Châtain Foncé & Nightmares
Chapter Ten: Charged
Theodore wondered sleepily at the texture of the wrist, notions of the feeling of wooden door frames still lurking just under the surface of his thoughts. He lifted his left hand absentmindedly and ran his two primary fingers along a stretch of the paler skin of the wrist, but abruptly withdrew his hand when he heard something above him that sounded like a stifled yelp. Hesitantly, he also relinquished the wrist.
eoOoe
Hermione drew her hand back towards her on impulse. She had, up until that point, been trying to turn invisible by standing still with great concentration, but she'd rather given up hope when he raised his other hand. Seeing the index and middle finger extended, Hermione had supposed her pulse was going to be taken, and was entirely startled by the softer motion performed instead.
She wasn't sure if she had made a sound in her head only, or if others could hear. Theodore Nott looked up right after, which strongly suggested the latter. Cheeks probably some shade of white or scarlet, she searched for something to say, some explanation to give. All she could find was a question.
"What-what was that for?" She demanded, making frantic, empty gestures with her hands in an attempt to describe the action.
"Sorry, I thought I was dreaming." Her cheeks grew hotter.
"And-and what, you just, you just stroke people's arms in your dreams, do you?" She didn't mean to sound so scolding, but felt an odd need to defend herself. The boy she scowled at did not glare back, but instead looked vaguely confused. A tilted eyebrow was the only indication of this.
"At least you were awake. The way I see it, Hermione, it's far more outlandish for you to have been touching me in my sleep. How did you know to find me here?" His head tilted slightly, as he was apparently awaiting an answer.
"I-I didn't know," Hermione stammered, frustrated at the obvious loss of ground in the conversation. "I was just looking for someplace to read without people making googly eyes and tossing things, and so I came here, and you turned up. Apparently sleeping on a table."
Hermione watched as he looked at her face, still wearing an expression devoid of any strong emotion himself, before he answered, "So, you're in the library, people are being bothersome, you go to this section and you find me here. Then, instead of leaving for somewhere unoccupied, you decided to molest me?"
"I did not molest you!" Hermione protested, her voice far louder than she'd meant for it to be, especially in a library. "I did not molest you," she repeated in a forced whisper. "You looked troubled, so I-I was trying to wake you up. I only tapped your shoulder when you grabbed my hand and, and held onto it."
Theodore nodded thoughtfully and looked down at the edge of the table. Hermione stared at him, still scowling and red-faced, until he looked up at her again. "Well," he said, "In my defence, I was asleep. Besides, you didn't seem to want it back until now, so that's hardly my fault."
The severity of Hermione's expression decreased as she drew her arms across her chest. "Obviously," she replied, "If I pulled my hand back, it would wake you."
Theodore put his palms down on either side of him and leaned back a little, studying Hermione from this new angle. "Yes, of course I would," he agreed. "But wasn't the point of tapping my shoulder that it would wake me up?"
eoOoe
Theodore watched as she rearranged her crossed arms, shifting her weight back and forth, as if she had to assume a perfect, comfortable standing-position before she would continue. Was she stalling?
"Right, it was the point, but you'll have to forgive me for being a bit confused after you held onto my hand like it was some sort of a doll." Theodore looked down at his own hands a little guiltily. He hoped she wouldn't hold his sleeping actions against him. What did it even mean to hold something like a doll?
The only doll Theodore had had as a boy wasn't even truly his. A distant cousin had left it behind once by mistake, then declined to bring it back with her the next visit after having already received a replacement from her parents. It was one of the Romanian cousins whose visits had increased with his mother's illness only to stop abruptly after her death.
His eyes were still on his hands but he didn't quite see them, his thoughts circling around that doll. What had been her name? Rata, that was it. And he'd tried to make her dance, but she'd only flopped around, a bit grotesquely, that is, until his father had—
"Theodore? Why won't you answer me?"
He looked up. "Sorry, I was just remembering something. What did you ask?"
Hermione pursed her lips again. Hermione made a huffy sort of noise, and Theodore realized he must've been staring. He winced a little, once again apologetic, and it seemed to soften her. At least, she looked less-scowly when she repeated her question.
"I asked: If you've been sleeping here all night, why are you in uniform? It's not my fault you looked like someone had jinxed you. People generally sleep in pajamas."
He considered this a moment before focusing instead on the almost triumphant look on Hermione's face. Was that it, though? There was something happy and fierce there, but not unfriendly.
"I didn't intend to sleep here. I didn't intend to sleep at all, really, so changing into pajamas never occurred to me."
She frowned. Was his answer disappointing? "So, you aren't one to keep a schedule?" she asked slowly.
He shook his head before remembering that he needed to give Hermione verbal answers. "I don't live in a very organized manner. I see the rationality in it, and I do attempt to keep my living spaces neat, but all the same, it isn't my natural response to chaos."
"What is, then?"
Theodore shifted on the table.
"Falling asleep in libraries." Now it was Hermione's turn to nod. Theodore wanted to explain it more clearly, but there was still a corner of his mind dedicated to considering the singular nature of Hermione's lips. He'd have to settle for this weird, foggy state of mind at the moment.
There was a silence then. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable, it was one of those silences where each person thought about what they were supposed to. Instead, though, Theodore wondered what it was he was supposed to be thinking of.
Finally, it seemed Hermione had collected whatever thoughts she'd been having. Theodore tried to read her face to no avail. She looked calmer, but pink still sat present in her cheeks. She was looking at him to speak first.
Theodore's gaze lingered on her eyes before quickly flitting to the chairs nearby him. "Please, do sit, Miss Granger? Let us continue our conversation with both of us civilly seated." Releasing his left leg from under his chin, he coaxed a chair out from under the table with his foot. Startled, or amused, he couldn't really tell which, the corner of Hermione's lip quirked up suddenly, and she obliged.
"So, Mr. Nott," she began. Theodore's stomach turned a little at the name, but of course she didn't notice. It had been his fault, anyway, for addressing her formally first. Still, there was something like sympathy, or concern, in her face. At least, he supposed that was it. Hard to tell.
"I'm coming to realize I'm not really well acquainted with Slytherin much at all. You were working with Blaise Zabini in potions, are you two close?"
Theodore was a little taken aback by the question. He studied her face for a moment, looking for some way to gauge whether he was supposed to offer more information on himself, or more on Blaise. He decided to be vague.
"I'm closer to Blaise than most people are, and he to me. All the same, I don't know what we are especially close."
"Oh." This answer didn't satisfy her, but she seemed unable to put her follow-up question into words. Theodore wondered if she would make an excuse and leave, she was looking now at the break in shelves that would lead her to the rest of the library. It would be easy to let her go, but for some reason he felt compelled to draw out the conversation.
"I'm sorry, I'm not a great conversationalist." He realized that was a terrible way to make conversation, so he ran a hand through his hair and tried again. "It's an awfully nice day, shouldn't you be outside watching Quidditch?" That sounded like he didn't want her there. She opened her mouth to reply, and he quickly added, "I mean, I know you came here specifically to molest me, and all, and certainly the library benefits from your presence, but you can understand my curiosity. "
The look on her face implied that she couldn't understand it at all. Theodore felt heart rise in his cheeks and was immediately frustrated with himself. Why did he suddenly have to be terrible at talking?
No, that wasn't true, he was never particularly good at it. He was bad at people, horrible at people. He wished, though, that this once he could actually read and interact with someone properly.
"Well, I'd come to study, but now," her voice trailed off.
"Now?" Theodore questioned, sincerely wondering how the sentence would finish.
"Now there's something more interesting to do."
"More interesting than studying?"
She shrugged. "We'll see. I am sorry for waking you up, Theodore, but I was afraid you were having another nightmare. You said they're bad, so, I didn't want to leave you." Her words were a little fragile-sounding, like she had to force herself to say them.
Theodore was a little surprised at this. Like the embrace before, there was a startling directness and sincerity about Hermione. Perhaps it was a Gryffindor trait.
Not quite sure how to respond, he busied himself with sliding off the tabletop and making his way into the seat next to Hermione, then turning it to face her. She followed suit, turning her chair toward him.
"That was kind of you. I was alright, though. Bad dreams are no more real than good dreams, only more frequent." This drew that concerned expression from Hermione again.
"Have you tried any sort of potion for it?"
He smiled a little at this, not meaning to. "Most common potions, I don't react strongly to at this point."
"Why's that?" Her head was tilted now so that her curls spilled over mostly one shoulder.
"My father," he answered flatly. There was no reply, so he continued. "If you drink potions similar, but not exactly like, certain potions, your body sort of learns how to shield you from it. Like becoming a physical legilimens, but against one potion specifically."
"Like a vaccine," Hermione replied, almost eagerly if he wasn't mistaken.
"I'm not familiar with the term," he admitted, "But perhaps. In any case, my father went through a..." he struggled to find the right word. "He went through a period of time," he sidestepped, "Where he was very weary of potions, so to say. He wanted to be sure I wouldn't be poisoned by anyone, so for a year or two, a lot of my time was spent drinking potions."
eoOoe
Blaise Zabini's word for Theodore's father came to mind at once. "Awful," he had called him. So, naturally, Hermione was a bit suspicious. Was Theodore covering for something his father had done to him?
"That wouldn't affect basic sleeping potions, though, would it? I mean, unless poorly made, they're hardly known to be dangerous."
He smiled a little at this, which made Hermione nervous.
"You wouldn't think so, no. My father wasn't really in a position to prepare the potions himself, though. So, I went through his books and made what I could."
This seemed impossible, but then, Hermione had been very advanced at maths and literature at a young age, so she supposed she shouldn't underestimate Theodore's potions talents.
"How old were you?"
He looked thoughtful for a moment, then answered, "Probably eight, maybe seven."
"All on your own?" She tried unsuccessfully not to sound doubtful. If Theodore was insulted by this, it didn't show on his face. Little did, except perhaps a hint of the smile that had graced it moments before, but this Hermione may have imagined.
"Well, my father offered some instruction. It could be a bit... cryptic, sometimes. But usually I found what I was looking for in his books. Problem is, we're on the wrong side of the Roman Empire."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at this. "Are we?"
"Well, for that sort of potionwork, I mean. Ancient Constantinople had this absolutely fascinating community that just churned out potions and antidotes and, eventually, sort of preventative measures for potions. Not protective charms, but other potions themselves. There's a method for it, but I haven't pieced all of it together. All of the best books were burned, and," Theodore stopped suddenly, to Hermione's disappointment. He seemed to realize, as Hermione had, that he'd grown more animated as he spoke, gesticulating with the absent-minded precision of a retired orchestra conductor. Now his hands fell into his lap, and he spoke again in a softer tone. "Right, so, I just tried to build up defenses against all the potions I could find that I thought I could prepare without actually killing myself. I wasn't really thinking about the disadvantages at the time, I just wanted to please him."
Hermione nodded. Now the story did seem reasonable-there was nothing guarded about the way he explained the potions. Still, the role of his father struck her as odd. She wanted to ask more, but knew better.
"I hope you aren't immune to charms, then?" To her surprise, Theodore laughed. Well, chuckled. Barely. It was an airy sound, a slight wisp of a laugh, but he smiled all the same.
"What?" she demanded, smiling hesitantly herself. "What's so funny?"
Theodore's smile vanished. "Oh, I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to laugh. It's just-what you said."
"What about it?"
"It's part of a line. One of those bits of dialogue a bad author turns to when they don't know how to introduce a romantic lead."
"Oh?" Hermione wondered how acquainted he was with poor writing.
"Yeah. Say it again? What you said, I mean. I'll show you, if you want." He looked entirely serious, but being unaware of things made Hermione a little nervous.
"I hope you aren't immune to charms?" she repeated.
There was some weird power in the way Theodore looked into her eyes when he replied, though Hermione would hardly admit this even to herself.
"Oh, your charms are working on me just fine, I assure you." He tilted his head slightly and smirked, eyebrows raised, one fluid motion.
Unprepared for the flawless performance, Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She opened her mind to say something clever, then close it again, plan abandoned. The oddly coy expression left Theodore's face and he looked blank as ever again.
"Sorry if that was weird," his voice was no longer molten as it had been, "It's supposed to be romantic. Obviously it's contrived, though. But there you go, classic wizarding cliché."
Hermione nodded. "I can-I can see someone desperately putting that in a book, yeah. Do you read that sort of thing often?"
Theodore shrugged, seemingly unaware of the uncomfortable increase in Hermione's heart rate. She silently scolded herself for being so easily affected by something so trite.
"There are days when I'll read anything," he explained. "It's good to read the things people leave lying about in the common room."
"Isn't that an invasion of their privacy?"
He shrugged again, seeming to disagree. "Well, it's not like reading their diaries. The funny thing with people is, they don't mind if you read the books they leave around. They see no harm in it because it's not something they personally wrote, they don't understand that what you read can be just as intimate an indicator of your thoughts as what you write."
Hermione smiled at this. "So, the cheesy romance books you've apparently read, they're intimate indicators of your thoughts?"
He laughed a little again. "Oh, yes, definitely. I may seem like a standoff-ish Slytherin who sleeps in libraries, but at heart I'm just waiting to whisk every young witch away on my broomstick and read out all the poetry I've written her."
"Only after you've given her a love potion, of course," Hermione corrected.
Theodore nodded solemnly. "Oh, of course. Naturally it will be intended for her close friend, who's more shallow but prettier-faced than she is, but once she's fallen for me, I will inevitably fall for her in return, and we'll get along wonderfully."
"Until she realized the potion was meant for someone else," Hermione added. Theodore smiled again.
"Naturally. At that point she will question both the validity of her own love and mine, express this verbally in a shrieking match that all of the school is privy to, then lock herself up in her room for days before her quirky younger friend coaxes her out."
"Then you'll confess your love and apologize again."
Theodore nodded, a smile flickering across his face before he feigned serious again, looking into her eyes. "I'll say, 'Oh, Hermione. I've always needed you, people just don't always know what they need right away. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me? I'll do anything.'"
Determined not to allow herself to become flustered again by his act, Hermione crossed her arms and leaned away from him in her chair. "But dear Theodore, would you die for me? How can I trust you after this?"
"I would sooner die the most gruesome of deaths than see a drop of worry grace your pretty face, fair Hermione," he replied earnestly.
She knew he was only joking and, what's more, than his lines were positively awful. Still, if bad wizarding novels ever made their way into muggle cinema, they'd have a job outcasting Theodore Nott.
"Do they really use words like 'a drop of worry'?" she questioned, leaning in again.
Theodore nodded, then held up his right hand. "I swear of it. At every possible opportunity."
"How can those Slytherin girls stand to read those books?"
"Now, Hermione, let's not call on gender stereotypes. I'll have you know Goyle reads the I Fell for an Auror series constantly."
"You're joking."
"I'm not. When he isn't beating up second years, he's a die-hard romantic, I swear. This is why it's important to read people's books."
Hermione wondered if the books were a bit above Goyle's level, but almost felt bad thinking it, and chose not to say it out loud.
"Any more interesting revelations about classmates?"
Theodore shook his head. "Most people read what you'd expect. Lot's of magazines-those, I usually skip, to be honest."
"Witch Weekly," Hermione murmured knowingly, to which Theodore nodded.
"What do you read Hermione?"
"Oh, uh.." It was a question she was often asked but never prepared to answer. How could you sum up such an expansive, yet selective, collection of books in one sentence or less? "I suppose mostly non-fiction. But, I like children's books."
"Is it alright if I ask about muggle literature?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows at the question. As usual, Theodore's face was expressionless, so she had to ask after his intent. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Theodore shrugged. He seemed to be getting better at adding words to his shrugs, though, and he spoke not long after. "Well, as a muggleborn, you're in the minority. It must get tiresome when people treat you as a spokesperson for muggleborns, or the resident-muggle expert. No one likes to get defined by something so arbitrary."
Hermione found herself wishing more people approached this as Theodore had. "Fair point. I don't mind though, I suppose because I'm so used to it. But, I appreciate your sensitivity to that. What did you want to ask?"
"Is there magic in it? I mean, so many devices central to wizarding plots have to do with magic. I know muggles have a concept of magic, but is it present in their literature?"
"Oh, omnipresent, just about. There are fairies and dragons, they're just read as something that isn't real, but since fiction is assumedly not real, it doesn't change the writing too much. Though, literature has a sort of a magic itself."
"The magic of reading?" She thought she saw something doubtful in his eyes, and rushed to make herself more clear.
"No, no, not like that. I mean, the suspension of disbelief. You can write something with characters too well spoken not to be fabricated and plots too intricate to be coincidental. Still, people read it seriously. That's all I mean by magic."
Theodore nodded. "Can I ask you something else? You don't have to answer, it's not about books."
Hermione nodded. "Sure," she said, though she herself wasn't.
"Didn't people notice you were a witch? I know we look the same as muggles, but even here you stand out." She was about to disagree and as if he sensed it, he continued, "I'm not being flattering, I wouldn't know how. I'm just wondering, sincerely, how it is no one noticed you were a witch?"
Hermione shook her head. "There's-there's no witchy quality about me. But if there had been, they wouldn't recognize it, would they? They don't know we exist."
Theodore nodded. "Right. That was a stupid question. I'm sorry."
Hermione laughed. "There's no such thing as stupid questions," she retorted, a slightly sing-song element sewn into a phrase too often heard repeated.
"But of course there is. Stupid questions absolutely exist."
In truth Hermione agreed, but the universe still saw fit to prove his statement valid almost immediately after.
"Hermione, what are you doing here?"
eoOoe
Theodore found it odd that although the question had been addressed to Hermione, Ron Weasley was looking directly at him. He wasn't quite glaring, but he didn't look happy to see Theodore either.
Theodore looked to Hermione, recognizing that he was not to be a participant in the coming conversation. This was when it occurred to him how close they were sitting. Their knees weren't quite touching, but this was more because one of her legs was situated in the space between his own. He hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, and supposed she hadn't either, as it seemed their chairs had naturally drawn towards each other as they'd been speaking. She leaned back now, so their torsos were appropriately distant, but her knee bumped briefly against his as she twisted in her chair to face the newly-present Gryffindor.
Theodore considered pushing his chair back, but there was something guilty in that action, and he didn't want to condemn himself in the unhappy redhead's eyes if he could help it. His other instinct was to run, but that, too, would call undesired attention.
"What do you mean, Ron?" she answered evenly. "I told you I'd be studying here."
"You don't look like you're studying."
"And you've been watching me for hours?"
Ron Weasley's response was to shoot an angry look at Theodore, at which point Hermione exhaled rather sharply.
"Look, Ron, is there something you need? I don't really understand why you're upset."
"You said you'd be studying."
"I was." Her tone was patient, adult.
"Looks like you've been spending time with your friend," he nodded to Theodore, this time keeping his eyes on Hermione. "How is that studying?"
"Some people study together, Ronald, as you are well aware. How is this your business?"
"It's my business if you're breaking plans with everyone to cozy up with him."
Now Hermione stood, which involved more unintended collisions with Theodore's legs. He took advance of the clumsy transition to move his chair back unnoticed.
"We were not 'cozying up,' for your information, Ronald." Now her tone was low and dangerous. It was a true show of Gryffindor bravery that Ron Weasley didn't seem affected by this. Somehow, though, Theodore expected Weasley didn't want his admiration.
"Oh, yeah? Sitting awfully close for two people studying, though, weren't you?"
"Merlin, Ronald, where was this imagination when we had divination journals?" He didn't respond to the attempt to lighten the conversation, and Hermione's tone turned frightening again. "We were just talking, and you wouldn't have an issue with it if it was a Hufflepuff."
"That's right, I wouldn't. Hufflepuffs aren't dangerous, Hermione." He threw an accusatory glance at Theodore.
Theodore didn't think he looked particularly dangerous. Glancing down at himself, all he saw was someone with a weedy sort of frame, messy robes and wrinkled shirtsleeves casting idle shadows on his empty hands. Not exactly a picture of physical intimidation.
"How would you even know if he's dangerous? You've never spoken to him! You aren't even addressing him now!" now Hermione's voice was rising, and Theodore felt the focus of the conversation shifting tragically towards him.
He was the only one not standing, but chose to stay seated even as Ron Weasley looked at him expectantly. He hoped it would be seen as an act of pacifism.
"He's not what's important here, Hermione." Oh, thank Merlin. "It's the betrayal that's the principle of the thing."
"Betrayal?" Hermione's repetition of the word emphasized just how ridiculous the statement was. Theodore realized too late that he'd snorted at this.
No longer with the luxury of avoiding direct interaction, Theodore stood. There was no befriending Weasley now, so his only goal could be to support Hermione without implicating her in whatever imagined evil Weasley had attached to Theodore in his mind.
"You got something to say, snake boy?" Ron demanded, hand sliding into his robes. Theodore crossed his arms, purposefully showing no intention to draw his own wand.
"His name is Theodore. Can't you at least try to be respectful?" Hermione fumed, composure fading rapidly.
It was Theodore who answered. "He doesn't have to respect me."
Weasley grinned at this, then turned to Hermione as if to show off. Quickly, though, he faced Theodore when the boy spoke again. "He has, however, failed to show respect to you, Hermione. Which, considering what good care I'm sure you take of him, is absolutely deplorable. Frankly, the way he stormed in, I'm surprised you'll even respond to him."
"See? He's trying to turn you against us!" Ron pointed a damning finger at Theodore, who raised an eyebrow deliberately in response. Frowning, Hermione looked from one to the other.
"Turn her against you?'" Theodore questioned, careful to keep his tone absolutely civil. "Unlike some of her friends, apparently, I don't really feel it's within my right to determine who Hermione does and doesn't talk to. Though-" he turned to Hermione now, "It's hard for me to understand how you can put up with this sort of display, but I'm sure on a whole your friendship is very gratifying."
"What's he mean, 'gratifying'?" Ron spat, hand still in his pocket as he took a step forward.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's saying, Ronald, that he gives you the benefit of the doubt, which is more than you've given him, obviously."
"It's really alright, Hermione," Theodore said softly, stepping away from his chair and towards the shelves behind them. "He doesn't know me."
"I know you well enough, you slimy little-"
"Ron!" Hermione interjected, furious.
"He's saying I'm a bad friend. I'm not thick."
"I'm sure you're a fine friend, normally," Theodore explained peaceably with a shrug. "I just don't see why you feel the need to act as if Hermione has committed a crime then ignore absolutely everything she says in her defense."
Ron gave a frustrated look to Theodore before focusing on Hermione. Now his voice was a strange mixture of anger and pleading, from what Theodore could tell. "I am listening, it's just-you don't see is, Hermione. The way he looks at you. It's disgusting." Hermione glanced back at Theodore before opening her mouth to reply. Ron cut her off, tone turned venomous. "You really think he just wants to talk? That he loves libraries, just like you? He's just pretending to listen because he wants to get into your robes and you're-you're letting him." Theodore wanted to stop him but the boy's eyes were wild. "It's pathetic, really. I'm just trying to look out for-"
Hermione burst past Weasley through the opening in the shelves, unimpeded by the harsh contact her shoulder made with his as she passed. This left Ron Weasely looking angry, confused, and possibly hurt. He was projecting a mix of emotions far too complex for Theodore to try to pick apart.
There was absolutely nothing helpful Theodore could have said as the Gryffindor boy drew his wand slowly from his robes. His arm stretched out unnecessarily, a straight line level with his wand and leading right to Theodore.
When the boy's mouth opened Theodore braced himself for whatever curse was coming.
"You see what you've done? Now shes crying. You-you made her cry."
It was absolutely the most stark example of denial and projection Theodore had witnessed in a good three years. It was laughable, but this time he was able to suppress that reaction. The best thing to do seemed to be to stand completely still. Clearly, Weasley didn't need his participation for a conversation to continue.
"You're a sick bastard for using her like this. Even if-even if you do really like her, you're bad for her. She deserves better than your lot."
When it became clear that Weasley wouldn't curse him, Theodore slowly returned to his seat, dragging it to align with the table's edge again. Weasley held eye contact with him for a long time before snarling again. "You'd better watch out, anyway. Don't let me catch you two again."
Then he turned away, throwing angry glances behind him a couple of time before his tall figure was lost in the distant cases of books. Now alone, Theodore found the Magical Creature Legislation section just as uninteresting as any other student might.
Pulling his chair out, he took the short route out of the library. It wasn't like him to seek out crying girls, but Merlin forbid a 'drop of worry grace her pretty face,' after all.
zxXxz
Note: Still inexcusably delayed, I know. I'm terribly sorry. Thank you so much for bearing with me, I hope you liked this chapter alright. Suggestions and criticism welcome. Take care -