ONE
If you looked through a certain window, in a grand old house, after making your way through a minefield of protective enchantments on a night as vindictive as you please, then you would find a large fireplace situated in a large room with six people silhouetted against its flames. A lot can be deduced from a silhouette, a shadow, a suggestion of a person, for example; you may assume from the casual stance in which a slim tall figure leans against the fireplace that he is bored with the company he keeps. You may also see his companion lazily sprawled on the armchair beside him swirling a tumbler of something suspicious, looking completely at ease and content. If closer attention is paid a third man would be unveiled with his back leaning against the base of the fire on the floor, one leg up with his elbow resting on it, book in hand.
The women in the room could be a study in themselves; each slim and refined, all with an air of intention, every move considered. However, there is a suggestion to one being more than the others, two sharing a window seat almost out of the ring of firelight, the third on a brocaded chair, sitting forward in her seat with back straight and ankles crossed with an air of effortless purpose.
All of these things attribute to a single very real scene in a very real manor concealed in Devonshire, England. It is true that much can be deduced by silhouettes, the outline or impression of a person and in the cases of these six persons that is all the world sees of them, the impression of who they are. Yet this account has to prove that only in the light may you see which direction the silhouette faces. It is by the firelight that you may see that the ease and boredom initially exhibited does not reach the eyes of the inhabitants. That there are glances and twitches that go all but unseen, suggesting awareness of surroundings and something more. It is the something more that fuels this story, for it is one that has changed the course of history. One that has remained untold due to the nature of circumstances and character. It is this story that teaches us that regardless of how closely you study a scene such as this, if you are not a part of the inner workings, you are not a part of it at all. There is no hope of understanding a group such as this one from mere observation, for they are too complex, their dynamic too foreign and situation too inconceivable. For no matter how empathetic you may be, you will never be a Slytherin.
"Blaise would you stop fidgeting for goodness sake, if you can't exhibit basic self control with that glass then just grip your knees tighter." The dark haired girl said with the cool deliberateness of someone perfectly aware of the ability she possessed to entirely imprison someone with her words.
The blonde standing at the fireplace smirked affectionately as his gaze flicked to her before finding its way back to the flames. The dark haired boy who the comment was directed at let his head loll to the side and onto his shoulder carelessly as he looked at her over his eyebrows and swirled his glass around once more, giving the ice an extra crack, then grinned at her roguishly. She stared back at him levelly and they remained there locked in a silent battle of wills.
The two girls sitting on the window seat rolled their eyes and smiled before rearranging themselves to relieve their pins and needles, they had been in the room for hours since the 'meeting' started and were confined to the room 'until needed'. Such an indefinite time frame with the looming knowledge of what being 'needed' meant caused for a tense atmosphere and long hours of waiting. They sighed in resignation to the tedium of the night, the blonde closing her eyes as the black haired girl started silently tapping the back of her head against the window.
The sandy haired boy by the fire remained as he was, unmoving except his eyes skimming across the pages of his book.
Without looking up he stated in a detached tone "Blaise, give it up you look like a gimp."
The blonde boy turned his back to the fire and chortled seeing the girl and boy entirely unmoved. He enjoyed the private interactions between two of his best friends when they were away from prying eyes where their movements were moderated, their antics were so exposing when in their close group of friends.
All of their lives were a show, a constant facade to manage the pressures coming at them from all sides. They had all built up their own faces from an early age in order to best serve their interest, being; survival. At school and at home the interactions of this group were so informed, intentional and rehearsed that he valued these little insights. As he looked at her he saw more things than almost anyone else would have; her stance and air betrayed her heritage of wealth and status, she had a regal form, face and fire that made her an undeniable force of nature yet she could pass herself off as a demure flower. Even in her dealing with one of her oldest friends her back remained poker straight with dignity and ease, yet there were cracks. Flaws in her veneer finish that only he could see. He loved and cherished these chinks in her armor, for through them he saw her. His eyes moved to the lazy Italian on his right, still holding her penetrating gaze with his patronizing one, the only person he knew who was moron enough to challenge the word of the dark haired witch. He held her blink for blink still looking the fool with this head to the side and eyebrows raised, careless smile splashed across his face. His two friends, such a contrast yet such an equal match.
The words "Blaise you fool" emerged from the corner of the fireplace with the finality of a declaration of Theodore Nott followed by the sound of a turning page.
At this word the blonde boy turned his head in time to see the lips of Arya Grey quirk a minute degree at the pathetic charm of the boy. After that smallest movement he gave an exaggerated sigh followed by a triumphant smirk, downed the contents of the glass and sat up straight, giving her a look of supreme resignation before picking up a book of his own.
No words were said but the battle was over, won by Blaise the blonde boy presumed. However, when he glanced back at the girl, who was now staring out the window with her chin gently on her fingers, he saw the slight turn down of her mouth in a suppressed smile. The minx had given Blaise that smile on purpose to make him take the final move!
Well She wins I suppose. He thought. Again. Damn her, she always wins! Even when she looses, she wins!
He sighed lightly and poured himself a drink, staring into space and idling with his glass.
"Draco! Would you desist that infantile rattling for one moment!" Blaise declared in his most haughty tone.
The blonde turned to him in mild surprise, unused to such fully formed sentences as the one just uttered. Blaise was intelligent and fully capable of maintaining a civilized and stimulating conversation to be sure, he could just never be bothered, a habit that grated Arya to no end.
Draco set his glass on the mantle and perched on the dark girls armrest his arm draping across the back of her chair.
"Arya" he said calmly "I do believe Blaise is trying on his big boy words" with a wink in the boy's direction.
She looked away from the window and at the handsome vaguely Italian man who was a gazing primly around, back straight, head high with his hands folded in his lap and ankles crossed.
She then looked back at Draco with a resigned expression which turned to cool authority as she refaced Blaise and said;
"Blaise although your effort does you credit i am sure you are well aware that thin emulation is merely a reflection of your own lack of substance and although I am flattered at your effort to be as much like me as you can manage I feel I must inform you that it does you no service, your mother however, I'm sure will be gratified to know you have finally grasped the concept of court manners and may now be welcomed back into polite society without the need of a chaperone. A mighty accomplishment in its own right which may soften the blow of your inability to be me completely, as you will no longer be a laughing stock in society as the only supervised eighteen year old that we are aware of, so take comfort in your progress as there is hope for you yet." She returned he gaze to the window as the girls chortled behind her and a low chuckle emerged form the floor by the fire followed by a quiet "gimp."
Draco stood up grinning, feeling gratified that Arya had annihilated Blaise for him and with such understated refinement and dignity that she didn't even raise her voice. She had a way of speaking that gave her complete control, she was a dark horse for as she said she she was seven 'people have the ill-advised tendency of underestimating me.'
"Don't presume that i'm not aware of your laziness Draco Malfoy. It too betrays what you lack." She said quietly.
Blaise snickered and rose from his chair to stand behind her.
"And what is it that I lack Miss Grey?" He asked somewhat fearing the answer, she had a damn annoying habit of being very knowledgable about personal discoveries you haven't made yourself yet.
She turned to look him full in the face, aware that the room was listening.
"imagination" she said with a cold smile.
The room broke out in quiet chuckles, building as people realized the truth of the observation, Draco's face darkening somewhat as he did. Blaise particularly enjoyed this turn of events, laughing merrily at his best friend and softly kissing the girl on the cheekbone. Only Draco heard the quiet "sorry darling" he whispered as he lingered by her hair, or the half smiled she offered as acceptance of his words. This sobered him, not the act itself which reminded him of the connections formed to make life worth living, but the fact that their lives and situation put so much tension on them that simple fidgets can push people to breaking. This revelation made him reconsider his analysis of their previous interaction, suddenly Draco realized that it might not have been about winning, but about retaining some normalcy back into their lives, some consistency, the familiar rapier wit and bickering that had become the sound track to their friendships.
Arya met Draco's eyes and read through them his entire evaluation and conclusion of their encounter, she gazed at him wide eyed in a rare moment of exposure, waiting for his judgement of their actions. He sighed internally, frustrated at their inability to express themselves freely in this oppressive environment. At that moment, as if to emphasis his thoughts there was a roar of laughter and cheers from several floors down. Draco noticed reactions in everyone in the room except Arya. Daphne and Pansy opened their eyes and glanced at each other, Theodore Nott stopped turning his page mid movement to listen, and Blaise stiffened his pose, slightly leaning over Arya with on hand of the arm rest the other on the back of her chair, shielding her from the door. All the while she stared at Draco, waiting, he sighed inaudibly agin and smiled slightly at her, swiftly holding her chin then releasing it. It was enough to convey what he needed; he understood, he was grateful, and that these habits were important as soon everything would change.
As this was communicated he saw her face shut as the veneer returned, from there they remained as they were, ticking statues on an anxious vigil, soldiers waiting for dawn and marching orders. The group continued waiting into the early hours of the morning. It wasn't until they heard doors close and the tell tale crack of the house elves clearing the war room that they relaxed some what. Theodore stood after hours on the floor, his book long finished.
"We aren't needed tonight." he said simply looking at Pansy and Daphne.
They looked up and seemed to understand his meaning, they gathered themselves and flooed home through the enormous fireplace. With the two gone the remaining four relaxed a little. Blaise budged up on the generous armchair and indicated for Arya to join him, she gazed at him in a bored way and remained where she was.
"Oh for God's sake woman come and sit with me, its because of you i can't drink myself into a stupor on nights like tonight and I'll be damned why I stopped just because you told me too but the least you can do is let me feel you near to put me at ease."
Her eyes softened and she rose from her position on the chair to stand before his sprawling figure, his left hand running through his hair and over his face. She picked it up and held it in hers for a minute before deftly dropping into the gap between his side and the arm of the chair, wrapping his right arm around her as she got settled. Theodore moved to the vacated seat as Draco passed him his unfinished drink, which Theo drained, then preceded to flatten himself out on the floor in front of the fire, stretching himself out like a cat with his arms behind his head and legs crossed. They sat their for a few moments, stewing, all mulling over the same thoughts, all knowing what had caused the amusement in the 'war room' of Draco's house and all aware that at some point all of them would be called on to 'participate' in the horrors that dictated their lives. All ware that at some point a decision had to be made. Each individually, without influence from anyone else. A decision had to be made. They all would choose in their best interest , for regardless of connection and allies, they were all Slytherin. They looked out for themselves. Arya felt Blaise's hands clench unknowingly on her shoulder, she pulled his hand up to drape over her collarbone and held onto it there as she felt him smile into her hair. The other two politely ignored their small moment of intimacy as it was only between these four that they were safely allowed to exhibit any behavior not covered by their facade. Relationships were ill advised to people of their position, in war times and not, obvious displays of attachment were dangerous, visible beacons of weakness to be exploited by your enemy.
After their moment Draco announced from his alarmingly flat position on the floor that life was far too complicated for this early in the morning and that it was obscene that anyone should be doing anything other than sleeping. He also added in that he had a right mind to kill his old man and revise the enchantments on their house to let no one enter unless he was in the mood.
The group snorted lightly and all offered various flaws in the plan or sympathies on his steadily depleting supply of sanity.
The air between the group became thick after this outburst, all returning t their previous train of thought. For there were questions that needed answering, important questions, life altering questions, but none of them were brave enough to acknowledge them. All four knew that the other three had no intention of being whipped into submission by a deranged wizard whose glory days had long past with the credibility stripped from his arguments as soon as everyone uncovered his true parentage. They are Slytherin's, they pick the winning side, and as the four reflected on the splendor of their respective families and reputations, then compared the state of family and affairs currently, it was blindingly obvious that they weren't on the winning side. Regardless of the outcome of the war, living as a guest in your own house and humiliated and shamed by someone whose own lineage is that which he scorns so venomously, was not winning. Regardless of the outcome of the war, in their current political state, they lost. Either way. This they knew, they also knew that as the leading families of wizarding Europe and the leading students of Slytherin, it was them who would have to make the decision on behalf of those whom they represented as to their actions this year.
For Slytherin is a monarchy, governed by the ruling families of Nott, Zabini, Malfoy and Grey, these positions you inherited and were respected in Slytherin above that of even decisions this year would effect an entire generation, the consequences of the path these four teenagers would choose would come to change the face of the wizarding world. This was a responsibility that none of the four were ready for, but that they had to embrace none the less.
"it's the second to last day of break, what is Hogwarts going to look like when we return? With Snape as headmaster, what new roles are we going to have take up to maintain the balance? Or is balance even what we should be striving for?" Arya questioned to the room, in her efficient way of cutting to the point everyone is so clumsily avoiding.
No one answered. She didn't expect them to. They sat in silence together, staring at the flames until the sun began to rise in the world outside that room.