Chapter 5 - Croak
The next two weeks pass quickly. And slowly.
Hermione gets used to her routine of classes and studying and prefect duty a couple nights a week and spending almost all her free time in the library.
The plus side to this whole situation is that she can finally get Harry and Ron to come to the library with her as much as she likes. They're being quite nice to her these days.
The three of them spend most evenings there, from dinner until Madam Pince kicks them out, then it's off to the dungeons for Hermione. She usually reads, either in bed or in a far corner of the common room, often with Crookshanks curled up in her lap, until it's time for bed.
She follows Pansy's rules. She keeps her guard up and her wand with her, but that's starting to seem a little silly. The Slytherins mostly ignore her. There's the occasional glare of disgust or "Get out of my way, Mudbood," but mostly it's fine. She's been through worse.
At meals, she sits in her assigned spot. She doesn't generally say much, but the other sixth years have accepted her presence, if begrudgingly. Hermione wouldn't say she belongs, exactly. But she doesn't feel so terribly out of place either.
On the second Saturday in September, Hermione spends the morning watching the Gryffindor quidditch trials. (And absolutely not influencing the outcome in any way whatsoever. Certainly not the position of Keeper.)
In the afternoon, she goes to the library and does a bit of extra practice on her Ancient Runes translations.
In the evening, she prepares to attend the first of Professor Slughorn's dinner parties. Hermione gets ready in her dormitory, pulling her three sets of robes that are neither her school uniform nor formal dress robes out of her trunk. She lays them on her bed and considers.
If only she could wear muggle clothes, this wouldn't be so difficult. Six years on, she keeps expecting that one of these days it will all just make sense and she won't flail around rudderless and indecisive every time she has to do something new in the wizarding world.
That day, if it ever happens, will not be today. The robes truly all look the same to her.
For the first time since moving down here, she actually misses Lavender and Parvati.
"For fuck's sake, Granger, you look like a lost crup."
Oh, yes, and she has an audience. Excellent.
Pansy's lying on Millicent's bed, reading a copy of Witch Weekly with her feet in Millicent's lap. Millicent is painting nail-colour potion on Pansy's toes.
"Just wear the purple and put us all out of our misery," Pansy says boredly, barely looking up.
"Really?"
Pansy levels her with a derisive glare.
Hermione isn't sure if the glare means yes, get over yourself or no, I've been antagonizing you for six years, I'm obviously not giving you fashion advice.
She puts on the purple robes.
She pops into the bathroom to try and wrangle her hair, casting a smoothing charm over the top in the hopes of reducing some of the frizz. It makes almost no difference whatsoever, and she gives it up as a bad job.
She's nearly out the door when Pansy stops her.
"Granger," she calls with a long-suffering sigh. "Come here."
Hermione turns hesitantly around. "What is it?"
"Come here!" Pansy snaps. Millicent giggles.
Hermione steps towards them warily. "I'm going to be late."
"Turn around."
Hermione hesitates.
"Merlin's tits, Granger. I'm not going to curse you with your back turned. Just do it."
She huffs petulantly as she turns. There's a massive yank at the base of her hair.
"Ow!"
Pansy continues to tug at her hair and stab her with pins for several minutes, before shoving her hard in the back. Hermione stumbles, lurching forward. Millicent laughs again.
"That's better," Pansy declares proudly. "Now get out."
Hermione steps into the sight of the large mirror by Daphne's bed. Her hair looks beautiful. Her curls have been piled into a heap at the back of her head, with a few strands loose around her face. It's not as formal as the sleek twist she did for the Yule Ball, but it's pretty nonetheless. It looks, despite the precision and skill of Pansy's work, completely effortless.
"Thank you," she says softly, still gazing into the mirror.
"Don't take it personally," Pansy says sternly. "It would have been an embarrassment to all of us if I let you go out looking like that."
"Fine," Hermione snaps. "Enjoy your evening."
"Oh, we will," Pansy smirks.
Millicent giggles again as Hermione shuts the door.
She makes her way up to Slughorn's office somewhat apprehensively. She would feel better if Harry was going to be there. He was invited, but will instead be spending his evening in detention with Snape.
Hermione would like to be more surprised by that than she is.
She thinks for a moment about how, any other year, Harry's detention would have meant one on one time with Ron. All three of them spending a Saturday evening apart was practically unheard of until this year. But as it stands, this is the second week in a row they've all had something different on.
Perhaps some of that is an inevitable part of growing up. She's not sure she's ready for it.
But nothing was supposed to change yet! If anything they should have gotten closer this year. Her and Ron especially…
That dream, that fantasy version of the future is slipping away.
It shouldn't be, logically. Harry and Ron are still her best friends. She still sees them in class and most days after class in the library.
Maybe it's just an adjustment period. She can keep her friends. She can have a future with Ron.
There's no reason why not.
She pictures his face, calls his bright blue eyes and freckled skin to the front of her mind.
Or she tries to, anyway. The picture keeps changing — against her will — to something paler.
Greyer.
No. Hermione shakes it out of her head, grimacing, as she turns the corner to Slughorn's office.
She still likes Ron, she tells herself adamantly. She'll always like Ron. She's only picturing someone else because he keeps invading her space and forcing her to look in his eyes.
It's simple association, that's all. She was thinking about eyes, and his were the last she really looked at. That'll be it. A perfectly logical explanation.
She nods firmly to herself as she enters the party, determined not to think about it anymore. To never think of it again, if she can manage it.
Slughorn's office has been magically enlarged, and there's a huge round table in the centre piled high with all variety of food. Goblets of something sparkly float around on levitating trays and soft tinkly music plays from no obvious origin.
At dinner, Hermione finds herself seated between Ginny and Blaise Zabini, the only other student from her year who's at the party. The food is delicious and the company isn't terrible. Slughorn dominates the conversation, certainly, but some of his stories are interesting. Not all, but some.
After the plates are cleared away, they remain seated at the table. Hermione has a second one of the sparkly drinks, which she is beginning to suspect are not just sparkling juice. It would be shocking to receive alcohol from a teacher, but… Hermione has been at Hogwarts for a while now. It doesn't even approach the most inappropriate behaviour she's observed from a professor.
As the contents of her glass get lower and lower, Hermione sinks further and further into her seat. She relaxes in and out of paying attention to the conversation. Or monologue, as it were.
"…I taught Tetyana Belous, you know, back in the 50s. A brilliant seer, she was. Predicted the St. Mungo's fire of '78 to the very day. One of two exceptional seers I taught… the other never got quite so famous, of course, tragically cut short as her life was…" He drifts off wistfully, angling for a dramatic pause, in the hopes of attracting an eager question.
A Ravenclaw Hermione doesn't know takes the bait. "Who was it, sir?"
"Isabelle Nott," Slughorn sighs. "Of course, she was Isabelle Flint when I knew her. Brilliant, brilliant girl." He shakes his head. "Such a tragedy."
He takes a sip from his large glass of mead and Hermione can feel Blaise growing tense beside her.
Putting two and two together she turns to him and mouths, "Theo's mum?"
Blaise nods once, his expression stony, gaze fixed on Slughorn as if daring him to say more.
Slughorn takes no notice. "A private family matter, I won't speak on it," he says definitively. "Of course, she lost much of her talent long before her death. Marriage didn't agree with her, I suppose." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Husband much older, you see. She stopped making predictions. But as a student… why, she predicted the winning quidditch team and house cup winner for seven straight years! And…" He takes another dramatic pause, lowering his voice. "She predicted He Who Must Not Be Named's return – and the involvement of the young Crouch boy – years before he disappeared."
"Really?" asks the same Ravenclaw, seemingly in awe.
"Oh, yes. I heard it myself. In her seventh year, just as she was leaving a supper party very much like this one. Her voice went all off, and her eyes rolled back, and she started talking about He Who Must Not Be Named and a son betraying his father…" He shudders. "It stays with you, that. Not many witness a true prophecy. What a gift she had. And how much the world missed out on after the suicide…"
Blaise clenches his fist and snorts in an angry breath as Slughorn trails off again. Hermione takes it that it's not common knowledge that Theo's mother killed herself.
"But I was speaking about dear Tetyana, wasn't I? Last time I saw her…" Slughorn carries on until it's so unavoidably late that he can't delay sending everyone off a moment longer.
Hermione says goodbye to Ginny and sets off the long way to the dungeons, across the 7th floor. Even though it's already a couple minutes past curfew, she fancies a walk to clear her head and she can easily blame Slughorn for keeping them too late if anyone gives her grief for it.
The castle is different at night, quiet but for the sound of her footsteps and the distant echo of Peeves singing a bawdy tune. She breathes in, letting a sense of contentment sweep over her. Between the quiet, and the two sparkly drinks, and the feeling that she's spent a night out of time, out of her life, she's —
"Malfoy!" she gasps, having rounded a corner and nearly collided with him. "You've just about scared the life out of me!"
She clutches a hand to her chest like a ridiculous muggle romance heroine as she looks around, assessing the situation. They're standing much too close.
"Were you in the Room of Requirement?" she accuses, still catching her breath.
Malfoy looks around as though trying to decide whether he can lie. The evidence is damning — the lateness of the hour, the door to the Room still visible in the wall behind him, the fact that the expression on his face is wide-eyed and guilty.
"So what if I was?" His voice is strained, as if aiming for casual and failing badly. He takes a step back.
"It's late," she says, watching the door to the Room slowly fade back into a smooth stone wall.
"And?"
"What were you doing in there alone at this time of night?"
She takes a closer look at him, narrowing her eyes. He looks worn out. His hair is mussed, his robes aren't hanging quite straight, and his skin is even paler than normal.
"Who says I was alone?" His lips quirk up in a smirk.
Hermione considers an explanation for his disheveled look that has little to do with dangerous Death Eater schemes. It turns her stomach.
"Well you're alone now."
"No, Granger, I wish I were alone. Now if you'll excuse me, we're past curfew as it is."
He turns on his heel and saunters off, unhurried despite his protestations about the time.
Hermione lingers where she stands. A pressure behind her eyes joins the sinking feeling in her stomach and it's almost like she's going to cry.
On Sunday morning, Theo sleeps in. He stirs when his dorm-mates get up for breakfast, but he just rolls over and smushes his face deeper into his pillow.
A lie-in is well-deserved, he reckons. Plus, it's not like anyone will miss him. He could stay in bed all weekend and he doesn't imagine anyone would notice.
Late in the morning, he moves to the window seat. He looks out over the grounds, his feet curled up underneath him and his back against the stone wall. He breathes deeply, closing his eyes when he feels the warm sun on his face.
He feels like shit.
Why? Unclear.
What's he going to do about it? Sit here in the sun and avoid the world.
He's fully aware that he's being an idiot. If he's upset about the distance growing between him and his friends, well, this is the weekend. He can just go find them. If he doesn't want to be in Gryffindor, then he doesn't have to spend all day in the tower.
He doesn't even have to wear the fucking tie today, for Merlin's sake.
He's free to do whatever he wants, and he keeps telling himself he'll move any minute now, but he doesn't.
He keeps staring out the window until a loud croaking noise forces it's way into his thoughts. Theo turns. There's a toad on the floor.
"Crooaaakkkkk."
"Go away." Theo waves a hand, shooing it.
It hops closer. "Croak. Croak. Croak."
"No. Go away." Theo points moronically. "That way."
The toad hops near the base of the window seat. It takes a flying leap. Theo shrieks, just a tiny bit.
(Toads freak him out, okay?)
The toad settles itself onto the seat between Theo and the window. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the toad is looking at the view. It looks comfortable.
If Theo was stuck in this seat due to apathy before, he's not anymore. No, now he's here out of spite. He will not be displaced by a toad.
It croaks contentedly, almost like a purr. Theo regards it warily, for signs of sudden movement.
They stay locked in an uneasy equilibrium, man and toad, until Neville bustles into the dorm. He smiles at Theo briefly, then pokes his head under all the beds and digs around in several drawers.
"Looking for something?" Theo asks.
"Yeah, have you seen Trevor?" Neville answers distractedly, flipping over a pillow. "He's my toad."
"Is this him?" Theo asks dryly, standing and pointing at the toad on the window seat.
"Yeah!" Neville exclaims, darting over and picking him up. "That's weird. He never sits up there. He doesn't like heights."
"How do you know what he likes? He's a toad."
"I've had him for a while," Neville says. "He doesn't like to climb things. And once in first year, I accidentally left him in my pocket during a flying lesson. He panicked. Which made me panic… it's lucky we both survived, eh Trevor?" He strokes the toad's head affectionately.
"Croak." Apparently, Trevor agrees.
"I've never had a familiar, so I wouldn't know, I guess."
"Well, he must like you. He wouldn't have wanted to sit with you otherwise. He can be picky," Neville says. "I think he knows a lot of people don't like toads."
"Yeah, well."
Theo looks down guiltily as Neville continues to cuddle with the toad.
"Are you — are you mad at me about something?" Neville asks tentatively after a moment.
"What? Me?" Theo says stupidly. "No? Why would I be?"
"It's just… I feel like you've been a bit distant since our first Divination lesson. Were my questions too much? About, you know… your father and stuff? I'm really sorry."
Fuck. He's so damn sincere. Just the thing to make Theo feel like even more of a prat in comparison.
"No, no. I'm not mad at you. That was…fine." Theo can't meet his eye. He speaks more like he's talking to Trevor, honestly, his eyes cast down at Neville's hands where they grip the toad. "I just — I thought — maybe — you, erm, wouldn't want me around after what I said about the whole more-than-one-side thing."
"That doesn't mean I don't want to be your friend," Neville says softly. Sincerely.
Theo looks up and the light from the window is bouncing off Neville's hair, making it look all golden and shiny. Neville's biting his lip nervously, sucking it into his mouth. Theo's gaze lingers longer than it should.
"Are we friends?" Theo asks.
"We could be."
He drops his eyes back to Trevor. Or more accurately, Neville's hands on Trevor. It's easy to think that Neville is an anxious, awkward, clumsy person. He is that way sometimes. But his hands, cradling the toad gently, are strong. Capable. Hardworking. Confident, in a way that has nothing to do with ego and everything to do with knowing who he is.
"Yeah, we could be." Theo smiles, aiming for friendly, though it's possible he comes across more nervous than anything.
There's a bit of a silence, both of them shuffling their shoes. Trevor croaks, squirming in Neville's grip until he lets him down. He hops directly onto Theo's foot.
It takes everything in him not to shake him off.
"He really does like you," Neville says contemplatively. "Listen, I've just got to feed him, then I'm going down for lunch. Want to come with me?"
Theo and Neville eat lunch together at the Gryffindor table. It seems he's made a friend, which he honestly never expected to do again. He'd thought he had plenty of friends, but none of them are quite like Neville.
He didn't realize how hungry he was from skipping breakfast, but he must have been. He wolfs down his food.
Afterwards, on the way out of the Hall, Daphne comes up to him and Neville.
"Theo! There you are, I was looking for you all morning!"
"Slept in," he explains. "Sorry."
She kisses him quickly on the mouth and grabs his hand. "Well, I'm glad I found you." She smiles. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Yeah, I had lunch with Neville." Theo gestures at him. Neville looks like he's not sure if he's supposed to still be standing there or not.
"Oh. Hi Longbottom," Daphne says tightly, before turning back to Theo. "Wanna come for a walk? It's gorgeous out."
"Sure," Theo says. A bit of fresh air wouldn't be the worst thing. "See you later, Neville?"
"Yeah, of course. See you." Neville smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Theo casts a puzzled look at him over his shoulder, wondering what he's done wrong now, as Daphne pulls him gently by the hand out to the Entrance Hall.
"I feel like I've hardly seen you lately," Daphne says, leaning against him as they walk. "I miss you."
He removes his hand from hers and places it around her shoulder, tucking her against himself. "I miss you too, Daph," he says absently, pressing his lips against the top of her head.
He really has missed her. They've known each other since they were little, their mothers had been friends. And then after his mum died, he'd spent more time at the Greengrass house, playing with Daphne and her sister whenever his father didn't want him around.
It had felt like common sense to ask her to the Yule Ball in fourth year. They'd kissed for the first time that night. It took him a while to work up the courage to go all in, but he eventually managed to ask her out to Hogsmede around Halloween last year.
She twists her face up towards him and he kisses her, lingering for a long moment in the gentleness of her lips.
They walk across the lawn, ambling slowly in the direction of the lake.
And they talk. About what it's like having Hermione in the dormitory and the Defence Against the Dark Arts assignment and the weather and how she's pretty sure her little sister has a crush on Draco.
They sit on a soft, secluded patch of grass near the edge of the lake.
"How are you, Theo, really?" she asks, her tone low and serious.
He rakes a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Daph. I've been better."
She hums sympathetically, taking one of his hands and holding it between both of hers. He can't help but notice how soft and small her hands are, after looking at Neville's earlier.
"Are the Gryffindors being horrible?"
"I don't know, not more than usual, really. Potter and Weasley are annoying, but that's all they are." He shrugs. "I don't think they'll, like, attack me or anything."
His problem isn't with the Gryffindors. It's with his life being ripped out from under him and no one telling him why. It's with being lonely. Missing his friends. Missing the feeling of belonging at the meal table, or in the common room, or in his dorm. Wanting to go back to before he didn't have to think about his values, or his place in the world, or what he wants.
"You seem to be getting along with Longbottom," she observes.
"Yeah, Neville's nice." Understatement of the fucking year. Theo pauses. "He doesn't like when people call him Longbottom, by the way."
"Huh," she says.
"What?"
"It just… sounds like you know him really well, is all."
"I mean, I live with him now," he says. "We have to get used to it, right?"
"I guess," she says. "I wish we didn't."
"Yeah."
Daphne shifts around on the grass so she's leaning on him, her back pressing against his chest. He breathes in the familiar vanilla scent of her hair.
"We still see each other in class and evenings and weekends. It shouldn't feel this different," Daphne muses, gaze cast far out over the lake.
"Yeah," Theo says again. "I know. Why do you think that is?"
It does feel different. He's missed her, but even now, with her body fully pressed against his, it's like he still misses her.
"Maybe it just takes more effort now," she suggests. "But we can do effort. Right?"
"Yeah. Of course we can." He nuzzles his face into the side of her neck and plants a kiss against her collarbone.
Theo has never lied to Daphne. Not ever, not about anything. He's worried he just did.
So he tells her something he knows is true. "I really just want to kiss you right now," he whispers, breath skating over her ear.
She laughs and shifts her weight, so she's sideways across his lap. He wraps his arms around her and lowers his lips to hers, sinking into the familiarity of her kiss.
Kissing Daphne is nice. Her body is soft and small and he feels comfortable and safe with her in his arms. He's always loved this.
And also – today at least – he's left wanting. It's possible that there's something out there better than nice. Than safe. Something more.
Theo tangles a hand in Daphne's hair and lets his tongue dip into her mouth. He tries to relax, to lose himself in this like he's always been able to before, but something's different.
Things have changed between him and Daph.
He holds her tighter, kisses her deeper, tries to force himself into being present in the moment. He used to think he'd be kissing her forever, but now…
Is it possible to want something new and to want everything back the way it was at the same time?
A/N: Loving your comments so far! What did you think of this week's chapter?
Thanks to Sunshineceline for betaing!
