A rock dug into his hip but he didn't dare move.
His eyes flickered to the Aurors standing too close of Mrs. Malfoy. He still felt the crush of their fingers around his wrists as they tied him with anti-magic bracelets, as they pried his wand away from him. Anger had washed over him then, betrayed, angry, broken.
His heart beat a storm in his chest and he had to close his eyes, had to get it under control.
A Nott never showed his emotions, a Nott was cold, unimpressed.
But all he felt was fear, terror.
His father would have wanted many things from him, but is father was in Azkaban, rotting away, and he was covered in blood that was both his and wasn't, with rock digging in his muscles.
Naked.
That's how he felt without his wand. Naked, afraid.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, tasted copper and it alleviated his pain.
A bit.
He looked at his fellow Slytherin. Pansy was sitting in front of him, angled in a way to keep track of their movements. She was such a bitch this Pansy, a bitch who would put herself in harm's way for them. She'll be shunned. He swallowed painfully. Blaise's pretty head wasn't far.
They all looked at each other.
Their parents' madness brought them here, their tendency to make bad decisions.
He wanted to throw up. He wanted to run. He wanted to fight – but what?
Nott shifted when the Aurors had their backs turned on him and crossed his legs. Pain soared in his back but he shut the moan that threatened to spill.
Kids.
Hell, they were just kids, playing the game the grown-ups spread before them. They played their games and they failed.
He looked at the other side but couldn't observe them. Covered in blood, ghosts, and demons in their eyes already.
They were all screwed up. Granger was covered in dust, stone and blood, her fingers were shaking around her wand.
Potter – that fucking Boy-Who-Lived-Again-And-Again was grinning but it was dead, cold. Longbottom stood away, shaking like a leaf.
He couldn't speak, couldn't voice his thoughts, couldn't speak to the other side. Couldn't tell them that they were going to be ok.
In some years. They would be ok.
"Move. We'll have a pretty field trip to jail, snakes"