Ch. 29 Alliances

Theo

Theo couldn't remember anyone's arms feeling like Luna's did as she pulled him to her in the dark of the cellar. Even though she was shaking from the cold, there was an affection, warmth and innocence in her embrace, causing that cauldron within him to awaken and bubble. Maybe he'd similarly cuddled with Daphne like this, when they'd been younger. And he knew, if he dug deep, he'd have memories of his mother hugging him like this, but he didn't allow himself to remember that fully. But with Cressida, and even Parvati, the embraces had been in the heat of something else.

Theo reciprocated the hug somewhat awkwardly and then drew back, away from Luna's arms.

"Are you okay?" he asked her urgently. Stupid question. Of course she wasn't: locked in a Death Eater cellar, with an eye covered in purple and black bruises and a cut to her lip.

"Yes, thank you, Theo. How are you?" Her voice, remarkably, still had that familiar lilting serenity to it.

"Fine," he said dismissively. "We need to get you out of here."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"What?" he snapped.

"Well, when they find out I'm gone, they'll know someone helped us - and by 'us', I mean, I couldn't leave Mr Ollivander here on his own - and they'll go after everyone indiscriminately unless you own up - and I don't want you getting in trouble too. And, if I'm gone, they'll probably go after my father - the reason I'm here is the only reason he's being left alone I'd imagine - he is being left alone, isn't he? He is okay?" It was the first time Theo had heard anxiety in her voice and saw it in her face - in the furrowing of her brow.

"As far as I know, he's fine Luna," Theo reassured.

"So, I think it's best if I stay here -"

"But Luna -"

"It's okay. After the first few days, they've mostly left me alone. Pettigrew brings us food. I think they've mostly forgotten I'm here."

"But -"

"There is one thing you could do for me though -"

"What?" Theo asked eagerly.

"There's a galleon I had - it was taken from me when I got here, it's sewed into the lining of my small purple bag. I think Narcissa took it."

"A galleon? Luna, I could give you a hundred galleons - but I don't think they'll get you out of this cellar."

"Oh, I know. But it's a special galleon…" Luna trailed off but continued to look into his eyes with a penetrating stare, and Theo understood what she was communicating with it: that the galleon was useful and needed, but it was better for both of them if Luna didn't share its secrets. Theo knew she was right. Recently, he had thought more and more about Voldemort's advanced legilimency skills, and realised the less people knew of others' secrets, the less people were in danger.

Theo couldn't fault Luna's logic - it would endanger her father, and probably others as too, if he helped her escape. He hated the feeling of helplessness at the thought of leaving Luna here. But, if there was one thing he'd learned about Luna Lovegood it was that, although she may look as fragile as one of Trelawney's crystal balls, her will was as strong as a mountain troll's right hook.

"Of course I'll get you that galleon," Theo said resignedly. "And here, take this." Theo took off his jumper, held it out in front of him, pointed his wand at it and recited several incantations in succession. The jumper unfurled and enlarged, transforming in to a large, thick blanket which he handed to Luna. "I've charmed it so it keeps the heat. It should keep you both warm. But everyone else will just see it as an old rag."

Luna's face broke in to one of her delighted smiles and she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, snuggling in to it. "Thank you, Theo. It's lovely."

Theo nodded shortly in acknowledgement of Luna's gratitude. And then he forced himself to say the next words, even though it risked the turmoil inside him to shift and spill over, because she deserved it. She deserved so much more but it was all he could give her in that moment:

"I'm sorry Luna. I'm sorry this has happened to you."

After Theo exited the cellar, he carefully locked the door and re-conjured the Malfoy's protective spells. His first guess was that Luna's bag would be somewhere in Narcissa's bedroom - they wouldn't have thought it valuable enough to keep in the family safe. And it would be best to try and get it tomorrow, when Narcissa was hosting the New Year's Day lunch; she prided herself on her hosting skills and would hate to be away from her guests.

As Theo started to head up the hallway to his bedroom, his stomach churned queasily and he realised his mouth was parched. He needed to down some water and preferably eat something to ward off the worst of the inevitable hangover he'd wake up with tomorrow. So he headed to the kitchen, and as he entered saw a figure sitting at the long wooden table, nursing a mug of hot milk in her hands and clad in blue and grey checkered pajamas.

"Hey, Daphne," he said as he walked over to a shelf and grabbed a goblet.

"Hey. Couldn't sleep," Daphne explained. "Cressida chucked you out of her bed?"

"No..." Theo debated telling Daphne the truth, about who was locked in the damp and cold under their feet whilst they sipped on hot milk before slipping into soft, warm beds, but thinking again of Voldemort's legilimency, decided it was more… containing not too. "Couldn't sleep either," It was partly true. "Nice PJs," he commented as he filled his goblet with water and grabbed some crackers from the pantry. "Very... Ravenclaw ," he finished as he sat down next to his Daphne. Normally, commenting to a Slytherin that they owned something that sported the colours of another Hogwarts house was the epitome of insulting. But rather than looking offended, Daphne smiled smugly.

"Thanks. They were a Christmas present."

A draft blew in through the door of the kitchen then, causing Daphne to shiver involuntarily and for Theo to instinctively put his arm around her shoulder. Daphne placed her mug down and wrapped both her arms tightly around his waist, leaning her face in to the crook of his shoulder. As was usually the case when they were alone together, Daphne's ice queen persona was non-existent. Theo could smell the new cotton of her pajamas, but there was something else as well - just a small hint of that other scent he had smelt on her numerous times last term - so familiar yet not so. But why would her new pajamas smell of it?...Or rather, of them ?

"Who're they from?" Theo dug for information.

"A friend," Daphne stated with amicable finality.

"Right." And he left it there because he appreciated that Daphne was entitled to her secrets too.

"I love how you're always so warm , Theo." Daphne said gratefully, nuzzling her face in to the fabric of his shirt. "Do you remember when we used to crash in each other's beds and I used to say you're like my giant human hot -"

"Hot water bottle. I remember," Theo finished softly. They had often ended up sleeping in each other beds, before adolescence had come along and made it awkward.

"Will you do that tonight, Theo? Come and crash in my bed...things have been...it would make it less lonely...I promise I won't accidentally kick you?"

Theo smiled. "Sure, Phenie," he replied gently.


Lavender

It was late afternoon on New Year's Eve and Lavender was seating herself at the kitchen table, whilst her mother, Iris Brown, meticulously charmed 'Thank you' cards to those that had gifted them Christmas presents. Her father had had to travel abroad for work and had departed on Boxing Day morning; he had spent more time abroad than in the UK for the last few years of his daughter's life.

Iris had just called her daughter down from her bedroom for 'a chat' and Lavender, with a sinking heart, had known what that meant: the obligatory talk that her mother contrived every holiday, wherein she dissected the events of the previous school term and all of Lavender's failings, and laid forth plans for Lavender's term ahead.

Iris glanced sharply across at Lavender's hand as her daughter sat down. "I'm really disappointed that you've managed to be marked as a blood traitor Lavender. It's shameful. It really is."

And so it begins, Lavender thought, as she looked down at the pinky-white scar on her hand. The phoenix tears had held up; the wound hadn't bothered her since it had been doused in them. She didn't respond to her mother's comment. She had tried several times over the holidays to tell her mother about the Book Burning, the Crucios, about the mutilation of Seamus' hand and the full horror of the Carrows' regime at Hogwarts, but as usual her mother seemed to filter out all information that contradicted her current world view. A view which seemed to shift whenever the tides of power in the wizarding world did.

"It looks like your allegiances aren't in the right place, do you see what I'm saying?" her mother continued, her voice cold and clipped. "I know things feel very tense at the moment; none of us are sure how this conflict will turn out, and we need to be careful about how are loyalties are perceived."

Lavender felt a flush of anger at her mother's now-familiar lack of principles, at her tendency to shamelessly change sides depending on who seemed to be gaining more power and who was more likely to win this war. When her parents had been at Hogwarts, her mother had been in Slytherin house and her father in Gryffindor and they'd told her many stories of how they had overcome house rivalries to be together. But as the years had gone on, Lavender had noticed, with growing disappointment, how her mother embodied the less desirable traits of her old house: she could be fickle and power-hungry, snobby and hypocritical.

"I'm not sure…what exactly you are saying, mother?" Lavender said the words slowly in an effort to keep her voice calm.

"Well, I think it would be prudent for you to distance yourself from these blood traitors and show more enthusiasm for the pure-blood cause."

"What?" Lavender snapped, quickly losing the battle with her own rage. "Before the start of my sixth year you were saying I should try and ' claim' Ronald Weasley! And the Weasleys are the most notorious of blood traitors!"

Lavender remembered the conversation she had had with her mother a week or so before she was due to travel to Hogwarts for her penultimate year. The family had been sat around the table at breakfast and her mother had lowered The Daily Prophet which she had been reading, giving her daughter a scrutinising look. Lavender's guard had gone up as she'd recognised that look: her mother was scheming.

"Harry Potter," her mother had started. "Are you friends with him?"

Lavender had frowned, trying to second guess where the conversation was going. That summer, the press regarding Harry had been positive and glowing: ' The Chosen One…the Boy-Who-Lived…exceptional magical talent…will he save the wizarding world a second time? ', etcetera, etcetera.

"Not really..." Lavender had replied and then, at her mother's disappointed look: "I mean, kind of…" Did being in Dumbledore's Army mean she was friends with Harry? "We're in the same house, so we share a lot of classes of course…but at the beginning of my fifth year you said I should have nothing to do with him because people thought he was lying about You-Know-Who?"

"Yes, well, things have changed now of course. Now , he may be a good person to know Lavender," her mother had said conspiratorially.

"Yes, mum…" Lavender had responded hesitantly.

"And what about these two?" her mother had asked, jabbing her finger at a picture in the Prophet. "Are they his friends?"

"Yes. Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger," Lavender had replied in a resigned voice.

"But you're not part of their circle?" Again, the disappointed voice.

"Well…Hermione and I are quite…different."

"Well, things have changed Lavender, and we have to keep up. Weasley...they're one of the old pure-blood families, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight? And this Weasley boy is best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived." Her mother had looked at her pointedly.

"So he's the Boy-Who-Lived now, not the boy-who-lied?" Lavender hadn't been able to hide the irritation in her voice. "Mum...I don't really hang out with Ron. I've told you about my male friends - Seamus and Dean?"

"Oh, the Muggle-born and half-blood Irish boy?" her mother had said dismissively. "Sometimes, Lavender, people drift apart and we form new bonds...he looks rather nice this Weasley boy - I think you'd look good together."

"Right. Well…he always seemed quite fun...maybe I could hang out with him more," Lavender had said hopefully.

"Yes, yes, lovely idea Lavender," her mother had said with unusual affection in her voice and, despite herself, Lavender had basked in the rare praise.

So she had convinced herself that she did, in fact, like Ron Weasley - well, she'd never disliked him - but, in wanting to gain her mother's approval, Lavender had convinced herself that she really liked him - fancied him - so she'd started her campaign to win him over. She had always been naturally sentimental, yes, but she added 'fun' and 'flirty' and 'shallow' to the mix too, because that's what boys liked, wasn't it? They were intimidated by girls that were too assertive or intelligent, that's what her mother had advised her.

But how wrong she had been, Lavender thought now with shame, remembering that Ron had liked Hermione the whole time - bookish and uncompromising and earnest Hermione Granger. Ron's final rejection hadn't hurt because it was a rejection by him , but because it would mean further rejection by her mother. It had been another one of Lavender's failings that her mother had added to the growing list.

"Well, darling, things have changed again now. We need to move with the times. Keep up," her mother was saying now, as the setting sun began to cast low rays of light across the Brown's kitchen.

"So what exactly are you saying?" Lavender exclaimed, her voice rising higher as she spoke. "I should make friends with the Death Eater kids? Join the I.S.? Casually punish my housemates with Unforgivables!?"

"Oh Lavender, don't be so dramatic. You do disappointment me sometimes."

Sometimes? It felt, to Lavender, that she was a continual disappointment to her mother. She had only recently resigned herself to never being able to live up to what Iris wanted in a daughter: her hair was too frizzy, her eyes too small - "shame you're not prettier, like the that Fleur Delacour"; her grades not high enough - "why can't you try harder, like that Hermione Granger must do?"; not talented enough, like Harry Potter; not charming enough, "like Parvati - such a lovely girl."

Her mother's words of dissatisfaction and disappointment still cut through her like knives, although the wounds they left were not as deep as in previous years. Because over the last school term and everything that had happened during it, Lavender's belief in what was right - and doing what was right - had become more importance than gaining her mother's approval.

Back on that very first day of school, the Sorting Hat had deliberated placing Lavender into Slytherin, and she'd often wondered since whether she really belonged there. But in the last few months, it was like the lion in her had woken from a long, deep sleep and let out an almighty roar. And Lavender had decided to not be like her mother - to not change loyalties as easily as the wind changed direction, but to decide on her morals and stick to them, no matter how difficult, or dangerous.

She knew now what side she was on - she'd probably known since that day she'd walked in to the Hogshead, for what would end up being the first meeting of the D.A. And the events of the last term had cemented that intent. She was still scared - about how Hogwarts might change even more next term, and what that would be like for those of them that had a 'blood traitor' scar on their hands. But in re-joining the D.A., in taking a stand, in being punished with Alecto's curse, she had finally started to find a way of being herself and not clumsily attempting to be the person her mother wanted her to be. She knew, deep down, that she still wanted - craved - her mother's approval but during the last term she had started to feel a sense of acceptance - a sense of belonging and purpose - which hadn't relied on her mother's words or praise.

In effect, being cut with the 'blood traitor' mark was perversely one of the best things that had happened to Lavender Brown.

"All I mean is," her mother continued, cold eyes looking at her sharply. "Just…be more… pragmatic ...when demonstrating your allegiances."

"Right," Lavender said tightly, then clamped her mouth closed to shut out the words that she feared might spill from it. Her mother returned to her thank you cards, indicating the conversation was over and her daughter was dismissed. Lavender rose abruptly from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the floor, and went to leave the kitchen.

"Oh Lavender, change your skirt before we go to dinner," her mother called casually after her. "Your legs look awful in that. The length isn't flattering at all - they look all fat and stubby."

In earlier years, it was likely that Lavender would have felt the hot sting of tears at her mother's parting words. She may have gone to the mirror in her bedroom, scrutinising all the imperfections that Iris routinely pointed out, working herself up so much that she would end up pointing her wand at the glass, causing cracks to form in her reflection and the mirror to smash to pieces at her feet.

But not anymore.

After a half-arsed attempt at looking in her wardrobe for a different skirt, Lavender decided to keep the one she was wearing on. Because, well, she liked it and because it was seasonal, so she didn't get to wear it for most of the year. She would keep it on and enjoy it, despite the inevitable critical comments that would come her way later, gaining strength from the mark on her hand and all that it meant to her.


A/N: I'd love to know what you think of my take on Lavender!
Your comments/thoughts etc are, as always, treasured and cherished.