November 2017

"What are you doing here?"

Theo snapped one of her shin guards into place before smirking up at Philip. "Last I checked, I'm still Head Girl."

Philip heaved out an exasperated sigh. He had hoped to hole himself up in the Heads Common Room for the morning. The first Quidditch match of the year was scheduled for later that day, so he planned on doing some homework before watching the game.

Traditionally, Gryffindor and Slytherin kicked off the Inter-House Quidditch Cup. By a literal stroke of bad luck, several members of the Gryffindor team came down with the Black Cat Flu. After a meeting among the Captains, Ravenclaw conceded to advancing their game against Slytherin. Philip owled the team a box of pastries as a small thank-you.

"I just thought you'd already be out there flying laps," said Philip. Pre-game, Philip and Theo often traded jeers while warming up. A part of him was a bit bummed he wasn't about to experience it that day.

"Saving my energy," Theo said. "Don't worry. I'll be out of your hair in a bit."

"You don't have to," Philip faltered. Theo was giving him an odd look. "This is a shared Common Room. You can stay as long as you want."

She nodded and went back to adjusting her safety equipment. There was a ghost of a smile on her face, as if she had a wisecrack that she decided against at the last moment.

Their working relationship improved after the Hogsmeade trip. The changes were not ground-breaking, by any means. It was merely a little more civility during one-on-one interactions, a little less tongue in cheek during Prefect meetings. Still, there was a long school year ahead of them.

Philip knew better than to call a win before halftime.

He sat at a coffee table near the window overlooking the Quidditch Pitch. Dark, ominous clouds loomed outside as drops of water pelted the glass. It was a drizzle for now but Philip knew it was likely to worsen before letting up.

"It's not looking good out there," he said to Theo. "What's your game plan?"

She stood from the sofa and looked towards the window. There wasn't a trace of apprehension in her expression.

"I guess I'm finally going to have to listen to you," she answered, deadpan.

To Philip's displeasure, Theo didn't elaborate. She patted down her uniform and headed for the door. "Wait," Philip called out.

He wanted to ask what she meant. The rain was picking up outside. No, what he really wanted to say was 'be safe,' he thought.

Theo had paused in her stride to hear him out.

"Make it a good game," he said instead.

She rolled her eyes. "Always."

Once she was gone, Philip turned to his Herbology homework. Neville Longbottom was asking for a 20-inch essay on dittany and its uses. It was a fairly easy assignment since dittany was known for its restorative purposes, but Philip found that he couldn't get past two paragraphs. He spent half the morning attempting to make sense of Theo's words.

By the time he was supposed to meet up with his friends, he had only written a quarter of what he had hoped to accomplish. He left his schoolwork on the table and figured he'd pick back up on the essay in the evening.

Hercules and Nathaniel were waiting for him at their House table. "Am I a terrible person if I'm grateful we're not the ones out there today?" Nathaniel was saying as Philip walked up to them.

A small part of Philip was inclined to agree. His earlier gut feeling was right. The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. Visibility gracefully remained clear, though the wind was lashing rather mercilessly at the trees.

"I hate it when you've trained for one weather, then the day comes and BAM! Different playin' field altogether," Hercules said glumly.

Nathaniel shrunk a bit in his seat as thunder clapped outside. "Do we really have to watch?" he whined. "We could be sitting by a nice fireplace right now."

"The first game is always one of the best to watch," Hercules shot back.

Philip took a sip of pumpkin juice. Hercules and Nathaniel were eyeing him, waiting for him to tip the scales. The weather was dreadful, sure, and Philip could use the time to get ahead in Herbology. But curiosity beat out comfort any day. I guess I'm finally going to have to listen to you, she'd said.

"It's going to be a good match," Philip assured Nathaniel. "We don't want to miss it."

Defeated, Nathaniel followed Hercules and Philip out the Great Hall. Despite the gloomy weather, the whole school had still turned out to watch the match. "The wind isn't as bad as I thought," Hercules commented. "Would've been a bitch if it were, eh?"

Nathaniel said something in response. Philip didn't hear it. There was that overwhelming feeling in his chest again, the same dread he felt during the Start-of-Term Feast. It was an anxiety that rang low and quiet during meals and classes, muted and muffled in the times when he'd move from one class to another.

At the stadium full of people, the unease blared. He felt like everyone was looking at him. The small, rational part of him knew it was untrue. The rest of him screamed to run.

He clutched the handle of his umbrella until his knuckles turned white. Hercules was already searching for seats, but Nathaniel was right beside Philip. He looked up with an expression of alarm and concern.

"You alright, mate?" Nathaniel asked.

Philip's mouth felt dry. He tried to respond. All that came out was an odd gulping noise.

Then, he caught a glimpse of green robes in the distance. He could make out the Slytherin team, who were huddled under a large umbrella, and Theo, who was brandishing her wand over them. The distance between them was too much for Philip to make out what she was casting.

Inexplicably, the sight of her fluttering about her teammates snapped Philip back to his senses. "I'm okay," he said to Nathaniel. "The rain's just getting into my shoes, I think."

Nathaniel didn't look convinced. The two reluctantly made their way to Hercules, who had secured seats in the front row of the stands. Hercules was saying something about a pretty Hufflepuff he'd sighted when the Ravenclaw team walked out onto the pitch.

The Gryffindor crowd cheered for them.

"Better the Ravenclaws than the Slytherins," said Hercules. Philip laughed along with Nathaniel.

The captains of Ravenclaw and Slytherin stomped through mud to shake each other's hands. Ravenclaw's captain was a pleasant and witty fifth-year, but Philip was more interested in Thomas Conway.

Philip and Theo had both been appointed Quidditch Captain of their respective Houses in their fourth year. In their fifth year, Thomas took over Slytherin captainship. He also made the call to make Theo a Chaser after she'd played as a Beater for four years.

It never made sense to Philip. He never questioned it, because at the end of the day, the shakeup played in his favor, securing Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup for the past two years. Thomas' insistence to have Theo as one of his co-Chasers was yet to bear fruit.

Rolanda Hooch's shrill whistle was followed by the amplified voice of Angelica 'Angie' Hamilton.

"And they're off!" Angie announced. She was just as passionate about Quidditch as the rest of her family, though she lacked the physique to play it. Her vast knowledge of the game instead secured her a semi-permanent spot at the Commentator Stand.

"Ravenclaw is in possession — we have Edgecombe aiming for the posts, yes… Blimey! Burr took the Quaffle from right under his nose. And… and… oh! The first goal of the match goes to Slytherin. She's flying like she's never flown better. Why, if I didn't know any better — is Burr riding a Firebolt Supreme?!"

The Slytherin end of the pitch was going wild. "When did Burr get a Firebolt Supreme?" Hercules screeched.

Philip was shell-shocked, too. He'd seen the Slytherin team practicing here and there, but he hadn't paid any particular attention to what brooms any of them were riding. A crucial mistake, it seemed, as Thomas passed the Quaffle to Theo and she sped past everyone with ease to score a second goal. Philip made a mental note to rethink their strategy against the Slytherin team.

Angie, despite being a Ravenclaw, was beside herself at the sight of the famed broom. "Folks, the Firebolt Supreme can go a whopping 200 miles per hour in under 10 seconds," she raved. "It's a major upgrade from the original Firebolt model. Burr's may be made of hazel twigs, which are good for turning. The birch counterpart is —"

"Hamilton!" interrupted McGonagall's voice. "You are not here to advertise Firebolts!"

"Right you are, Headmistress. In the time that I've shared with you some Firebolt facts, Slytherin has taken the lead. It's fifty points to zero, likely courtesy — oh, it's sixty to zero, now. The Firebolt Supreme is leaving our Ravenclaws in the dust. The goblin-made ironwork was actually forged in —"

"HAMILTON!"

The game wore on with Ravenclaw struggling to keep up. If anything, they were saved by the fact that the rain grew more intense, slowing down members of the Slytherin team with older broom models. Theo and Thomas remained ruthless, keeping the gap between the scores wide. When Angie began commentating about the Snitch, the score was at 170-230 in Slytherin's favor.

"This could end in a tie," Nathaniel said. His eyes were glued to the two Seekers, who were madly dashing around the pitch. It was difficult to make out the Snitch through the rain. Philip glanced at Theo and saw that she looked nervous. He wondered why until Angie's voice boomed again.

"Slytherin had to substitute their Seeker at the last minute due to a case of the spreading Black Cat Flu, so we're looking at the freshly-minted Twycross against McLaggen, who has been the Ravenclaw Seeker since his second year… It's just a fact, Headmistress! Anyway, they're diving — McLaggen feinted! Twycross is spinning, trying to regain control of his broom! Will he recover?"

The game had come to a standstill. The weather was too vicious to fight against, so everyone in the stadium, even the players, were holding their breaths as McLaggen and Twycross elbowed each other to secure the final stretch of the game.

McLaggen was pulling ahead. His outstretched arm was longer than Twycross', fingers extended to reach the Snitch. The result of the match seemed like a given.

A flash of green dashed in front of Philip. Startled, he watched as Theo made a mad grab for the Quaffle, which had been in possession of one of Ravenclaw's Chasers.

"Hey!" the Ravenclaw cried, but Theo was already racing away.

Theo briefly glanced over her shoulder, seemed to notice McLaggen's descent, then resolutely flew to the goalpost closest to her. She pulled her arm back, then, to Philip's horror, pushed off her broom. With the full weight of her body, she pushed the Quaffle past Ravenclaw's flustered Keeper.

Her broom stayed suspended in the air as she dropped like a stone.

Philip's stomach lurched with fear. The Ravenclaws were celebrating their Seeker's catch while the Slytherins were eyeing Hooch, waiting for her call. In the flurry of excitement, no one, except Ravenclaw's Keeper and Philip, seemed to notice what had just happened. Even Angie was too dumbfounded to cry out for Theo, who was falling, falling, falling…

Philip whipped out his wand and leaned over the stand's barrier. "Arresto Momentum!" he roared.

Somebody in the Slytherin stands let out a shriek that carried over the sound of the pounding rain.

Theodosia Burr had landed on the pitch with a sickening crunch.

For a terrifying moment, there was no movement, no sound. Then, the entire stadium burst with noise; like a bubble that had been popped. The Slytherin players scrambled to dismount their brooms as Hooch raced across the pitch.

"Bloody hell," Hercules said, sounding horrified.

Without a word to his friends, Philip hit the ground running. Once he was on the pitch, he elbowed past a couple of Slytherins to reach Hooch, who was kneeling in the mud next to the Head Girl. A pale-faced Thomas was next to them, his lip quivering.

"She's alive!" Hooch screamed, her voice hoarse. A ripple of relief passed through the loose circle of people surrounding her. "The stretcher, please!"

Theo lay unmoving, still and white as death. Still, Philip saw Madam Hooch was right. There was a slight rise and fall to Theo's chest. It was the only sign of life at the moment.

Slytherin's Beaters came up with the emergency cot. Hooch waved her wand, magicking Theo on to the gurney.

"Hamilton, you hit her with that Slowing Charm, didn't you?" said Hooch. "Head to the Hospital Wing with the team. You ought to explain to Pomfrey what happened. I'll talk to the Headmistress."

Slytherin's Beaters carried the stretcher while Philip and Thomas followed a few steps behind. The rest of the House team tailed along. It was a silent, urgent dash to the Hospital Wing. Everyone was so daunted that no one even bothered to comment on Philip's presence.

Poppy Pomfrey was frantic. Philip recounted the events to the best of his ability as the others placed Theo in a bed. Once Philip was done, Pomfrey turned to the Slytherins and commanded, "Out! Everybody out!"

The team filed out quickly. Philip and Thomas didn't budge.

"I'm her captain," said Thomas firmly. "I'm responsible for what happens to her, on and off the pitch."

Philip didn't try to make a case for himself. He figured he would leave if Pomfrey insisted he should, since he didn't really have the credentials to defend his stay.

Thankfully, Pomfrey didn't contest either of the boys. She merely let out a huff of disdain before heading towards Theo. Philip and Thomas kept a respectful distance.

Pomfrey whispered a diagnostic charm. It was the type of spell that conjured glowing balls which could identify where treatment was needed.

Theo lit up like a Christmas tree.

"What a foolish girl," Pomfrey said disapprovingly.

She got to work with bone-mending, her incantations differing for each part of the body. Philip and Thomas watched as Pomfrey worked from head to toe. Calvario Emendo. Spinum Emendo. Humerum Emendo . Skull, spine, shoulder, Philip thought.

At one point, he could no longer keep up. Pomfrey looked up after several minutes of magicking.

"I'll be needing a Skele-Gro. There are some bones that my magic can't reach," she said.

Thomas rushed off to comply with the request before Pomfrey could finish her sentence. He returned with a bottle shaped like a skeletons' rib cage and arms. Pomfrey took it, uncorked the potion, then turned expectantly to Philip. "Make yourself of use, Hamilton, and help me administer this."

Philip stepped up to the bed. He recoiled at the potion's pungent smell but did as he was told, holding Theo's head up as Pomfrey poured the potion.

Something was wrong, Philip realized immediately. Skele-Gro traditionally tasted terrible, so gagging and retching was a common response. Theo, however, was doing more than coughing and spluttering. She began to wheeze and her face started to swell.

It was the same bodily reaction Philip had when Angie first brought a Pygmy Puff home.

He pointed the tip of his wand at Theo's chest. "Respirare."

Everyone in his family had varying allergies. Respirare was the non-negotiable spell to know.

The effects were instant. Theo's breathing improved and the swelling in her face went down. She began to snore, even, indicating that the worse of her anaphylaxis was over.

"She must be allergic to one of the potion's ingredients," Philip told a stunned-looking Pomfrey.

"Yes, of course. Oh, Merlin, we really should start keeping records about that sort of thing," the matron said. "Good work, spotting that as fast as you did. Let me see what else we can do for those bones…"

Pomfrey rushed off to her office, leaving Philip and Thomas to watch over Theo.

Thomas, who in that moment looked older than he really was, spoke once Pomfrey was out of earshot. "Thank you, Hamilton, for what you did," he said. "Both on the pitch and, er, just now."

Philip knew he ought to feel triumphant to receive gratitude from someone he'd spent so many years playing against. At that moment, though, he was just exhausted. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was suddenly aware of just how cold he was, having run through the rain to reach Theo.

Thomas didn't look any better. His Quidditch robes were drenched and he was covered in mud. He was even shaking, though Philip thought it had little to do with the chills.

Thinking back, Philip realized that Thomas probably wasn't there just as Theo's captain. He was standing guard and fretting endlessly because he was her friend.

"There's no way you could have known she'd do that," said Philip. He glanced at Theo and heard Pomfrey's words in his head. What a foolish girl. "Theodosia Burr just has a mind of her own sometimes."

"Boy, do I know that," said Thomas. He didn't acknowledge Philip's attempt at comfort, though there was, finally, the smallest of smiles on his face.

The two regarded each other with newfound respect.

"I should head back to the team. Keep them out while Madam Pomfrey does her thing," Thomas said after a moment. "You coming?"

"I'll stay. Madam Pomfrey might need a hand."

Thomas nodded. He took a deep breath, drew himself to his full height, then walked out the Hospital Wing, straight-backed, to face his anxious housemates. It was admirable conviction, Philip thought.

For his part, Philip lingered awkwardly. He figured Theo would be knocked out for a couple more hours. If he really wanted to, he could change out of his wet clothes and come back to check on her.

But he didn't want her to wake up with nobody by her side.

He killed the rest of the afternoon doing menial chores around the Hospital Wing, much to Pomfrey's chagrin. Theo began to stir while Philip was in the middle of rearranging Pomfrey's medicine cabinet.

"Holy shit," she moaned, clutching her head with one hand.

Philip came up to her. He figured there was a long line of people waiting to tell her off so he spared her the lecture. "Hey, you," he smirked. "Hurts, huh?"

Theo looked up at him. "Did we win?"

"What?"

"Did my shot go through?"

He was so astounded that he had to sit down at the foot of Theo's bed. "You had a fifty-foot fall and all you care about is whether you won a match. You're even more insane than I am, Burr."

She shrugged. "Well, it would be nice to know if the fall was worth it."

"I have no idea what the final score was," he admitted. A part of him wanted to add that he hadn't left the wing since she got brought in, but it seemed like a detail that would earn him a touch of judgment.

Theo glanced around the ward. "Was I out for long?"

"No. It's still the same day," said Philip. "Madam Pomfrey's just getting dinner."

Suddenly, he remembered Pomfrey's concerns from earlier. The matron said she wouldn't be able to help Theo unless they identified her allergies. "Can you lean back?" he asked. "I want to run a quick test."

With a distrustful glance, Theo did as she was asked. Philip waved his wand and chanted the incantation that Pomfrey used earlier. Only two blinking lights were left over Theo: One on her left arm and another on her left knee.

"I presume the left side of her body was the point of impact."

Philip waved the diagnostic away. "I just wanted to check," he said to Pomfrey, who had walked up to them so quietly that he hadn't heard her arrive.

"No need to sound sorry. You did a fine job with that spell, Hamilton," Pomfrey said. She then turned to Theo. "Do you have any allergies?"

"Geranium," said Theo.

There it was, Philip thought. "There's fanged geranium in Skele-Gro," he said.

"That's right," Pomfrey sighed. "Unfortunately, it's non-negotiable to the potion, and Skele-Gro is the only reliable alternative to bone-healing magic. We may have to treat this the muggle way."

Pomfrey was just about to explain what 'the muggle way' entailed when the doors to the Hospital Wing swung open. A blonde-haired girl with bloodshot eyes came running in. Thomas was at her heels, cursing under his breath.

"Theo!" the girl sobbed. She surged forward to hug Theo but Thomas grabbed her by the back of her robes to hold her back. "Oh, I was so worried. No one could say how you were doing — Thomas, let me go!"

"I told you not to get too excited, Thalia," Thomas said. The girl named Thalia thwacked Thomas on the head, effectively freeing herself from the latter's grip.

Pomfrey started to reprimand the two for causing trouble in the wing. As Theo gazed at her friends with almost blinding affection, Philip figured this was his cue to leave.

Thalia moved up to Theo's bedside and Philip quietly slipped away. On his way out, he shared a look with Thomas. The two gave each other curt nods before glancing away.

Later that night, Hercules and Nathaniel delivered the news to Philip: Theo's shot did go through. The final score was 330-320, securing Slytherin one of the tightest wins ever witnessed in Hogwarts Quidditch history.

The three were lounging about in their dormitory, discussing the match.

"I heard the same thing happened in the World Cup once. Bulgaria caught the snitch but Ireland won the game," Nathaniel said excitedly. "I never thought I'd see something like it live, though."

"She's got guts. I'll give her that," said Hercules. He asked Philip, "What did Madam Pomfrey say?"

"She's going to be treated 'the muggle way'. I don't know the specifics, though," Philip said.

The three boys lapsed into contemplative silence. They were all half-bloods, though Philip admittedly didn't know much about muggle healing. Neither Hercules nor Nathaniel offered suggestions on what they thought Pomfrey would do.

They quickly found out what 'the muggle way' meant when Theo started attending classes three days after the match. She had a fiberglass cast on her left arm and a leg brace on her left leg, and heavily relied on the use of a crutch to get around.

She was initially smug about her win. Philip could tell that much. The injuries were like a badge of honor, a warning of what she was willing to do to secure a win.

As the days dragged on, though, he watched her satisfaction fade into frustration. Magic helped here and there, but it wasn't any easier to get around the castle or attend classes with one less hand or leg. It didn't help that a number of their peers quickly moved on from her stunt and were now more focused on poking fun at her.

"Oi, Burr!" Nathaniel called out after one of their shared classes. "You might want a parachute for your next game. I reckon the Slytherin team won't win another match if both your arms are out of commission."

Thomas moved forward like he might hit Nathaniel, but Theo rested a hand on his arm and shook her head slightly.

Philip tried to offer Theo an apologetic smile. He quickly realized she didn't need it. "Aren't you the lowest scoring Chaser in the school, Pendelton?" she said coolly. "Yap all you want, but I can beat you with two hands tied behind my back."

The Slytherins laughed snidely and moved past a red-faced Nathaniel. "The lowest scaring Chaser?!" he sputtered to Philip. "Where did that come from?!"

"I don't know," Philip clasped a hand over his friend's shoulder. "But I dare say you had that coming, trying to pick a fight with someone like Burr…"

Theo held her own against peoples' comments. Still, Philip could sense her discomfort at being incapacitated. It was why, a few days before their scheduled weekly meeting, he wrote her an owl: Let's meet at the Potions Classroom for our 4 PM meeting. Slughorn insisted. - P. Hamilton

Initially, he had written something along the lines of It will be easier for you . He scratched it out, knowing Theo might not take kindly to being patronized. Weeks ago, Slughorn had given Philip free reign of the Potions dungeons for "any purpose" he might need, so Philip's note was a half-truth.

The next morning, an orange screech owl landed on his shoulder and nipped at the bread crumbs on his plate. It brought Theo's reply: Roger that. - T. Burr (P.S.: Thatcher won't leave unless you give her toast.)

Philip thought he might beat Theo to the dungeons. Being on time didn't seem to be enough, though, as she was already seated at one on the stools when Philip got there.

She looked surprised to see him arrive so early.

"Has something happened?" she asked, sounding seriously shocked.

"Har-har. Very funny. Before we start, I have something to ask of you," Philip was speeding through his words because he was scared he'd lose courage if he let himself think of what he was about to do.

He pulled out three vials from his bag. "I want you to try these."

Theo narrowed her eyes at him. "Is this a murder attempt?"

"Trust me, I'd be a lot more subtle if I wanted to off you," he said. "You've heard of Mama Val's Quick Remedies, haven't you?"

"I have that book at home, yes."

"Good. Well, these are some of her remedies. You can start with this."

He pushed forward the potion that was pale blue in color with light yellow flecks. Theo was visibly hesitant, but Philip wasn't about to back down. She took the vial with her free hand and gave Philip a stern look. "If I die, it's on you," she said.

She took a sip of the potion. The two stared at each other expectantly.

"I don't feel anything different," she was saying. "What is thi — oh."

"That's a Magical Muscle Relaxant," Philip said. "Do you feel anything odd? How's your heart, your throat?"

Theo blinked once, then twice. "I'm not sure about either of those, but my body… it feels…"

"Relaxed, I'm sure," he said with a laugh. "Mobility aids tend to tense up your joints. Here, try this one."

She was a little more enthusiastic when she took the potion that was pale lavender. A minute after drinking it, her eyes widened. "I can feel my leg again."

"It hasn't repaired your bones," warned Philip. "It's just a Cramping Concoction. But it can offer temporary relief."

"And that one?" She was looking at the vial containing a pale orange potion.

It was Philip's turn to hesitate. "That's a Cooling Cream. It's usually reserved for burns, but I wanted to see if it can be an alternative to the Cramping Concoction, since it's not advised to use the latter that much," He paused. "May I?"

She gave a reluctant nod. Philip had been intentional about the order of which medicines to offer her, knowing she would likely resist if he started off with the topical application.

He squeezed out a small amount of the cream, approximately half the size of a Knut, onto his palm. Feeling a little foolish, he knelt next to her injured leg. "It may sting a bit," he said quietly before rubbing the potion on to the parts of her leg that were exposed despite the brace.

Theo let out a shaky breath. "It stings a lot," she hissed.

"I know. Give it a minute."

They waited. Theo squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't think it's helping."

"Okay, okay. Here," Philip pulled out his wand and cast a simple cleansing spell. He looked up at her. "Better?"

"Much."

As Philip stood and wiped gravel off his knees, Theo asked the million Galleon question. "Where did you buy all these?"

For days, Philip went back and forth on whether he should lie. When it came down to it, his blasted pride won. "I made them," he said.

With Slughorn's permission, Philip was already killing time by experimenting in the Potions Classroom. After Theo's incident, though, he found himself putting in more hours in the dungeons, poring over book after book on possible remedies. Slughorn enthusiastically gave input here and there. The professor was even the one who recommended looking into Mama Val's.

Sometimes, while he was waiting for a potion to brew, Philip would catch himself. He would wonder, What the hell am I doing?, knowing full well that neither of them considered the other friends. They were colleagues, co-workers.

He'd then go back to the potion and try to convince himself that he was doing it simply because he was a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor who couldn't bear to see someone in pain, even if it was someone who he spent the better half of his teenage years disagreeing with.

That was a lie, of course. The real answer was in Theo's reaction. At first, she seemed nonchalant to his admission. They went about the motions of their meeting as though the first few minutes of experimentation had never happened. Once they were done with their discussion, Philip nodded at the two potions Theo reacted positively to. "You can keep those," he said. "Remind me to owl you the suggested dosages per day."

As he was packing away the Cooling Cream, he heard Theo say in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "Thank you, Hamilton."

He felt himself turning a bit red in the face. Her initial indifference had stung him more than he cared to admit. And while Theo's expression of gratitude was quiet in all sense of the word, Philip could sense genuine sincerity.

He cleared his throat and flashed her a cheeky smile. "If you need any more, you just tell me, yeah?" he said. "I think your owl and I get along, anyhow."

A smirk tugged at Theo's lips. "Don't let Thatcher think that. She'll never leave you alone."

Philip didn't talk to Theo for at least another week. He got so caught up in training with his recovered team that he hadn't even really had the chance to spare a thought for her; just enough to notice that she was still diligently attending the classes they shared.

One evening, Thatcher tapped incessantly at the window of the Gryffindor Boys Dormitory.

"Cute owl," Nathaniel said absently as Philip opened the window to let her in.

Thatcher bore a parchment with the words: Heads Common Room. ASAP.

Philip set off through the dark hallways, bent-backed. The lack of context in Theo's note had alarmed him. The worst thing possible, he thought, was that she'd had an adverse reaction to one of his medicines. He had been extra careful to ensure that none of the potions had geranium. Had he accidentally put one in? Did she have any other allergies? He should have asked. He mentally chided himself for it.

When he got to their Common Room, he had to catch his breath for a moment.

"Took you long enough," said Theo.

She was lounging on a sofa by the fireplace, the book of previous Heads in her lap. With a start, Philip realized her leg brace was gone.

"You're better?" he said.

"Just the leg for now," she said as she set the book aside. "Madam Pomfrey believes the cast may soon follow suit. She also said my recovery happened sooner thanks to your potions."

Philip tried not to look too pleased with himself. "You could have said that in your note, you know," he said, plopping down next to her on the sofa. "I worried all the way here."

Theo snickered. "Worried, huh? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were in love with me."

"Come on," Philip groaned. "I hope you didn't call me here just to jump on my nerves."

"You're right about that," she said soberly. Theo reached into her bag and pulled out two clear shot glasses, then a tall bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. "We're going to play a game."

Philip's suspicion must have been obvious, because Theo waved a dismissive hand at him. "Consider it a small 'thank you' for all the medicine. Mulligan let slip that this was your favorite spirit," she said.

"Really, it's a school night…" he said weakly.

"Are you telling me you've never drank on a school night?"

"I'm saying I've never drank with you."

Theo poured out two shots of the drink. She raised one of the glasses to her lips. "We can change that."

There was no winning, Philip decided as he took the other glass. He shot the Firewhiskey back, letting it sear his throat in the way that he had always liked. He stole a glance at Theo, whose face had briefly contorted as the alcohol went down. It took everything in him not to smile.

"What's this game of yours?" he asked as he poured out more shots for them.

"It's a simple one, really," said Theo casually. "I thought of it when I realized we don't know jack shit about each other. And we've been working together for — what has it been? Two months?"

"Three months."

"See, that's even worse," Theo picked up her glass and began swirling her drink around. "I'm going to make an assumption about you. If I'm right, you drink. If I'm wrong, I drink. Then vice versa."

"That's it?" Philip said as he held on to his own glass.

"I told you it was simple."

Philip leaned into the couch. He wondered how long it would take for either of them to storm out of the room.

"You go first, then," he said.

Theo didn't miss a beat. "You want to be a Healer."

Philip chuckled. "Low-hanging fruit," he joked. Anyone who took one look at his timetable would be able to draw that conclusion. He took the shot.

"I can't say I'm not surprised," said Theo. "I thought you wanted something like…"

She trailed off, though Philip could guess what she was getting at. "My father?" he finished. Theo looked a bit ashamed as she nodded. Alexander Hamilton was the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the British Ministry of Magic.

"Politics isn't for me," Philip admitted.

"Why healing, then?"

If he wanted to, Philip could have fielded the question. Could've lied that it was for the money or the prestige. Only the closest of his siblings knew the real reason why he wanted to be a Healer. For some reason, though, being one-on-one with Theo and sharing a drink with her made it easier for him to tell the truth.

"My maternal grandmother passed away because of some unknown magical disease. I never actually got to meet her," he said quickly. "She died when my father was only 10. Still, he's talked about what it was like, since he caught the disease, too — half-dead, sitting in their own sick…"

Philip smiled sadly. "I guess that's why I got so invested in healing magic. Maybe someday I'll figure out what got her."

Theo nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, she prodded, "Your turn."

"Right." Philip kept the theme of career paths. "You want to be an Auror."

Theo grinned slightly, like she had been expecting it.

"Drink," she said.

"You're joking," A beat. Philip poured another shot and took it. "I swear, if you're cheating me…"

"Oh, sock it," Theo shifted in her seat, carefully maneuvering around her cast. Vulnerability was unfamiliar to her, too. "I want to be a Curse-Breaker, actually."

"But…" Philip faltered. Theo glared at him expectantly. "Aren't you scared of the dark?" he said, aware of just how stupid the question was.

At least it made Theo chuckle. "Trust me, I'm working on that," she said. "You said, earlier, that politics isn't for you? I guess that's something we can agree on."

Theo's father, Aaron Burr, was Alexander's direct counterpart. He was also the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement but for the Magical Congress of the United States of America. Philip used to hear all about it from his parents.

"I think you'd be a wicked Curse-Breaker," he offered. "Even if you may be the most cowardly one."

The expression on Theo's face was a cross of appreciation and offense. Philip cracked a smile at the sight of it. "Come on. It's your turn," he urged.

It took her a little longer before she could come up with her next assumption. "You wanted Martha Kirke for Head Girl."

Philip was mildly taken aback. Martha Kirke was a fellow Gryffindor who ran similar paths as him. She was a Prefect and a substitute Chaser for the House team, even. They were good enough friends. There might have been a time, even, where they could have been something more than friends, though that was something Philip could say about quite a few girls on campus.

Ultimately, he derived satisfaction in getting to tell Theo, "Drink up."

She obliged. Philip shook his head with amusement as she grimaced at the taste.

"Martha's nice," he said. "But I never once thought she'd fit the bill for Head Girl."

"Who else would've, then?" Theo asked as she filled her glass back up.

"I'm not drunk enough to answer that."

"That's fair," said Theo brightly. Was the alcohol already getting to her? "You go, then."

Philip threw the question back. "You expected a different Head Boy."

"Fishing for compliments, are we?" She pursed her lips into a thin smile. To Philip's surprise, she drank a second time.

"I wasn't expecting that," he said. "I — well, I thought you'd want someone else to work with."

"Who I 'want' is neither here nor there," she said. "I never doubted you'd be Hogwarts' Head Boy."

But who do you want as your Head Boy, Philip wanted to ask. He was too scared of the answer.

"Really, though, you're terrible at this game. You've only copied me at each turn," she snapped. "Let's play a new one."

"It wasn't as easy as I thought," said Philip. He took a shot for the hell of it.

"You've heard of Truth or Drink?"

"I can do that."

"Do you want to start, then?" she challenged.

"Alright. Hmmm…" Philip opted to start small. "What do you smell in your amortentia?"

Theo snorted. She quickly rearranged her expression to a more pleasant one, seeming embarrassed to have laughed the way she did. Philip tried to conceal the endearment he felt at the sight of it.

"Cinnamon," she started.

Philip feigned shock. "The spice you drown your pumpkin juice in?" He always caught a whiff of the scent whenever he passed by Theo during meal times.

"Bugger off," Theo grabbed the firewhiskey and took a swig straight from the bottle. Shot glasses be damned. "Anyway, before you so rudely interrupted me. Cinnamon, jewelweed, and…"

She paused thoughtfully then smiled, as if she had just tapped into a fond memory. "Pine trees."

"What about you?" she asked.

"Is that your question for me?"

Theo pouted. Honest-to-goodness pouted. Philip felt his mind short circuit a bit. "We're allowed to throw the question back at each other," she insisted. "And it shouldn't count."

"Fine, fine," Philip averted his gaze to the fireplace. Looking at Theo for too long was making him unusually nervous. "Fresh parchment, cookie dough, and sea water."

"How cliché."

"I wasn't aware we'd be judging each other. And," he gently took the bottle of alcohol from Theo. "I thought the Firewhiskey was a 'thank you' for me."

She leaned forward. "You can cast a corporeal Patronus, can't you?"

"Yes. My turn."

"Hey!"

"I'm kidding."

"What's yours?"

Philip drank some more. They weren't really abiding by the rules of Truth or Drink anymore, though Theo looked too intoxicated to police him on it.

"A dachshund," he answered. "I have one at home. That may be why."

"What's his name?"

"Milo," Philip smiled at the thought of him. "I've had him since our first year."

"I've always wanted a dog," said Theo. "But my dad's not the type to keep pets."

"Is your patronus a dog, too?"

Theo shook her head. "It's a fox."

"Apt for a Slytherin."

"I'll take that as a compliment," she smirked. "Okay, now it's your turn."

Philip realized it was now or never. "Before the last match, you said you'd finally take my advice," he said slowly. "What did you mean?"

Theo looked like she was straining to remember. Eventually, she gestured for the drink. Philip was mildly disappointed to hand it over. She took a long sip, hissed, then passed the bottle back to Philip.

"I'm surprised you never figured it out," she mumbled. She looked straight at him, her expression quite serious.

Philip was contemplating the brownness of Theo's eyes when, half-smiling, she answered his question anyway: "I wanted to win."

"Don't you always?" he said skeptically.

"Sure I do. But never as bad as I wanted to that day. I put myself in your shoes, in Thomas' shoes, and realized it's different — when you want to win that badly."

It hit Philip, then, which conversation Theo was referencing. She caught the moment it dawned on him and grinned mischievously at the delayed realization.

"Watch out," she said. "I'm going to give you hell."

All he could manage was "Please don't jump off the broom again."

Theo laughed, but not in a cruel way. It was the kind of laugh where her eyes crinkled at the corners. Philip could count on one hand the amount of times he'd seen her laugh like that, and rarely was it because of him. He suddenly felt warm all over, though he was quick to squash the feeling by downing more whiskey.

For the next couple of hours, the two went back and forth with scrapbook questions. Philip found himself admitting to the most foolish of things; his love for playing the piano, his fascination with muggle transportation, his passionate aversion to Divination. Every now and then, they paused, like they might want to ask something of real consequence, only to blurt out something like "What's your favorite Diagon Alley shop?"

Theo hogged most of the alcohol. At one point, Philip glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner.

"It's 3 AM?" he said disbelievingly. "We have a morning class."

Theo sunk into the couch. "Go ahead, then. I'll stay here for the night."

She sensed his hesitation. "I've fallen asleep here once or twice," she assured. "Rowena's used to it. Besides, I feel like everything's spinning."

"Ha. Lightweight."

"Odgen's is no joke, you git."

Philip held up the bottle, testing its weight. There were estimably a couple of shots left after their drinking session.

He tilted his head backwards and chugged the drink. Theo watched in disgust.

"Show-off," she mumbled as she shut her eyes.

Philip felt the world growing fuzzy at the edges. "I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said in the most leveled tone that he could muster. He didn't sound drunk. Did he?

Theo didn't point it out. She hummed a soft "mmm-hmm" before twisting a bit, her sleeping position awkward with her cast.

With wobbly footing, Philip walked across the room to open one of the cabinets. He reached for a thick blanket that had a pattern of bowtruckles on it.

When he got back to the sofa, Theo was already knocked out. It was a small grace. He spread the blanket over her, took a moment to regain some composure, then left their Common Room.

Thankfully, he ran into no one as he stumbled back to the Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady wasn't happy to be roused from her sleep. Philip made a mental note to shower the portrait with compliments as compensation.

He had to drag himself up the mahogany staircase leading to the dormitories. As he clambered into his four-poster bed, he laid still for a moment, just listening to his roommates' snores.

His last, long swig of alcohol went straight to his brain. In his drunk state, Philip chanted in his head the little things he'd learned.

A fox. Cinnamon, jewelweed, pine. To be a Curse-Breaker.

Smaller things, still: She collected Chocolate Frogs cards. She was an avid fan of the American wizarding band, the Bent-Winged Snitches. Ironically, her favorite color was maroon.

The memory of the last fact had Philip smiling into his pillow. Not long after, he drifted to sleep.

He dreamt of Firewhiskey bottles and brown eyes.