mercy, for death. She had always prided herself on being the perfect Slytherin. But screams were coming out of her mouth, screams to make it stop, to just kill her. Then it stopped. She didn't want to open her eyes for fear it would come back, but she was being prodded none too gently, and she wouldn't have that. Her eyelids opened a hair, just enough to see the mildly concerned face in front of her. Nott. He asked something, but she couldn't hear him, his voice all muffled and her ears ringing. He sighed at her general unresponsiveness, scooping her up in his arms and taking care to stow her wand in his pants pocket.
The battle was still going on because it wouldn't stop until blood flowed on every surface (or at least that's what she came up with, because why else would such utter despair still be happening at a bloody school for children?), but Theo walked through, her body all limp and pathetic and so un-Slytherin in his arms, untouched. Because he was Theodore Nott and he was angry and tired and sad and just waiting to kill someone who dared raise their wand against him. And he lays her down when he finally finds a quiet corner and tries and touch her arm, but she whimpers and pulls away and he sighs.
The next time she opens her eyes, she's in the Great Hall, surrounded by cries of anguish and laughter and happiness. A bizarre combination. The second she looks around, Theo's there, asking questions she ignores as she scans the room. She spots the Weasley woman surrounded by her family, and her heart would pang later when she found out about the dead twin when she thought about the half left behind. She sees the Malfoys, all huddled together, and in the same second she sees Astoria standing there tentatively until Draco whirls around and snogs her senseless, not enough pride left to even keep his utter delight at the fact she's still alive inside himself. Zabini's at the Ravenclaw table, arm slung around the elder Greengrass who's drinking a little too much from what she knows is Zabini's flask. Then there's the Looks. Some are still in disgust, but then there's some even worse: pity. As she ponders this, she looks down and realizes why.
Her arm is covered in thin bandages and pasty salve, but she can still see the angry red marks that cover her skin, burns taunting her. Still glad you came back?
She's never been the prettiest, but she's always held some level of attractiveness. Never has she felt so ugly.
A sniffle. She looks down at a little girl with a runny nose whose standing beside her. With a jolt she realizes this is the child she put everything on the line for. Chubby fingers reach out and pat her wand hand-her good hand-hesitantly, her teeth gnawing on her lip. Then a taller, slender figure is swooping her up, kissing her forehead. A lanky girl with singed hair and bruises up and down her arms that must be her sister. The girl looks over at her, eyes locking in on hers. Her baby sister, still in her arms, fiddles with her red and gold tie as she says the two words that brings the once haughty Slytherin to tears, startling the sisters. Thank you.
As she's trying to awkwardly comfort Nott who's trying to awkwardly comfort her before she takes his hand and they sit there in silence, she realizes that it was worth it.
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