For disclaimer please see prologue.

A/N #1: A large, huge, enormous 'Thank you' to my Beta-readers FlairVerona and Noesnifunifa. As usual your help is virtually priceless. You are brilliant and I'm very grateful that you decided to help me with my little story :)

A/N #2: Even though you should by now all have gotten my replies, I wanted to take the opportunity and thank my wonderful reviewers once more. You people are incredibly supporting and I truly appreciate each comment that you make. Thank you so very, very much :)

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Chapter 04: A Day Among the Thestrals, part 01

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"Tell me we're not lost."

"We're not lost."

"Good." Theodore Nott relaxed slightly. "So where are we?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't know. We're lost."

"What do you mean 'We're lost'? Didn't you just say that-?"

"I said that because you asked me to! I have no bloody idea where we are!" Hermione gesticulated wildly - partly in frustration, partly to keep herself warm.

One wrong turn at the edge of the Forbidden Forest had led them right into it instead of keeping them out of harms way. They had been trying to find their way out ever since, but even if it weren't for the fog, which had somehow crept up on them and infiltrated the forest, the sun was almost completely blocked out by the high branches of the dark trees. They were surrounded by the quiet gloom of an eerie afternoon light which illuminated the thick undergrowth the students were currently trying to walk through.

Hermione shivered in her all-too-thin clothing and hugged herself to preserve what little warmth she had left. "Look, Nott, the fact is that we're lost. Let's get over it and find a way to deal with this, o.k.?"

"Oh, wonderful," Theo replied sarcastically, "I am dealing with this. And since you're our little Miss Perfect, why can't you tell me how to get out of here? Because if I recall correctly, it was you who got us into this mess!"

"There's something wrong with your memory, then. It was you who got us detention in the first place!" She shook even harder as she became angry. "Trust me, if I could have picked one person to get lost in the forest with, it wouldn't be you!"

Theo rolled his eyes. "Whereas I would have picked a miserable little Mud-"

Hermione's fists clenched. "Careful there. It's that miserable little Mudblood you're looking at to get you out of here, Death Eater boy." Yes, she knew she was being irrational to play his game, but quite frankly, Hermione's patience had run out several hours ago. Theo, on the other hand, turned pale at her words.

"You know nothing about me," he spat out in a low voice.

"A-and you kn-know n-n-nothing about m-m-me." She could barely keep her teeth from chattering as she glared fiercely back.

Nott sneered at her. "I know enough to dislike you and…for Merlin's sake, Granger!" Pulling off the most annoyed expression that Hermione had ever seen, he shrugged off his cloak and put it around Hermione's shoulders. She frowned.

"What's that for? I thought you disliked me?" she asked as her freezing body relished the little bit of additional warmth that the cloak provided. It smelled nice. Of old parchment and sandalwood and snobbish teenage boy.

Nott shrugged. "I do dislike you. However, that doesn't mean that I'm going to neglect my upbringing."

She raised an eyebrow. "So your upbringing allows you to mindlessly discriminate against people but won't let you watch me freeze?"

"Something like that. My mum told me never to stand by idly when a woman is in trouble."

"Smart woman. She should have told you not to let prejudices cloud your judgement, either."

"Perhaps your mother should have told you the same." Theo gave her a threatening look, though the effect was marred somewhat by the fact that he was now shivering from the cold that seeped through his school uniform.

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Theo, shivering worse than before, merely rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and presented the insides of his arms to the surprised Gryffindor. They were pale, skinny and rather unimpressive except for the fact that they lacked a certain magical tattoo.

Their eyes met for a long moment and – surprisingly enough – Hermione felt a connection to the unfriendly Slytherin. She had never considered that he'd have to deal with prejudice as well. Hermione ran a hand nervously through her hair that seemed to grow bushier by the minute.

"You're freezing," she observed.

"I-I'm n-n-not."

"Yes, you are."

"N-n-no...n-not f-f-freezing at-t all," Theo drew himself up to what he considered a manly and dominant position.

"Oh, so that is why your lips are turning blue?" She shook her head in frustration. He was such a…such a boy! "Come here, Nott!"

His jaw almost dropped. "Erm…w-w-what?"

Hermione gesticulated impatiently. "It's freezing here. And you're freezing your…erm… derrière…off."

Theo scowled. "M-m-my derrière is n-none of your b-b-business, Granger."

She bit back a smile at his scandalized expression. "Theodore…"

"Theo," he interrupted her in a quiet voice. "Theodore is so…I don't know…not me."

"Theo then," Hermione corrected herself impatiently. "There's really no point in hiding behind a false sense of modesty. It's cold. We're both freezing, and it's very probable that we'll have to endure the cold a little longer. Sharing the cloaks in order to preserve body heat is our most sensible option," she rattled down in a business-like voice.

Theo's throat went dry. With any other girl, this would have been like a dream come true for a teenaged boy. The perfect cliché. He sighed. It figured that when something like this would happen to him, it had to be with the most boring and uptight Muggle-born that could be found throughout the school. Somewhere fate was laughing at him, he was sure. Still, being a Slytherin, Theo decided not to look a gift-horse in the mouth and smirked. "Sounds like you do have a certain interest in my derrière, Miss Granger."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "I assure you, Mister Nott, that I have no interest in any part of your body. Your virtue is completely safe with me."

Theo grinned. "Well, in that case…"

He quickly joined her under the cloak, torn between getting closer to the warmth she provided and keeping as far away from human contact as possible; however, his mischievous side emerged once more as he snaked an arm around her waist and quickly pulled her closer to him, before she had any chance to react. Theo brought his mouth close to her ear and smiled. "Take note that I cannot promise that your virtue is safe with me, Hermione."

The scandalized voice of a young woman screaming "Nott!" could be heard far into the forest.

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To be out here in the cold, you had to be either very desperate or very stupid. Or as it was the case with the young brunette woman, who silently made her way up to the Quidditch pitch – you had to be a very, very curious person.

Pansy Parkinson, cursed with a healthy dose of curiosity and enough stubbornness and cunning to find ways to satisfy that particular craving, grinned triumphantly. She knew that she had spotted a red dot amidst the mist from her window and – naturally – she had been right.

Some madman obviously defied the unpleasant weather and decided to play Quidditch. This in itself wasn't that much of a feat, thought Pansy, were it not for the fact that he – or she, the thick clothes and the distance did not give her the possibility of discerning the gender of the mad player – played solely on his own. The red dots Pansy had spotted earlier turned out to be a pair of Quaffles that must have been enchanted to attack the goalposts on their own accord, while the lone, dark figure of a Keeper did its best to prevent them from scoring.

Pansy frowned. She knew that no Quidditch player from her House was out here, which led her to the tantalizing conclusion that the madman up there must belong to another House. Her eyes narrowed, as she reached into her robes, and pulled out her Prefect's badge which she fastened – clearly visible - onto her outer cloak. Time to dock some House-points, Pansy thought, looking up at the figure once more.

And then her mouth dropped. That Keeper up there was good. Really, really professional level good. Pansy fingered her Prefect's badge thoughtfully and regarded the player more intently. There was really no way of telling who that was, since the distance and the thick woollen cap completely obscured his face, but there was no way around it – that person had talent. 'Well,' Pansy thought with a nonchalant shrug, 'House points can be deducted later.' For now she was content to watch that spectacular Keeper.

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About an hour later the mysterious player had not even slowed down and still hadn't let many Quaffles pass him by. Pansy was amazed. And, quite frankly, she was intrigued as well. How did it come that she had never seen that person during the matches? Wouldn't it have been natural to put a talent like this on one of the House teams? Wouldn't it—oh Merlin, what was he doing?

The player sped up dramatically, rounded the left goal post and with an amazing display of skill blocked the incoming Quaffle with his arm. Pansy stood up in a rush, knocking down the bank she had sat on in the process and pressed her hands tightly on her mouth. That had been dangerous! He could have…wait. The Keeper stopped in mid-play and looked around. He had seen her.

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With a juicy 'Splat!' the Quaffle connected with his stomach.

"Bloody hell," Ron Weasley panted, then ducked quickly as the second Quaffle made its way towards the goalpost he was guarding. Frantically, he grabbed for the red ball but missed miserably, managing to almost fall off his broom in the process. Ron gritted his teeth and swore as he shakily regained his balance and went for the next Quaffle. Knowing full well that he had a spectator, the nervous redhead missed again and – in a sudden bout of clumsiness – almost collided with the goalpost.

There was no point in going on. Not with a spectator, Ron thought miserably, and with a defeated flick of his wand he lifted the enchantment from the Quaffles and flew down to face the source of the disruption.

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"Parkinson!"

Pansy rolled her eyes. It seemed as if the whole school had taken to call her by her last name. Pushing up her chin defiantly, she glared up at the approaching figure. "What? You know that…" Her jaw dropped for a second time this day. "Weasley? What are you doing here?"

His face turned bright red as he landed right next to her. "It's called playing Quidditch," Ron snarled, enraged at the smirk that suddenly lit up the Slytherin girl's features.

"Oh really?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "And here I thought it's called 'Let's not catch the Quaffle'."

"Ha. Bloody. Ha," Ron scowled. "Shouldn't you be hiding in the castle or something? I thought you snakes didn't like the cold."

"Shouldn't you be with the other nice kids? After all," she gave another of those infuriating smirks, "it's not like training is going to improve your performance. You simply lack the skill for the sport."

Surpassing red, Ron's face turned a livid purple. "What do you know about Quidditch anyway? As far as I can recall, skill has never been a requirement on the Slytherin team." Ron shot her a look that spoke of pure hatred. "Or how would you explain that Malfoy ever made it onto the team?"

The smirk vanished abruptly and her pale cheeks flushed in anger. "Draco is very skilled!"

"Just not at Quidditch, right?"

"He has more talent in his little toe than you in your whole body, Weasel!" Pansy screeched in a shrill voice. "He's…he's…" Her voice trailed off uncertainly as she watched her breath turning into little ice crystals. Pansy's heart began to beat frantically, and her breathing quickened in fear. "What's happening? Weasley, what have you done?" Her voice rose in panic.

"I…nothing," Ron started shivering. It felt like drowning in ice water, like freezing from the inside, like…like being robbed of every positive feeling you've ever felt. Ron's throat went dry. "No."

"N-no?" Pansy, oblivious to Ron's reaction, started trembling. "What 'no'? There's no place for a 'no'. There's…Weasley! Let go!"

Ignoring her struggles and protests, Ron grabbed the girl's arm and started dragging her away. "We need to leave. We…stop hitting me, Parkinson!"

"No!" Pansy screamed and hit him again. "Get your filthy hands off me, you brute! You barbaric…!"

"Parkinson!"

"- filthy, Muggle-loving-"

"Parkinson, listen to me!"

"- ugly, pea-brained-"

"Pansy, shut the hell UP!" Ron roared and caught her fists in his hands. "Shut up and listen, for Merlin's sake!"

"-oaf," she finished in a small, defiant voice. Still trembling, Pansy held her breath and listened. And listened some more. Despite the terrible fear that twisted her insides, the brunette glared up at the tall Gryffindor. "I don't hear anything, Weasel."

"That's the point," he said in a hoarse voice. "We need to leave. Now."

"What does that…? Oh no, don't you start dragging me away again!"

"Pansy! Come on before they…"

Both teens froze as a slow, rattling breath broke through the silence.

"Oh, bloody hell."

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