Chapter Twenty: In Which Sheep Shit tries to be part of the cool crowd
"It's been three weeks, Nott," Hermione said cautiously, "don't you think we have to make an appearance by now?"
Theo continued to lie, motionless, on his bed. He was pretty sure he smelled rather rank, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't bring himself to care about anything, anymore.
"Nott?" Granger repeated after a moment. "Theodore?"
"I've been on four pointless raids in the past week alone," he finally said, mulish, "I'm not sure how much more going out I want to do."
"It's not that I want to," Granger said, slowly, "it's that…won't it look suspicious, if we don't? Like you care too much about Montague dying?"
"I do care about Montague dying," Theo hissed angrily, "he's my best friend."
"But he's considered a traitor by the rest of them," Granger pointed out reasonably, "you don't want to get tarred by the same brush, Theodore. Then they might take me away."
"Well we wouldn't want that, would we?" Theo said, sarcastic.
Granger fell silent. Theo found he actually wanted to look at her expression right now, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction. He continued to look at his ceiling some more. He was very familiar by now with its design. That was why he didn't know she had moved until the bed sank next to him. Theo's neck whipped around. She kept startling him. She moved like a fucking cat.
"Nott," Hermione said, her voice gentle, "I thought you wanted me here." She placed a hand on Theo's calf and his heart started to race.
Traitor, he hissed to his hormones. Fucking virgin traitor body. We're not supposed to want a Mudblood.
"I was distinctly under the impression that you hate me," he said, snide. He yanked his calf away with some effort. They never touched anymore, him and Granger. Not since that night with Bellatrix, and that night she had patted him on the back while he sobbed like a bitch.
"I don't hate you," she said, voice still gentle. She placed her hand on him again, higher. On his thigh. Her touch burned. Theo felt something twitch against his will in his pants.
"Bullshit," he sneered, "fucking bullshit. I wish you would stop lying to me. You fooled me at first, but now I know what you're doing." This time however, he couldn't bring himself to wiggle out of her touch. His body wouldn't let him.
"What am I doing?" Granger asked, her tone still soothing. Fake. Cloying.
"You know what you're doing," Theo hissed. His traitorous body made a split second decision to ally with his angry mind, and he sat up swiftly, grabbing Granger's hand off of his thigh. He pushed her back on the bed, looming over her. Her eyes were wide, startled. He had time to notice how pretty her eyes were before he kissed her, hard. She made a muffled noise that he couldn't decipher against his mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside. Merlin, why hadn't he done this ages ago? It was the perfect distraction from the current misery of his life. Granger bit his tongue, hard.
"Ow!" Theo yelped, sitting back.
"God Nott, you really smell," Granger said, disgusted. She wiped her mouth.
Blood trickled through his mouth from his tongue.
"What the hell was that?" he asked, his incredulity puncturing his depressed funk, at least a little.
"I could say the same to you," Granger retorted rudely.
"You were clearly asking me to kiss you," Theo argued, annoyed.
"When you haven't bathed in a month?" Granger demanded, her pretty Mudblood eyes skeptical.
"It's been three days!" Theo retorted, wounded.
"That is seriously disgusting, Nott," Granger said, her lips pursed.
"But you were!" Theo said, truly confused now. "You were groping me! And using this super fake voice that you never use!"
"I was trying to comfort you in your grief!" Granger snapped, "Like a friend would. A friend," she emphasized.
"Well alright, what's all that kissing about in the past?" Theo demanded. Montague's death had changed his behavior in many ways. One of them was his not giving a shit about playing games with Granger anymore.
"It was your idea, if you recall!" Granger retorted, "you fake declared you loved me, and then mauled me!"
"You kept letting me! And you told me how to do it better!" Theo said, his voice rising.
"Well if it was going to happen, might as well make it pleasant as possible for me," Granger said reasonably.
Theo stared at her. She stared back.
"Well, can I do it again, or not?" he demanded finally. Fucking body. Fucking hormones. The internal Slytherin pure-blood voice had been laughing for at least five minutes at him.
Granger wrinkled her nose at him. "Not while you smell," she said firmly, "not while you're being a jerk."
Theo stared at her. What was happening to his life? What the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he control himself around one pretty Mudblood with terrible hair? You just thought she was pretty! The internal Slytherin pure-blood laughed at him. Granger!
He vaulted out of the bed, away from her. She stared at him, her eyebrows raised.
"Are you finally alive again?" She asked him caustically. "Took you long enough."
"I'm showering," Theo said firmly, trying to regain some control. "I'm brushing my teeth for a long time. And then I'm kissing you for at least a half hour."
Granger's eyebrows raised into her hairline.
"Any objections?"
"Can I get something else to wear?" she demanded. "If I have to wear this stupid Hogwarts uniform one more day I'm going to scream. Can't you get me some jeans, and a jumper or something?"
"A what? And a what?" Theo said, baffled.
"It's—nevermind," Hermione sighed. "But…something else at least, Nott?"
"Done," Theo said firmly, "but I can't get you new clothes for tonight. After the kissing, we have to go to dinner with the others. You're right, our absence has been—"
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Granger said sweetly.
Theo frowned, his eyes squinting a little at her in confusion. "I said, our absence—"
"No, no, before that," Granger said, a little smile playing on her mouth, "the first part of that sentence."
Theo wracked his brain, lost.
"Í believe the phrase was, 'you're right,'" Hermione said, smug.
Theo actually felt something weird happening around his mouth. It took him a moment to realize that he was fighting a smile. He had smiled so rarely in his entire life, and not at all for at least two months.
"You're always right, Granger," he said, fighting the smile harder, "I thought you knew that by now."
"I like to hear Slytherin boys admit it," she told him.
"I'll admit it every day if I get to kiss you," he said to her. He realized, to his own horror, that he was flirting. Theodore Nott had never flirted a day in his life. He didn't think he was physically capable of it. He couldn't fight it anymore, and a smile burst from him, large, and surprisingly sweet. It made his face, which he had not fully grown into yet, something approaching handsome.
Granger looked very startled for a moment, and then she smiled back.
"Are you going to stop arguing with me so much now?" she asked him, a teasing tone to her voice, and Theo's heart pounded. He ignored the mocking Slytherin's voice laughing. He ignored his constant pain he had been suffering over Montague, pushed it away from him fully, deep inside. He forgot his worry about the other Death Eaters. About what was happening to Katie Bell. Hermione Granger was flirting back with him.
"And why would I do that, Granger?" he asked her. He was still smiling. It was still making him almost handsome. "When it's so much fun?"
Draco Malfoy sat at the dinner table, next to the loyal Crabbe. They were without Goyle, since his death at the hands of King Pagber, but Goyle had never understood Draco like Crabbe did. Draco was Mudblood less, still, like so many of the other Death Eaters who had not received favor. If he had it his way, he would remain that way forever. With one exception.
Draco would take Hermione Granger, if he had the chance. He would take her away from the other Death Eaters if Nott ever died, and then he would help her escape. And she would help him escape. Draco Malfoy had two dark, burning secrets that he believed no one else knew, except perhaps Theodore Nott. He was wrong about this, but that is what he assumed.
One, was that he had harbored a crush on Hermione Granger since the day she had entered his carriage on the Hogwarts Express and bossily demanded that he reveal the location of a lost toad. Two, was that he didn't hate Mudbloods and Muggles at all. He never had. He never would. But his terror of Lucius, of Lucius's friends, for his mother's safety kept him toeing the line. Not just toeing it, but leaping over it and screaming insults at Mudbloods and Muggles at every chance. Mudbloods including Hermione Granger. While Draco was positive that, until very recently, no one had known his second secret, he was less sure that no one knew the first. He knew that everyone thought he wanted to fuck Granger, but that was different. Almost all pure-bloods were hypocrites about that. It wasn't looked down upon. But he had…more feelings than that about her. More than what was healthy of a good little pure-blood bigot.
"Move over, Malfoy," Theodore Nott said from behind his shoulder.
Draco was startled out of his reverie, and met the eyes of the very Mudblood girl he had been worrying about for months. She gave him a strange look, one she had never bestowed upon Draco Malfoy. He realized later that it was a look without contempt.
"Finally back from the dead Nott?" a young recruit cackled from down the bench.
Higgs and Bletchley laughed. The other, newest recruits craned their necks around. So this was the elusive Mr. Nott, ruthless leader of the raids of one of the junior Death Eater teams. Theo hadn't been seen for weeks, since Montague died, except on raids, and they kept their hoods and masks on for those. Nott had been so silent, and cold, and efficient, that they had all been terrified of him. He had become something of an urban legend, the young Death Eater trusted with Mudblood enemy number one, Hermione Granger. They were shocked by his weedy appearance.
"Shut up, Sheep Shit," Theo snapped.
"It wasn't even me that—" Sheep Shit started, outraged.
"He told you to shut up, Sheep Shit," Pansy snarled, as she approached the bench. "Hello, Theo. I see you're feeling better?"
Draco made a face. Sadly, Pansy didn't miss it.
"What's your problem, Malfoy?" she snarled.
Draco was sorely tempted to answer, "Your ugly face," but it went against all of his hard work at his new persona. "Just the smell of Mudbloods," he said, giving a meaningful look at Goldstein, Dukes, and Granger.
"Suck it up and deal with it," Nott ordered, "and move over, Malfoy."
The table of new recruits looked more impressed by Nott by the minute, regardless of his young and non terrifying appearance.
Malfoy could scarcely believe his luck. He moved over, and Granger sat next to him. He tried to shoot her an unobtrusive look, but she was looking at him sideways, through her long eyelashes and caught him. He looked hastily away. Pansy heaved herself into the seat across from Nott, shoving Higgs over, her Mudbloods sitting on the floor when Higgs refused to move further. Nott started attacking his food vigorously, and Draco was heartened. He had, he believed, exactly two allies that were not shackled Mudbloods. Vincent Crabbe, and Theodore Nott. And Nott had been acting crazy since Montague had died. He wondered what had changed.
Granger piled food on her own plate, ignoring how Pansy watched her, her dark eyes alive with malice.
"So this is the Mudblood Granger, huh Nott?" Sheep Shit said, belligerent. "Why haven't you brought the bitch down before this?"
"I have," Nott corrected, his voice even colder than his eyes, "but you weren't a Death Eater then. Just a squalling brat who couldn't even tie his shoes."
"Not that is any different from now," Higgs put in. The more seasoned junior Death Eaters laughed together. The younger ones laughed tentatively as well. Sheep Shit glared at them.
"So, Granger," Pansy started, her expression promising something nasty.
"Where's Flint?" Theo cut in, as if he had never heard Pansy.
She looked affronted.
"We haven't seen him either, since Montague, Goyle, and Warrington died," Bletchley shrugged.
"And Jones and Douglas," Sheep Shit corrected, irritated.
Everyone ignored him, as usual.
Theo paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. Malfoy noticed that Granger froze for a moment as well, before taking a large sip of pumpkin juice as a cover.
"You haven't seen him at all?" he said carefully, "outside of raids?"
"We haven't seen you either, Theo," Pansy reminded him, her fake 'seductive' voice back.
Draco was pretty sure he saw Granger hide a look of disgust.
"So no one's seen Bell, either?" Theo said finally, as if he didn't really care either way. Draco knew better.
"I wish," Bletchley grunted, "I miss seeing her hot ass."
"Who's that now?" One of the new recruits called down bravely to them.
Shockingly, he was not ignored.
"The hottest Mudblood around," Higgs said, "used to belong to Montague."
The recruit's nose wrinkled. "The one he turned blood traitor for?"
"The very one," Higgs said, swilling some firewhiskey. Higgs had been slowly turning into a drunk the past three weeks since the giant raid.
"Merlin, she must be hot," the recruit ventured.
"Didn't we say she was?" Bletchley snapped, "Now shut up."
The recruit turned away hastily, red faced.
The distraction had not been in vain. Draco had used this entertaining discussion to slip Granger a note he had been hiding in his robe pockets for awhile now.
She took it so nonchalantly that there was no way anyone else had noticed. Draco was impressed.
Finally, Nott stopped gulping down food and said, as if he had no interest in the matter, "I guess Flint enjoys leftovers a lot, then."
The other recruits laughed. Draco, and Granger, did not.
If Draco could have read Hermione Granger's mind at that very moment, he would have known she had only one thing on her mind. And it was not Theodore Nott.
"What do you mean?" Oliver Wood asked, his voice low. The other members of The Order of the Phoenix exchanged looks. "What the hell do you mean?" he repeated, his voice rising rapidly.
"Mr. Wood," Professor McGonagall said firmly, "please bring yourself under control."
"Why should he?" Fred Weasley burst out, angry.
"You just said Katie—" George Weasley began, also angry.
"Nothing has changed," Dumbledore said, soothing, "we already knew that Katie has been captured by Death Eaters. We know one of them is holding her."
Oliver dropped his head into his hands, pulling at his hair. He started down at the table of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
"Yeah, but it wasn't Marcus Fucking Flint before!" George Weasley yelled.
"George!" Molly Weasley said, rising from her chair, shocked and embarrassed.
"Montague's bad," Fred agreed, "but he's no Flint. Flint is a fucking nutcase."
"Fred!" Molly said, and rounded next on Arthur Weasley, who was sitting silent beside his wife. "Arthur, do something about your sons!"
"That is quite all right, my dear Molly," Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye, "there is no need for apologies. This is a horrible time for all—"
"When are we going to rescue them?" Oliver asked, his voice low. He looked up from his hands, his face set.
"Oliver, if we knew where they were, don't you think—" Remus Lupin began to placate.
"No, I don't!" Oliver yelled, "I think he's known all along where they're keeping them!" He stood up, placing his hands on the table. The other members of the Order looked at him with apprehension, or with contempt. Some of them began gripping their wands in their pockets.
Fred and George stood up as well.
"He's right," Fred said, "why aren't we going there now?"
"Sit down, boy!" Moody barked. "Don't you think if Dumbledore knew—"
"I have an idea where they're being held, yes," Dumbledore said coolly. The other members who had been on the verge of defending Dumbledore fell silent, shocked.
Oliver felt vindicated. It was an extremely hollow victory.
"But only an idea, boys," Dumbledore continued, kindly, "and if I am wrong, we will get them all killed. We cannot risk that."
"And can't…" Oliver said, his hands shaking in rage. In impotence. In self loathing, for not rescuing Katie when she had been an innocent 15 year old who had confided in him. "And can't we find out if this idea is correct or not? Can't we at least do that?"
Dumbledore regarded him over his half-moon spectacles. "I believe, at long last, there is a way we can," he said finally. "In fact, that was the whole point why I called this meeting today."
Author note: Good news my friends! A huge portion of this story has been finished, and I am now editing it. Expect regular updates. Thank you for reading and reviewing.