So this chapter is really just three stories of my current main side characters all shoved into one chapter, but I actually don't hate it, so here it is.

Chapter Five: Plot Twists

I run my fingers through my curls as I rest my hand against my head. I lean back in my armchair and rest my left leg over the right one. The fireplace of the Room of Requirements roars beside me, the flames flickering an unearthly purplish. The heat trails almost uncomfortably against the back of my pantleg and the rest of the room. I can feel the dampness in my hair and the stickiness on my forehead, but I'm hoping that this will help cover up my nervousness.

Theodore Nott is a Slytherin, and Slytherins are dangerous. I'm dangerous in my own right, but not like the others. The trouble is that everyone's faking—everyone—because if you're from a pureblood family, there are certain expectations that you must fill. Aside from that even is the fact that the Slytherin House has a reputation of being exactly what everyone pretends to be: cruel, unforgiving, and angry at the world. I'm not sure when these qualities became associated with Slytherin or if there were ever many that actually were the things that the rest of us fake. This game of pretend is dangerous because you will never know what you're truly dealing with unless they choose to show it to you, and most chose not to show it.

"Blaise Zabini, what a pleasure it is that you chose to show up." Theodore speaks clearly and beautifully, never faltering on a single syllable, but there's something quite close to a sneer about it in the way that the last few words are accentuated more than the rest.

"I'm not calling you by your full name, Theodore."

Theodore shrugs. "Call me Theo, then. I have a feeling that we're going to become . . . Quite. Close." He closes the several feet between us and seats himself on the armchair across from me, a velvety black thing with gold nails studding the back of it. He places himself lightly on the edge of it and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He blows a few strands of his dirty blonde hair from his eyes and then gazes at me innocently, practically begging me to respond somehow.

"Fine . . . Theo. Call me Blaise."

"Blaise, Blaise, Blaise," Theodore sits up straighter and chuckles, "Everyone calls you Blaise." Theodore makes a face, "Zabini is my father's name."

"First of all, I do not sound like that . . ."

Theodore snorts, "I was only teasing. I already said that we're going to become close friends, so the least you can do is humor me."

"Fine, but seriously, not even Draco calls me anything but Blaise. I guess you could call me Augustus from my middle name, but I wouldn't recommend it." I uncross my legs and plant both feet firmly on the floor with a slight thud. Then I simply look at him, my eyes hopefully devoid of emotion, but he can more than likely tell that I'm losing patience.

"Augustus it is then!" He smiles brightly, a look that nearly makes me jump back in surprise. It's not common to see a Slytherin with such a smile. He looks almost . . . hopeful.

The harsh tone vanishes from my tongue before I can blink; the words I say next losing their venom. "What do you want, Theo?"

"I think I made that pretty clear when I confronted you about it, but I'll . . . humor . . . you." Theo unties his tie and allows the emerald thing to hang like a scarf, scooching farther into the chair and resting a single arm on the seat.

I ignore him for the time being and instead raise my wand and extinguish the freakish flames from the fireplace, allowing the torches to vaguely light the room. Shadows quickly fill the space and cover a fair bit of our existence, leaving only half of Theo's face visible.

Theo reaches for his own wand and stands. He snatches up a log left near the fireplace and sets it in the middle of the large room before striding back to his chair and sitting on the edge of it again. He pauses for so long that I'm about to ask why on earth he felt the need to move the log at all. Suddenly, he smoothly twists his body to look at the log and transfigures it into a detailed chandelier with the crests of each House and several crystals.

"Wingadium Leviosa," he mutters as the chandelier lifts itself towards the ceiling. Then he seals it to its place and lights the candles—all without leaving the chair.

My eyes widen and my mouth drops, leaving me with nothing at all to say.

"My father," Theo begins as though the magic he just preformed was basic, "is a man that I am not proud of, nor do I wish to follow his footsteps. He abuses power, hurts people, and is a slobbering drunk. He is, as I said earlier, an arsehole. I know how this game works, Augustus, so I'm going to let you in on a bit of a secret.

"I know that you remember that lecture from Professor Moody when he called all of us out—you, me, and Draco—for the things that our parents allegedly do or have done. The thing is, the allegation against my father is true in a way. While he didn't use Avada Kedavra, he did kill my mother."

There's something about the way that he says it that makes me certain that it's true. Between that and the fact that he showed me the likely remnants of his Dark Mark, I think there might be something to his claim that we'll be close friends.

"He was drunk," Theo continues much to my surprise, "He was always drunk. He is always drunk. My mum was never in good health anyway, and when he pushed her out of the window . . ." The smooth perfection of his voice melts away, replaced by something raw, something edgier. "She just . . . died. She was gone. Gone and I doubt he even looked down. He just stayed up in his study, leaving me to tend to the rest."

"The-allegations-against-my-mother-are-true-too!" I blurt before I can think twice.

"I beg your pardon?" Theo's voice has fallen back to its usual grace.

"The . . . my mother . . . she . . . Well, I can't prove it, but I have to believe that she's been using the Imperious Curse. She's been married ten times and is engaged again to an eleventh. And it's not an accident! All of these people . . . they get richer and richer as she goes. We have a fortune massive enough that it is surpassed only by the Malfoy family, and we're not even among the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

Theo nods slowly, and I can tell that a certain amount of trust now exists between us. It's partly like the bond that first held Draco and I. I wonder if Moody knew that what he was saying was almost true or not, and not for the first time. Theo seems to be thinking the same thing before he snaps to attention and nods again.

"So, what is this plan of yours to save the world, and how can I help to make it happen?"

I fill Theo in on every detail, from linking Draco and Hermione's minds to staging Dumbledore's death to double crossing the Dark Lord. He sits quietly throughout the entire thing, looking interested when I explain Horcruxes and in near awe of me when I tell him about my stay in Azkaban.

"So," he says when I finish, "What do you need me to do?"

"Stay here, at Hogwarts."

Theo looks for an instant like he's going to protest, but he lets out a long breath instead. "Do you care to elaborate on that a bit?"

"Look, Theo, it's not going to be safe for anyone during this time, but even more so for the students that I'm leaving behind. Dumbledore won't be here anymore; he'll be with the Order of the Phoenix. I'll be in Azkaban, Hermione will be gone with Harry Potter, and Draco will likely be held up in his own home. Who will protect them?

"I want you to be the world's biggest suck-up to whatever force of evil ends up there. I want them to love you, but I want you to do simple things, too, little things that are merciful, like letting kids out of their punishments early, little things like making sure that their lives are bearable. But in the end, I want you to turn on the people that end up in charge. Turn on them at just the right moment and hold up Hogwarts as a stronghold until the Order of the Phoenix can come and take charge. Will you do that for me?"

"If it's what needs to be done than I will be glad to do it." He nods earnestly, his eyebrows set and his blue eyes gleaming in determination. "But one thing: this mission of yours. Does it require you to be marked?" He pulls up his left sleeve to reveal the deep scarring again.

"It already did," is all I can say. I pull my left sleeve up and let my forearm be exposed to the air. I look away as best I can but am determined to hold my arm steady.

"It's hard to look at, I know." Theo trains his eye on it as he continues, "I know mine scarred me worse than anything else probably ever will."

"I can barely stand to look at it."

"I couldn't at all. It's why I burned it off, or I tried to. It's coming back though. It's seeping out from under the scar tissue. To think that I nearly killed myself for something that won't be covered."

"Heh . . . I just hate that it had to come to this. I hate that the world is failing and that they couldn't manage to properly kill the Dark Lord all those years ago."

Theo nods, standing up abruptly and twisting his tie back into the fancy knot that holds it and shows his social standing. He walks over to the door and swings it open, flashing me a sad smile before turning and leaving.

"Where were you?" Draco doesn't bother to look up from his textbook.

"Oh, you know . . . around."

Draco sighs and snaps his book shut. He slowly raises his gaze to match mine before lifting his hand to his chin and massaging it. He sighs again and motions to the seat next to him, a seat that I quickly take.

"Around?" he questions, "You missed lunch." He scans me up and down, a bit of concern glimmering in his grey eyes.

I take this chance to check up on him. His eyes look tired. He's probably been missing sleep, which isn't normal for Draco. His eyes are framed by slightly red flesh that is pulling taught around them. His skin also clings to his cheekbones more than they have in the past. He's not been eating well since the beginning of last year. His uniform is perfect, however, so at least he hasn't lost his need to look the part.

"Blaise, it's that thing from earlier, isn't it?" Draco's words pull me from my thoughts.

"Huh?"

"That thing . . . you know . . . from earlier?"

"Yeah." I hate lying to him, but it must be done. "Let's not talk about that though, okay?"

Draco nods, "How about how you showed that Slug up without him even knowing it!"

I smile coyly, "I know. I was kind of hoping that it meant that I can stay out of the Slug Club, but I shall have no such luck." I reach a thumb and finger up and pretend to curl my mustache. "I am eternally indebted to you, your greatness Professor Slughorn. It would be my delight to represent the great and honorable house Zabini in your esteemed presence, my Lord." I look down my nose at Draco with an over-the-top frown.

Draco laughs. "You poor bloke. Who else is in the club besides precious, perfect Potter?" He spits the every "p" in the sentence.

"Umm . . . let me think. McCormac, Granger . . . oh, and you'll love this: Weasley's been invited, but not Ronald. Actually, Slughorn invited his younger sister Ginny."

"His misfortune is entertaining," Draco smiles, "His blood boils too easily, it's just so good!"

"Well some good that'll do me, stuck at some stupid dinner party and my best mate isn't even invited! What's that all about?"

Draco's smile vanishes, replaced by a dark grimace. "I think you and I both know the answer to that one."

"Yeah," I nod, "Too bad, though. Can you imagine the look on Weasley's face if he realized that you were invited, and he wasn't? Why, I think his head might actually explode! And then we could play all nicey-nice with his baby sister and he'll really be mad. If he attacks us first then we'd be blameless!"

"Since when did you become such a schemer?" Draco chuckles.

"Um, since always!"

Wouldn't you like to know, I think to myself.

"You just never bothered to notice," I sniff dramatically, "I'm offended!" I turn my head sharply away from him with a pout.

"Oh, come on, you know I can't have that! Pansy's bad enough with her constant need for attention. You think that she would just leave me alone once and a while!"

"But she's been your crush for like ever, and now when she finally notices you, now you want out?"

"Well . . . I grew up, okay. And Pansy didn't."

"Wow! What a discovery! By golly, Sherlock, you've done it again!"

"Sherlock?"

Oops, I mentally curse myself before launching into an elaborate cover-up. As far as Draco knows, I hate Muggleborns just as much as he does, though I'm hoping that will change by the end of the war.

"It's just a stupid story my mother used to tell me when I was lying to her. She'd tell me about this wizard who could always tell who'd really committed the crimes that no one else could solve. He used some advanced spell or something. Mother would say that she personally knew this Sherlock gent and that he owed her a favour, a favour that she would call in unless I told her the truth. I didn't believe her, of course; it just sort of stuck with me."

"That's . . . odd."

"I know! I'm not even sure why I thought of it all the sudden. Anyway, so Pansy's out of the picture . . . who's the new future Mrs. Malfoy?"

"I don't know," he scoffs, "how about you tell me all about the future Mrs. Millicent Zabini?"

"As if!" I shout a little too loudly. Madame Pince shoots me an angry glare.

Draco snickers. "Well then who are you after if it's not Millicent. You snogged her awfully well."

"First off, I did not snog her, I gave her a kiss!"

"Funny, because that's not what literally the entire school is saying . . ."

"What do they know."

"Well?"

"It's obvious that you will be introduced to my future wife in good time, mate. It'll just be difficult to arrange a meeting with the future Mrs. Ginny Zabini, that's all."

"Weasley's baby sister! Why on earth would you do that?"

"I think it's rather obvious. What would make Ronald Weasley's blood boil more than that?"

"Um, if I married . . ." Draco gags. "If I married Granger."

"Well I suppose that would do the trick, but last I checked, nifflers don't shoot lightning bolts."

"So, Mrs. Ginny Weasley-Zabini it is!"

"Oh, she can keep her name. As a matter of fact, I'll take it too! Not only will I have stolen his baby sister away, but I'll also be the more famous of the two of us, so he'll be reminded of what I've taken from him every time he sees "Mr. Blaise Weasley" on the front of the Daily Prophet!"

Draco grins, "Have I ever told you what a genius you are?"

"No, I can't say that you have."

"Well I'm saying it now—"

"—and it is very true!"

Draco smacks me in the shoulder. "Don't you have homework to do?"

I make a pouty face and snatch the Transfiguration book right off of Draco's stack.

My feet create ripples in the water as I glide them through it. I close my eyes and sigh, leaving the world behind as I allow the lake to soak into my toes. The grass feels soft beneath my fingertips and reminds me of stroking a cat—my old cat—Whiskers. He was a tiny grey and white speckled thing with oddly blue eyes for a cat, sparkling in the sun and darkening into huge orbs in the moonlight. He purred whenever I got within six feet of him and always rushed up to me, thrusting his head against my hand or leg.

I got him as a Christmas present from my father's mother, the grandmother I never saw again after he left. My mother couldn't say no with my grandmother in the room, so Whiskers became my new best friend. I told that cat everything that ever mattered to me; I fed him my dinner when my parents refused to feed him, and I kept him in my room at night just so I could feel safe. Whiskers used to growl at balloons, so of course I popped any in sight to keep him safe like he kept me safe at night. Whiskers caught a mouse for me every morning, much to the disgust of my mother. He never ate them; he would just bring them to me, wait for me to acknowledge that he had brought one, and then take it outside.

One day, Whiskers didn't bring the mouse to my door. I went outside in my pajamas to look for him. I called his name for hours before I finally found him, purring as usual, but something was terribly wrong. He was almost entirely tangled in barbed wire in the woods behind the house. His little body was nearly torn to shreds, blood seeping out everywhere. The minute I saw him I knew I couldn't save him; that he wasn't going to make it. Still, he thrust his head as best he could into my hand when I finally reached him. We just sat there—him dying with his head cuddled against my hand—for a few hours until he finally passed.

I sat there for a long time after, crying my eyes out and desperately missing my cat. Whiskers had been there for me through everything, and I hadn't been able to help him in the end. I made a grave for him, a grave right outside the house in the front lawn. It was made with the biggest rock I could haul over there. My father helped me move it there, actually. I think he might have truly felt bad for me that day. Anyway, he stood quietly to the side as I piled it high with all the flowers and mouse bones—I found where Whiskers had been dumping them—that I could find. Then he left me there, left me to sob into the night, crying out for a cat: a cat who had become my family.

I feel a single tear roll down my cheek and I open my eyes, gazing across the lake. A hand clamps down on my shoulder and I swiftly reach to wipe the tear away. Another hand pushes my hand away before I can accomplish the task, however.

"You shouldn't be ashamed to cry, you know." Hermione. She lowers herself to the ground next to me.

"I'm not ashamed. I'm Slytherin. I'm being what's necessary. How'd you find me here, anyway?"

"I found a few of your things in the Room of Requirements and put a tracking spell on them that led me here. But don't change the subject!"

"Fine, fine . . . what do you want to know?"

"Are all Slytherins great actors, or are you simply a rarity?" Hermione stares into my eyes excitedly, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge welling deep inside her soul.

"Yes and no. The ones for whom it's been shoved down their throats since infancy, yes. The ones who stupidly hope to change Slytherin from the inside, no."

"And which are you?"

"Well I don't have any delusions of changing Slytherin . . . so the first."

"And you've been shoved into a role since you were a child?" Hermione looks horrified and I half expect her to invite me over for Christmas and knit me one of those horrifying Weasley sweaters out of pity.

"Hermione! I'm fine, really." I turn and nod seriously.

"But why? Why would your own mother try to get you to be something that you're not?"

I close my eyes for a minute, begging my brain to come up with an answer. "The house of Zabini isn't one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but it certainly isn't for lack of effort on my mother's part," I finally say quietly, hoping she'll understand the meaning behind my roundabout answer, which is that I don't want to talk about this.

"What's the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

I sigh loudly, giving her a look that I hope shows my exasperation. "The Sacred Twenty-Eight belongs to the oldest and highest esteemed pureblood families. It gets you special treatment usually, as well as the 'great right' to host a family ball every year and the same 'right' to attend all of the others. There's even an official book with all families listed, though there's only like fifteen of those families left."

"That's so odd! So basically, you get extra stuff and you have to host and attend balls?"

"That and you can't marry anyone outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"Or what?"

"Or your family is officially removed as well as shunned by the rest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"Oh. I thought you were going to say something really horrible."

"Well . . . there's also that your families' estate is burned to the ground."

Hermione gulps. "Oh."

"Kidding!" I wink playfully, a wink that is returned with a scowl.

"Blaise," she yelps as she smacks my arm lightly, "Can you please be honest with me? What does forcing you into some particular person have to do with the Sacred Twenty-Eight?"

"I can't."

Hermione stands up and begins to walk away, hurt sparkling in the depths of her eyes and her cheeks glowing red with a likely justifiable anger.

"—Wait!" I cry instantly, catching her wrist with my hand.

Hermione turns sharply and takes in a breath. I can almost feel the bit of hope welling inside of her.

"I . . ." I fight for the right words, knowing what a hole I can dig myself into without care. "It's just that . . . it's not pretty, you know? It's not a happy ending. My childhood wasn't great and the reason that I don't want to tell you is that I can't handle another sympathetic look or an attempt at comforting me. It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, because I know that sympathy means that people care, but it's just . . . sympathy is kind of like reliving it over and over again. I just can't."

"Okay," Hermione breathes, "but can you please tell me already?" She drops down next to me again, this time thrusting her own shoes and socks off and dipping her feet into the cool water of the lake. The dirt below the water's surface puffs up in clouds as her feet hit it, reminiscent of the dirt I'm about to relive.

"When I was little I thought we were happy. I was wrong. My father left on my eighth birthday and things went down hill quickly after that. She took a holiday without me, and I was rather devastated. I discovered more and more in the aftermath the extent of her indifference towards me. She didn't want me and didn't have much to do with me. I was brought out to see her friends for a while, but when I was no longer 'cute' that stopped. She remarried—what is it now—eleven times. I'm almost positive that she's either been using the Imperious Curse or the Killing Curse on them, or maybe both.

"She basically is content to ignore me, only bringing me out now on occasion because her rich old friends think that I'm something to look at. I may not have the Malfoys for parents, but I guess there is no pureblood family without its drama, except maybe the stupid Weasley family. But remember . . . I want no sympathy. None."

"Stupid?" Hermione tries to raise an eyebrow, an effort that pushes a laugh right from my throat.

I lay back in the grass and allow myself to laugh for quite a while, the sound of it echoing across the water and making it louder still.

"Stupid indeed," I finally exclaim. "Have you seen Ronald's report card? Besides Crabbe and Goyle, I think he has the lowest grades in the entire school!"

"Hey now!" Hermione protests, "Don't discredit them all! Fred and George are highly successful pranksters, Bill is a cursebreaker, and Ginny is perfectly smart in her own right!"

"Maybe they should rid themselves of Ronald then, in that case?" I mutter this under my breath just loud enough so that Hermione can hear me before snatching up my shoes and socks and taking off through the grass. When I've had plenty of time to escape her, I turn and wink again before disappearing behind the castle.

Side note: I wasn't originally going to include Theodore Nott in my cast of characters, but I think that he'll help aid in character development, which you'll see in future chapters.