Aca-demic Arrangements
Chapter 36
It was unusually quiet at the House of Gaunt's breakfast table that morning.
The sound of pans, dishes, and silverware along with the smell of food that someone else had prepared, rousted the entire house and much methodical munching had taken up in its place.
Initially, and much to Blaise's surprise, Hermione hadn't greeted him with more than that lecherous smile that she still currently sported from behind the rim of her coffee mug. He was certain she had something else she did want to say, though she'd just been hanging about, sitting there, looking at him with that look as the others joined them.
Marcus, the most enthusiastic of them all about free vittles, entered the kitchen only minutes after Blaise had. Abraxas was soon to follow with Tom groggily making his way in behind them all, clothed only from the waist down with his hair mussed in a very atypical "I don't give a fuck" manner before he sat heavily next to Hermione, draping one arm across the back of her chair. There was very little discussion, and only mild pause between Theodore and the others as Theo offered the newcomers all a warm smile and plopped heaping helpings of scrambled eggs and various bacon strips or sausage onto plates as they settled at the table.
Blaise scoffed to himself, right into the creamy, smoothly poured and appropriately heated espresso-vanilla-caramel something that Hermione had prepared for him. By all of their blasé reactions, one would think he brought men home all the time! Tch. Peasants—the lot of them! He sipped his drink with open agitation, his eyes taking a meandering path right back to the Hoodlum who was just as openly grinning at him.
Blaise blinked at her.
Her grin widened.
His eyes narrowed and he set his mug down firmly before pointing a stern finger at her. "You are rude."
"Noted," Hermione said with delight and started in. "Running low on clean clothing this morning, Blaise?"
"I've no idea what you're talking about." Blaise's face scrunched in feigned confusion as he plucked a piece of bacon from his plate.
"Curious," she said, undeterred. "I only ask because I couldn't help but notice that our poor, dear Theodore seemed to be sporting some of your activewear."
Blaise's gaze darted to Theo, over to Hermione, then back to his plate. "Of course," he said as though it were obvious. "He arrived very late last night to check on everyone while you two—" He paused to motion his fork accusingly at both Tom and Hermione. "—were preoccupied probably getting all sorts of unsanitary bodily fluids all over our recording equipment."
Tom appeared as though he was about to interject with some small bit of fuss, but Hermione cut him off smoothly and with a wink. "Don't worry, it was all very much contained. Although, if you're worried, you may want to give your microphone a bit of a wash. Never know where those things can get up to."
Blaise recoiled in reflexive horror at the thought of his microphone being used as such a toy while Abraxas choked on his eggs; Marcus snorted into his. Tom looked torn between a strange sense of outrage at the alluded vulgarity and shocked laughter threatening to bust from his gut at Hermione's punchy response. Theo, who had Pansy as a baseline for much of his local, social interaction, was largely unfazed as he consumed his breakfast and took a sip of black coffee.
Stumbling over his response, Blaise sputtered, feeling a line of heat climbing into his cheeks from his neck. He barely recovered himself and spoke more loudly as though the previous exchange hadn't happened at all. "It was LATE," he said, enunciating. "I did not want him to drive all that way back home."
"Mmhm," Hermione hummed. "So, you gave him your favourite pair of sweats to lounge in?"
Blaise opened his mouth to reply, his fork lifting accusingly in her direction, and he paused. A sudden surprised look bloomed on his face. "How did you know those are my favorites?"
"I'm not blind to the fact that you wear them practically every day when they're not in the wash and you're the most ornery about the dryer setting with them once they have gone through. Please, Blaise? A bit more credit for your friend, here?" Hermione waved the question away, missing Blaise's softening look in her direction at her self-proclaimed title. "Poor bloke, though." She motioned to Theo. "They don't even fit him properly. If you're going to give the man something to wear after a shag, you should at least take into account that not everyone has as flat a bum as yourself."
The eyes of all the onlookers shifted to Blaise.
Blaise clicked his tongue and without missing a beat, said, "Some good advice for your Mister, then, also, Hoodlum. Don't worry, though. Tom does have an obscenely more impressive set of breasts in comparison to yours, so it's a bit like standing in the shadow of giants when picking through his shirts."
The group followed the volley back to Hermione.
"A mouthful's all you need, Zabini." Hermione shrugged. "Not your fault that you were born with such a big one, though. I understand your perspective on it is a bit skewed."
Marcus spoke past a mouthful of food and gestured at Theo with his fork, interrupting the snark flying back and forth across the table. "Speaking of your ass, though. How did you get it to look like that? I've been working a lot on sculpting my glutes, but yours have just a particular way to them—" He cupped his hands around an imaginary bum before him to illustrate the lean, firm shape to Theodore's rear.
Though Blaise looked mortified at the question, Theo simply nodded and swiped a napkin over his mouth. "Plié and relevé."
"Bless you," Blaise said reflexively.
Hermione snorted, earning her a scowl from her housemate.
"What?" Blaise hissed, looking around the table for some hint as to what was so funny. To his surprise, Tom was the one to speak.
"Ballet, idiot." Tom reached for the pepper shaker to vigorously shake the tiny black flakes onto his eggs. "He does ballet exercises."
Blaise's brows went up as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Ballet. Of course he does. That would explain…
"Did," Theo corrected, interrupting Blaise's thoughts. "Well…I still do the exercises, just not performances. Not anymore."
Abraxas inclined his head to one side, suddenly interested as though something was just about to come together. "You stopped recently?"
Theo's mouth twisted into a grimace very briefly before he presented a smile that lacked the same warmth as before. "Yes. Though I still continue my regimen. It is…difficult to shake the habit of a lifetime, I suppose."
Abraxas' expression closed off a bit at Theo's response, sensing something else lingering beneath the surface there that he surmised might be rude to press on about.
Blaise, however, was oblivious.
"Ballet sounds fun," Blaise chirped with enthusiasm. "Where did you dance?"
Theo's faked smile dropped off of his face and, for just a single, short second, there was a painful chill in the air. Then, as he looked over to the man at his side, looking at him with bright, genuine curiosity, a real one reemerged. "London. I parted ways with my company a few years ago."
At the admission, a very quick set of calculations sparked within Abraxas' noggin and he pounded the table with the flat of a hand in sudden excitement. "Blimey!" He looked as though someone had just told him he could have ice cream before supper. "I knew it—I KNEW it! I bloody KNEW you looked familiar!"
Blaise jumped and hissed at the shock of noise. "Abraxas! What the fu—"
"I KNEW IT! I THOUGHT it was you! From day ONE, I suspected—OH!" Eager as a puppy, Abraxas sprang to his feet, gesticulating madly and a flush of red coming into his neck and cheeks. "You danced for The Royal Ballet! I saw you—I've SEEN YOU! Oh—bloody—fuck, I have a picture—" His voice faded in lieu of the sound of his feet pounding excitedly through the kitchen and living room then up the stairs to his room, followed by the raucous sound of opening and closing drawers as he rummaged through his space.
Tom stopped mid-egg consumption to level a skeptical look at Theodore. "You were in The Royal Ballet? And you left. At your age?" The last question earned him a hard smack on the arm by Hermione, though he just rocked slightly to one side, barely jostled.
Despite how thoroughly Tom's gaze scrutinized, Theo merely gave him a fluid shrug. "It is a career riddled with potential for great success and for great injury. I was unfortunate."
Tom's stern gaze lessened, Hermione gave him another glare before digging back into her breakfast, and Blaise clucked his tongue.
"Oh, Theodore," Blaise said, resting a hand on one of the man's forearms. "That's an awful shame." Then, in the same breath, he turned his head to his roommates and wiggled a bit in his seat. "Though, it's still amazing! We practically have a celebrity here at the table!" He was almost preening as if he had anything and everything to do with that fact.
Theo chuckled, patting Blaise on the hand and chin nodding to Hermione. "What are you talking about? You've had a genuine celebrity here for days, now."
No sooner were the words out of his mouth did Theodore realize his error. The air in the room, while admittedly somewhat uncomfortable already thanks to the discussion about his abruptly ended career, positively tanked. Theo saw Hermione's shoulders go taut and, by the budding confusion of even her "not boyfriend" at her side, he knew he'd fucked up. Sure enough, Hermione's eyes – and her eyes only – darted up to him from beneath her lashes and it was a pleading, desperate look.
Theo stammered. "I-I mean, she performs so well on the stage, don't you think? It's—well, she is practically a celebrity, really. The people, they already know—"
Hermione's expression was ever so slightly thankful, but it was short-lived.
"No," Tom spoke and watched the tight lines of his girl's posture. "For some reason, I'm sure that's not at all what you mean."
Theo's mouth opened again to try to divert, but Blaise interjected next.
"What do you mean?" Blaise asked, straight to the point. He pointed at Hermione and back to Theo. "You know the Junkrat from somewhere else?" A sudden thought had him looking more seriously at her once more. "Did she Royal Ballet, too?"
"No, of course she—"
Hermione groaned, one hand swiping over her face in exasperation, for it was far too early in the morning for Blaise when he wasn't on the receiving end of her taunting. "It's not a bloody verb, you nit."
"Well, then what is he talking about?" Blaise snapped.
"Yes, dove. What's he mean?"
At the nickname spoken firmly but earnestly in a way that instinctively made the knotted muscles in her neck and back loosen and relax, Hermione chanced a glance to her side. Tom was watching her, carefully, but in a way that managed to still somehow be bolstering. An arm had found its way back around the back of her chair and she felt a slight, but comforting warmth radiating from the tattooed limb. She sighed heavily and transitioned her exasperated face massaging from one hand to both, rubbing at her temples on both sides. "Before I came here for my Library Science degree…I went to Hogwarts."
Tom, who had already been privy to this information, continued watching, while Blaise and Marcus both straightened in surprise.
"Isn't that—"
"The best school there is for the arts?" Blaise was clearly in disbelief.
"But…wait…that doesn't make you any kind of celebrity. I mean, it's an expensive school, but—"
"No, thank you, Marcus, you're correct! It doesn't," Hermione said quickly, gathering her utensils and dishes as though she was about to jet. "Glad we straightened that out. Now, if you'll excuse me—"
"Wait, wait, wait." Blaise stood when she stood. "I thought you were homeless and poor."
"I am homeless and poor."
"You were," Tom corrected.
"I was homeless," she snapped, "I'm still poor. Thanks for the rundown, Blaise, now, really. I must—"
"Wait. Wait. Wait a second, here!" Blaise cut her off again with a chopping motion that cut through the air between them. "No. So, you went to this school and…what? How does Theodore know that you are, apparently, some kind of 'thing?' Whatever kind of thing that is."
Hermione scowled at that description but turned an equally curious look onto Theo. He'd produced one of her last playbills with the school but that wasn't enough to know what he – apparently – knew. "If we're being honest, I'd like to know that as well."
It was Theo's turn to take the spotlight and he gave another shrug. "Happenstance. I moved to America not all that many years ago and was working as a stagehand at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York."
Blaise questioned him with open distaste. "You went from performing to being some kind of prop boy?"
"Hey, that is hard work that does not earn nearly as much recognition as it should," Theo said so harshly that Blaise wilted, properly chastised. "If I could not be on stage, I wanted to be near it. But," he paused to nod again at Hermione, "that is when I first saw her."
A budding understanding-slash-fear began spreading over Hermione's face as she figured the years he would have had to have been working there.
"And what, exactly, were you doing?" Tom asked.
A look at all the expectant faces turned her way made her frown. She fixed that grimace on Theo. "A friend of the family had a show due to open after I was to leave Hogwarts and invited me. That would have had to have been one of several of my visits to tour the theatre…" Feeling defeat, Hermione sighed. "…and to discuss the production for my Broadway debut."
The dramatic inhalation of breath from Blaise and Marcus (though mostly Blaise) all but made up for the collective sighing and other expressions of exasperation from only minutes before.
"You were on Broadway?!" Marcus bellowed with excitement.
"Who was on Broadway?!" Abraxas screeched, freshly returned with a handful of rather nicely printed photos of men and women leaping around on stage in nutcracker and rat costumes as well as some headshots.
"Hermione!"
"The Hoodlum—"
"HERMIONE?! When?!"
"Theodore says that she was—"
"PILLOCKS!" Hermione shouted overtop them all, the boys quieting at once. She glowered, eyes passing over Theodore again who had the gracious decency to look at least a little sorry for spilling the beans. "Gentlemen," she said, "it never happened. Yes. I was to go. Yes. I toured the theatre. No. I never actually made it there. Now, I've work to get ready for."
And with that, she moved from her seat so she could loudly slam it into place against the table and hurriedly tromp her way up to her room.
The exchange barely had time to process through Tom's mind before he chased after her.
The four remaining men, all in various states of mussy dress for the early morning, cast glances between each other.
"That all really is quite unfortunate, but, Theodore, will you sign these?" Abraxas produced his photos and Theo frowned at one.
"This is not even my headshot…"
"Yes, well, how about this one, then. I'm fairly certain that this one is you. You were the Rat King, correct?"
Theo's frown deepened as he looked at the unflattering photograph of what was supposedly him garbed in the costume, tight and form fitting all save for the scraggly, wiry, beady-eyed rat head with a gaudy crown affixed to its over-huge noggin.
Marcus inspected the action photo and nodded. "It does look like your 'arse' there, 'mate.'" He received an encouraging pat on the shoulder from Abraxas and beamed accordingly.
Theodore plucked the marker from Abraxas' hand and went to signing.
Oddities and dramatics were not uncommon in the House of Gaunt.