As the Ashes Settle {Solo & Arc}

[ArcticTern]

Perhaps walking these halls should have felt different, after so many people had died within them. Perhaps Theodore should have been haunted by the sounds of explosions and memories of the faces that would never climb these stairs again. If he had fought in the final battle, if he had been on the right side or chosen a side at all, perhaps he would have. Instead, Theo supposed, he was one of the lucky ones. He had taken to McGonagall's order to leave with the desperation of a coward, and clung to impartiality in the hopes it would save him no matter the outcome. He hadn't lost anyone who meant more to him than a familiar face, and he had gained no scars, unlike much of Hogwarts' population. Walking these halls alone felt safe, because Theo had always been safe when he was alone; the crisp echo of his own footsteps against the worn stone, the stagnant air only disturbed by his own breath as he trekked onwards, all spoke to him of sanctuary. For now, Theo was as comfortable within Hogwart's walls as he had ever been, even if the badge affixed to his robes still didn't feel real.

His true trials, he knew, would start tomorrow. Tonight he had been able to keep his head down at the Slytherin table, new position as Head Boy be damned. He'd stared at the Yorkshire pudding on his plate, cutting it into infinitely smaller pieces rather than look around at the tables which were far emptier than they should have been, and he had let the prefects guide the nervous first years to their dormitories. But tomorrow, and every day after when he was forced to look people he had seen tortured in the eye, he would not be able to run and hide.

It seemed as though Theo had barely left the Great Hall when he arrived on the fourth floor, feet leading him automatically to the portrait McGonagall had described. There were so many things about Hogwarts that had changed in the last year, but other parts that remained eerily untouched. Theo had walked past the portrait of Hamm the Humble, a squat, bald man in poofy striped robes hundreds of times in the last seven years, and yet he had never known that just behind it lay the hidden entrance to the Head Dormitory. The chip in the flagstone just a few paces back, however, somehow missed during the restoration efforts, had been new. Theo forcibly pushed out of his mind any ideas of what had made that chip.

"Good evening, lad," Hamm greeted politely. He watched Theodore with beady eyes, fiddling with a yellow handkerchief in his hand.

"Good evening, sir. Respice ad futurum," Theo spoke the password softly, but without the typical clamor of students, his voice echoed loudly in the silence.

"Quite right. Congratulations on your new post, lad!" Hamm swept a low bow, dropping his handkerchief during the motion and then scrambling to pick it up as the portrait frame swung wide.

The entrance opened into a common room of sorts. A fireplace (small enough that Theo might bump his head on the mantle if he tried to floo) was surrounded by dark purple armchairs and matching couch, the velvety fabric worn down to matte in the centers of the seats. Two heavy wooden desks with squared chairs also occupied the common area, and three doors led in cardinal directions from the entryway. Peering into each door revealed two identical bedrooms on either side, one with his own luggage and one with what he presumed were the Head Girl's things; he shut that door quickly, lest he be caught prying. A single-person bathroom with a roomy glass-encased shower sat between the two rooms, indicating they were meant to share.

All in all, despite the shared bathroom and the company that would no doubt be arriving soon, it was as comfortable and solitary an environment as Theo could have hoped for. Anything that got him out of the Slytherin common room was appreciated, and anything that got him out of Nott Manor... well, this summer had been easier than the last, with the notable absence of his father and Death Eaters skulking about, but Theo would never feel comfortable returning to that place.

He mechanically set about unpacking his things with flicks of his wand, watching clothes fly into his dresser and toiletries file into the cupboard below the sink. Maybe, once his things were in place, his books visible, his notes strewn across a desk... maybe after the first few meetings with the prefects or the Headmistress, this farce would begin to feel real. Perhaps, by the end of the year, he would actually believe that he had somehow, against all odds, been made Head Boy—a position that, despite his good grades, he had whole-heartedly believed his entire life would go to Draco Malfoy. Theo had certainly never been the leader, never been the popular one, never been the one chosen for, well, anything, not even as a Death Eater. And yet here he was, somehow entrusted with the safety of students he had hardly even protected the year before.

No, Theodore Nott did not deserve this position... but he was the one who had it.

 

[Solo]

If there was anything Hermione had learned in her time in the wizarding world, it was that nothing could be expected. The past seven years had been rife with chaos, with the trio of friends forced to jump from one adventure to the next, putting themselves in harm's way for the greater good. Somehow, they'd emerged relatively unscathed; they'd lost friends and family along the way — Fred's funeral that past summer had been proof of that, and Hermione still didn't know where to begin to search for her parents in Australia, nor how to reverse the Memory Charm she'd placed on them to keep them safe — but the three of them had managed to escape any long-lasting injuries.

Well, aside from the mental scars that came from surviving a war at seventeen, but Hermione supposed those were shared amongst most of their class.

After the war, a choice had been given to all seventh years: they were able to take a magical exam and, if they passed, be given graduation honors as if they'd finished the year, or they were able to return to the school to complete their term as normal. Harry and Ron had opted for the exam, though Hermione suspected they were given special treatment; in her opinion, there was no way Ron's Shield Charms had progressed to the acceptable level, and Harry had always had trouble with his charms being too impulsively strong. Still, they'd passed by the skin of their teeth, and had gone on to begin working as Aurors in the Ministry.

There had been no question which option Hermione would take. After years of being pulled from her studies by Voldemort's threats, she figured she deserved at least one year where there was nothing that could draw her away from the library. One year of no problems to solve for the boys, no taking time away from her own studies to assist them with the essays they should have written weeks before, and no danger lurking aside from the usual hazards of the Forbidden Forest sounded like heaven to her.

Just when she thought there was a chance she could simply fade into the backdrop, Headmistress McGonagall had informed her that she had been chosen as Head Girl.

On an impulse, Hermione almost thought to turn it down; being responsible for the entire school was a feeling she wasn't entirely unfamiliar with, and shouldering this responsibility wasn't exactly her picture-perfect seventh year she'd dreamed of since she found out she'd be returning. Still, there were little things she'd refuse McGonagall on, and this wasn't a hill she was willing to die on. The new Headmistress would have enough on her plate, with having to replace both the Defense Against the Dark Arts and the Muggle Studies professors, along with managing the returning Slytherins. There would likely be surveillance at every turn for the few who had chosen to return; Harry and Ron had already been approached to do routine patrols surrounding the grounds to ensure no one was being snuck in.

After a moment of silence for the fallen of the year before, the sole reminder of what had happened just months prior within the stone walls that surrounded them, the feast came and went; Hermione didn't have much of an appetite, so she used the time in between small nibbles of a tea sandwich and a cup of tea to discuss the upcoming year with the Gryffindor prefects, soon adding the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to the mix.

The Slytherins still seemed to avoid the other tables like the plague, which suited Hermione fine; she wasn't sure how she'd react to locking eyes with anyone who fought on the opposite side of the war. What she could see behind the masks while dodging curses left and right still haunted her, visiting her after she'd fallen asleep each night.

Eventually, it was time for them to retire, so, reluctantly, Hermione bid goodbye to Neville and Luna — two who had also chosen to return — and made her way to the fourth floor, speaking the password to the portrait and bowing her head as she ducked through the entryway.

There was motion and noise from behind the Head Boy's door, and Hermione approached it, raising a hand as if to knock, but she froze at the last second. This wasn't like when she was a Prefect — Ron wasn't her colleague this time, there was no familiarity there. Thinking better of it, Hermione instead crossed the hall to the room allotted to the Head Girl.

It didn't take her long to unpack; her belongings had been methodically organized and packed tight for weeks, so they simply floated to their appropriate space in bundles with a few fluid wand movements. In time, there was no denying it — it was time to meet her co-Head.

Leaving her room, Hermione stopped in the common room, pausing before taking a deep breath and finally knocking on his door.​

 

[ArcticTern]

Hogwarts had always been the safest place in the world to Theo, even when Death Eaters haunted its halls. It was only in Hogwarts that he didn't have to fear every footstep outside his door, only at Hogwarts that raised voices typically meant laughter instead of threats. Theo had learned in the last seven years how to let his guard down once within its wall, but some part of him would never be able to fully forget the constant vigilance—as the fake Mad-Eye Moody had loved to call it—that came from growing up with Angharad Nott. Even the first summer since he was nine that he'd spent safely away from his father couldn't dampen those instincts fully. He heard when Hamm opened to let in someone else, and his grip tightened reflexively around his wand as footsteps approached his door. A deep breath of relief expanded his chest when they retreated.

His reprieve didn't last long.

Theo was standing beside his bed, books strewn across its surface as he tried to decide which ones deserved the spot of honor on top of the dresser, as he would have to order a bookcase it seemed, when the hairs on the back of his neck rose in warning. It would be better to pretend that he trusted her, he reminded himself, forcing his twitching fingers to clasp around the spine of Advanced Ancient Runes for the Above-Average Architect of Rhetoric instead of reaching for his wand. He would have to keep due diligence in the halls, as any reasonable Slytherin would be expecting repercussions from the war to come from more than just the government, but Granger... she had a reputation for protecting the helpless. The more weak and repentant he appeared, as long as he was still capable as a Head Boy (was he really, though, a small part of him wondered?), the more likely she was to judge him as undeserving of retribution. It was a slim hope, but the best one he had at getting out of this year unscathed.

With a flick of his wrist, Theo cast one of the only wandless spells he had perfected thus far: opening (and far more usefully, closing) doors. The door slowly swung open. Theo glanced up at her under curly brown locks before returning his gaze to the book in his hand. "Good evening, Granger," he murmured politely, setting the tome carefully on the gray bedspread. As far as Theo recalled, this was the only the second time he had addressed her directly in their entire lives: the first being when he had accidentally bumped into her on the way into the Great Hall in first year, before the sorting. He hadn't known her name or blood status and had simply muttered a quick apology before continuing to trudge along behind a confident Daphne Greengrass.

He had thought through this first meeting with Granger a few dozen times on the train ride to Hogwarts, but he still hadn't come up with the right words. 'Congratulations,' seemed as though he expected one in return, and 'can I help you?' made the foolish assumption that there was anything the war heroine Hermione Granger could possibly need from Theodore Nott. So he let his greeting sit alone in the space between them, waiting for her to lead, whether it would be with venom or a tentative truce.

 

[Solo]

Granger.

Granted, it wasn't spat at her with the kind of venom Malfoy would use towards her, nor was it the derisive taunting tone favored by Pansy Parkinson or the other girls that would bully her in the hallways in their younger years, but Hermione still took it as a clear line drawn in the sand. Optimism was never her forte — to no one's surprise, the bookworm always preferred facts to feelings — but she'd at least given a passing thought to the possibility that McGonagall's stated goal of house unification would be possible under the two of them.

It was clear to her now that that wasn't to be.

"Theodore," Hermione replied primly with a curt nod of her head. At the very least, they should be able to keep things professional, and she wouldn't be the one to tip the scales in either direction. If anything, she'd be able to tell the Headmistress that she'd done all she could and feel vindicated in that belief; if anyone was going to make their partnership hostile, it was going to have to be him.

She remained in the doorway, as though there was a physical barrier blocking her from entry into his room, like the doorway would suddenly clamp shut on her if she were to attempt to enter, much like the staircases in the old dormitories turning to slides at the footfalls of the opposite gender.

It was all business, and that was fine with her; she'd always been treated with a kind of clinical coldness, as though she was the subject of an experiment rather than a classmate, and that sort of environment along with her maturity leaps and bounds ahead of her age group abled her to be professional if nothing else. "I thought we might coordinate schedules to have a meeting with the prefects tomorrow. We'll need to establish patrol routines."

There was no hand outstretched, no glance towards friendship or even personality, but that could be reserved for those who were her friends, she supposed.​

 

[ArcticTern]

'Theodore.' The name crawled along Theo's spine like ice, making him flinch with the cold blade of it. There were very few things that could bother Theo, if it didn't involve physical pain. Hell, even a well-aimed Crucio could be withstood, for a measure of time, at least. But that name... Only his father had ever used that name for him, and even Draco Malfoy as a pompous eleven year old who thought he deserved to call others whatever he wanted had only uttered it a handful of times before Theo had forced him to expunge the name from his vocabulary.

Even 'Nott', heinous as his surname now was in wizarding culture, would have been better than that.

"Call me Theo, please," he said, finally turning away from his books to meet her gaze head-on. She seemed cool and sharp to him then, one of the suits of armor that scattered the halls, only with a penetrating stare that unnerved even his hardened soul. It seemed she had no interest in playing nice. Oddly, the knowledge made him smile, his lips twisting up wryly in the face of her stony expression. It had been ridiculous of him to expect a truce to come so easily, hadn't it? He should have known Granger would make him work for it.

"We can hold it any time you would like. I would suggest after lunch at the earliest, though, so that anyone who doesn't make it to breakfast has a second chance to receive their class schedule before the meeting. I assume we might have to change the scheduling later if any prefects make the Quidditch teams, as well." Theo had done at least a bit of planning to make himself seem prepared, even if he was certain it wouldn't hold a candle to Hermione Granger. If his family name wasn't already enough to make her loathe his very existence, he certainly wasn't going to add incompetency to the list if he could help it.

 

[Solo]

Theo. It sounded so harmless, like someone she might have been friends with if they'd been introduced differently; fleetingly, she pictured what they'd looked like as first-years about to be sorted and imagined what it would have been like if he'd been adorned with yellow and black or blue and bronze instead of green and silver. Most of the others in her year she was familiar with — some, like Draco Malfoy and his two goons (well, one now, she reminded herself solemnly) all too well — but him, she didn't know much about.

Still, the fact that he hadn't stood and fought with the rest of them told her all she needed to know. Instead, he was notably absent, and though he wasn't one of the hooded pursuers flinging curses at her and her friends while they fought to destroy Voldemort before he could bring ruin to all they held dear, he also wasn't casting a protective charm in their defense. The world wasn't that black and white, she knew, but as far as she was concerned still, if he wasn't with them, he might as well have been against them.

"Right," she responded tersely, still refusing to speak the nickname aloud. Anything that would endear him to her, she was determined to avoid — there was no personal nature in her socializing, no interest in getting to know him, for what was there really to know? The colors of his house seemed to glare at her from his badge with every glance she tossed his way, so much so that she struggled to maintain eye contact with him as they spoke.

"After classes, then? Just before the evening meal. That way, we won't take up too much of their time, and they'll be able to enjoy their first real evening back. Goodness knows they've been through enough, they deserve to." It was a pointed remark — none of their Prefects that year had fought in the war, being far too young, but Hermione knew they'd each been affected no less. The Hufflepuff female was a distant cousin of Lavender Brown, and Dennis Creevey had made Gryffindor's roster, already eager to make his late older brother proud. ​