i'm burning and i'm blacking my lungs

boy, you know it feels good with fire back on your tongue if you talk, you better walk, you better back your shit up with more than good hooks while you're all under the gun

[d--l--malfoy]

robes like armor ⋆ draco and theo

[d--l--malfoy]

Draco glared slightly at Theo as the tailor was led away.  He turned away from the scene and tried to compose himself before facing his old friend.  Theo would be insufferable over this.  Most Slytherins would.  Leading the tailor away wasn’t an act of goodwill.  Theo wanted something and it was just a matter of figuring out what. Draco pulled out a couple of galleons to give to Theo.  Bribery was a familiar concept to him and that was at least a part of this he could repay.  Games just seemed exhausting and pointless.  Sure, Theo could be a useful ally to have but Draco didn’t need him.  The Malfoy family was getting along fine.  "I suppose.  I have to admit, I expected most people to already have an outfit for Daphne’s little soiree.  I assume that’s why you’re here."  Draco said dismissively.  He held out the coins.  "I can handle myself."  He said coldly.  It wasn’t in the Malfoy nature to allow people to just step in, hired help yes but they were supposed to be the ones pulling the strings.

[loosenthenott]

"People like Greengrass and Zabini, you mean," Theo mused aloud, adhering to the social categories he sorted his peers into. He presumed the opposite; most people like he and Draco would throw their money at a tailor or shop window to look good for a single evening. "You assume correctly. Greengrass' dress code matches nothing in my possession, so I'm burdened with the responsibility of matching her expectations," he said, with a roll of his eyes. "Have you made any choices yet? Or were you only taking measurements?"

A long, apathetic look toward the glinting coins in Draco's hand conveyed his lack of concern in being repaid for his timely intervention -- they would be recirculated into the economy with the rest of his pocket money -- but any amount of concern would validate the other blonde's haughtiness. The older, more prestigious families clung to their crumbling pedestals as tightly as they could in their shame and utter disgrace. The Malfoys are a slippery bunch, Thaddeus Nott had once told a much younger Theo, whose undoing is their own arrogance. There was no reason not to believe this as anything but absolute truth, for both brothers in arms had eluded punishment for their crimes during the First War. But this character flaw didn't have to be fatal.

"Certainly. Your capability has never been called into question... yet," Theo remarked wryly. He extended his right hand, facilitating the exchange of wizarding currency on the condition that Draco had to take a step forward in order to complete the transaction. Small sacrifices of the ego made for significant steps in progress. "So, will this be your second major public appearance in two months, then? Impressive."

[gael-garcia]

[moragxmacdougal-blog]

You’re better, I suppose, but not by much. [she smirks, pleased with the jab and then immediately worries that he may have taken it seriously- this feeling lingers for several seconds until he suggest they walk together] What’ve you done now? I was under the impression that your lot got along most of the time- all silver tongue serpents, you are. Alright, alright, I’ll come along. You seem to need someone to shroud you from any sly hexes anyway.

[loosenthenott]

Salt in the wound, sweetheart. [He snickers in spite of himself; his amusement is easily won.] Oh, nothing... it's just... Greengrass gets this look on her face and her gaze is sharper than any dagger, you know? Maybe you or Zabini don't, but Malfoy knows it too! Not really. So long as our interests coincide, I suppose? I think people want us to act like a hive mind, when in actuality we're just agents of our own best interests. [His dismissive hand wave is more emphatic than intended.] I don't need a chaperone, Morag! Merlin! I need someone that appreciates silence and the stars. -- See the ivory pergola in the distance? Perks of being dragged by the collar to Greengrass dinners.

[fasionistadavis]

Not that I disagree with you by any means, but it is her party, her home; whomever she decides to invite is her choice. 

It has in fact been awhile and whilst I can’t remember the last time we spoke, I would say it’s been too long. Do tell me, Theo, what have you been up to as of late?

[loosenthenott]

She, you, and I are all Purebloods -- there are never any choices.

Two years, maybe. I was never one for chasing after socialites and recluses. Still, I enjoy the company of a familiar face. Well... I'm in the Department of Mysteries thrice a week, in the Thought Division specifically. It's interesting, to say the least. Not as interesting as yours, I'm sure -- I've seen your byline before. Have you been writing for long?

[moragxmacdougal-blog]

I’m not entirely sure that’s an accurate statement, Theo. What fun could an eagle have amongst a nest of snakes? Unless, of course, I’m to be the source of entertainment?

[loosenthenott]

Noooo. I am utterly and... wholeheartedly! Insulted that you would presume that I am no better than Malfoy or Parkinson! So, no. I may or may not have made our hostess very upset over a simple misunderstanding, so I need to take a walk. With you. Please.

[loosenthenott]

Mor -- Morag, I swear, you're not going to regret this. Come with me!

[fasionistadavis]

This party, it’s just so - so wonderful, wouldn’t you say?

[loosenthenott]

Notwithstanding Greengrass' complete disregard of standards when it comes to her invités, it's fairly decent. Ah, Tracey... it's been a while since we last saw one another, no?

[loosenthenott]

❋ SUMMER SOLSTICE S O I R É E PROMPT ; LOW TOLERANCE, CHAMPAGNE TASTE

The Blood Moon and its ethereal tendrils would not let go of his mind, as they were anchored and chained in both reality and the dream world. Day after day, night after night, the celestial event that would normally instill general apathy and acrimony where wizarding politics was concerned would not let up. This mental turmoil was, of course, contributed by a number of factors: the Ministry and its imposed laws (especially the one concerned finding a stronger remedy than the current version of Wolfsbane), dearest Blaise and his lust for dire predicaments, and the calm, logical debate vis-à-vis the Daily Prophet (of which his sparring partner had revealed herself -- Pansy, of all people). The truths in the real world trickled down in the level of consciousness that controlled his dreams, embellishing and terrifying in the odd hours of his regular -- nonexistent -- sleep schedule. Sometimes he'd wake up in a sweat, his breath heavy, and he'd have to take a trip down to the bubbling potions in copper cauldrons. That was the worst of it. Even so, the Blood Moon and its consequences seemed to be winding down and grinding to a halt. The government was meddling where it not ought to and it displeased the blonde very much so; since Theo Nott was not at all concerned with the politics surrounding it, so he considered himself almost out of the Ministry's grip.

His Slytherin peers were, however, another story. With Daphne once again warm and friendly toward him, the information about the ever-reckless Zabini flowed smoothly and without fail. So, naturally, Theo wanted to garner all the information he could without tipping off his friend. Now that purists were in the minority, it was more important than ever to remain a cohesive group. To have Zabini befall the werewolf taint, well, that wouldn't do. The flame, as he told it, had worked wonderfully. But its supply was limited, and since Blaise was ambitious to a fault, Theo took it upon himself to craft some powerful potions for the future. It was not a heal-all, or a lifesaver, but rather something to be used in a pinch. The blonde entrusted that Blaise would know when to use his liquid luck appropriately; it was a rare opportunity that ought not be wasted.

Daphne's soirée invitation was unexpected, but it intrigued him all the same. He wasn't one for socialite events with strict attire codes, forced to converse with others in order to boast and make connections, but since he and his peers saw each other in a blue moon, Theo would make the effort to go and appear to be happy about it. He wrapped the affirmation of his presence along with the vague reference of a plus one, and sent Penny off to the Greengrass estate.

Fashion was left to the socialites of their circle; Theo might as well spend the Galleons he had lying around on something useful, if only for an evening. There he had bumped into Draco -- which was also unexpected, but pleasant nonetheless -- and knew that their goals were one in the same. Had Daphne done the impossible? Theo would have bet his money on Pansy and her infallible charm to tempt the other blonde out for something as important and social as a party, but no doubt that Daphne spoke just as well as Blaise. Now that Malfoy's presence was confirmed, that was one less thing to worry about -- there would be some respectability as far as guests went, even if the hazel-eyed witch seemed to look favorably among those that were supposed to be sworn enemies -- by name, or association.

The last item on his list was his own form of invitation. He couldn't remember the last correspondence between he and MacDougal, the Ravenclaw he was reintroduced to at the wizarding book shop. She had given him a copy of Frankenstein that he had perused between his superior novels, but he would be lying if he had told her he didn't enjoy it. Theo wasn't sure that she would accept upon sending Penny on her way with the parchment tucked between the pages of Hamlet -- a newer edition found in the window of a Muggle shop he passed on his way to his job at the Ministry -- but it was worth a shot, he supposed. Daphne seemed to have insisted it in her own invitation, but she couldn't fault him since he tried.

At any rate, it would be an interesting evening.

[laurelwreathedserpent]

letters to the editor || daphne + theo

[laurelwreathedserpent]

To the editor,

This is a final note - and here I do not seek to change any one’s mind, but simply thank the newspaper and Apollo for the civility they granted me. I think we’ve made our points and I have no desire to hash out semantics that make a world of difference in our eyes, especially now that, once again, I am receiving less than civil letters of a…howling nature. I’m sure you understand.

Sincerely,

Pansy Parkinson

[loosenthenott]

staunch your old wounds ❋ ( blaise & theo )

[sovereignslytherin-blog]

“I’m naturally charming, what can I say?” the heir retorted, his words delivered with a half-grimace that spoke of anything but charm, and he hardly afforded his dear friend a glance while gesturing vaguely with his hand and a loose wrist, the prior smile gone from his expression as swiftly as it’d appeared. The pause that followed was lengthy, but Theo’s gaze spoke volumes. The Slytherin was wary, and Blaise didn’t blame him for it. He’d act the same way (or worse) if their situation was reversed. All the same, his fingers tightened round the lapels of his cloak, fabric pressed against the ugly discoloration upon his skin. Zabini was a vain creature and while he did not (or had ever) considered Theodore Nott in his field of competition (looks-wise, of course; as far as marks were concerned- well, they weren’t), he was still prideful enough not to reveal the burn left by the sun after flying a touch too close. “What?” Blaise snapped, tilting his chin upward and presenting a regal profile before slowly turning to face his friend (were they still? He’d often been left wondering this during his sleepless nights-). “It’s not like I’ve got fleas, Theo, you needn’t look so worried.” His lids were heavily hooded, dark eyes sharp and glittering with something almost challenging- almost like he was daring the blonde to be offended by him.

He heaved out a sigh and dropped the act; it never paid to be standoffish with those that were allegedly on your side, anyway. He brightened, again, and rolled his shoulders in an effort to shed the shadowy cloak of frustration and anger in order to properly greet his friend. “Oh, you know it, darling,” he drawled, extending a hand to be shaken and gripping the male’s palm briefly, noting how chilled his skin felt in contrast with his own. So recently he’d felt feverish, and if he’d been properly researching the affliction (he wasn’t- because ignoring a problem made it easier to pretend that it wasn’t, indeed, a problem) he would know that a werewolf (which he wasn’t) ran hotter than a normal witch or wizard, and thus everyone else would feel clammy by default. “It takes a certain kind of soul to spend the amount of coin I’m capable of in a day.” He was joking, mostly, but offered a curling grin all the same as he rolled back on his heels, shifting the weight back so elegantly that the step or two of space he’d buffered between them was hardly a noticeable action. In reality, the Zabini heir was naturally more frugal with his inheritance- partially because he was careful to be aware of their undulating coffers (mother was the spender, as well as the provider) and when their next windfall might be. It wasn’t as though he approved of his mother’s unconventional methods- but he didn’t exactly disapprove of them either. 

“Half the night?” he purred, capitalizing on the comment as only their kind could do, quirking a brow and his head before breathing the joke out with a slow exhale. He could sense the apprehension; see the unease in the man’s pale gaze. Blaise sighed and looked around before selecting a seat and falling gracefully into it, one lean leg crossed over the other. He was careful to keep the cloak pulled closed over the remnants of the wound. “What do you know?” he asked grimly, meeting Theo’s eyes again, still weary-looking. Seated he almost appeared frail, the hollows beneath his eyes and in his cheeks making him seem fragile. Only one person could have revealed the sensitive information, and while he’d like to be upset with her, he couldn’t be. Not now. Fingertips tapped lightly along the lapel of his cloak, debating for several breaths before pulling it aside, revealing the gnarled and mangled flesh- stretched taught and blanched in contrast with his normal complexion. “It’s true, and if I was wrong in guessing that you already knew, then you know now. I suppose it’s fitting, as you are one of my most trusted friends and part of the reason I’m still here.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, watching the man’s reaction to the wound before pulling the cloth back, pinching the two hems between his fingers at his throat.

“The Fire, Theo. It worked.” He couldn’t help but be the slightest bit gleeful (and it showed, gleaming in the corners of his smile) that the thing he’d hunted down, the legend he’d believed in- that it had actually worked. The situation as a whole was nightmarish, but it had worked. 

[loosenthenott]

Theo rolled his eyes. More like charming when he wanted to be and certainly not wasted on the lowborn and the non-wizards of the British community. This was, of course, a central thread that all green-blooded snakes shared. But that was neither here nor there, not when the giant in the room needed addressing. Still, the blonde felt that this may not be the Blaise he had adventured with in Prague nigh a month ago, nor the one that had been a presence in shared classes since First Year. "I never insinuated anything of the sort," he replied, still vexed by the other's tone. "And I'm not worried." Worry was too strong a word -- too many implications in one tiny word. He was apprehensive about the next gesture, glancing at the the wizard's outstretched hand before gripping it tight. Now this was more like the Blaise he knew, and the handshake ensured it. But evidence was a tricky thing, and until something useful showed up, Theo wasn't going to be as forward as their friendship entailed. "You are good at it, you know," he remarked, the ghost of a smile on his face. "I've never seen such lavish accessories in my entire life."

Better, but not completely back to normal just yet.

"Half the night," he reiterated, much calmer than before. Anyone even remotely familiar with the nuances of technique between Snape and Slughorn knew that diligence and patience was the way to obtain rare and powerful potions -- money could remove the time factor, but their rarities were another matter altogether. A wrong turn, boiling too long, a stray ingredient? The potions-making process was fallible and prone to fail, but Theo had powered through his desire to sleep on silk sheets in order to make the healing salve and liquid luck a reality. He was still wary, prudent, almost hesitant to bring the conversation into the realm of actuality. Theo lowered his gaze, unsure, and completely unable to bring himself to say who had really coughed up the intimate details not found in half-truths in newspapers. He looked up when Blaise spoke, catching his friend's gaze and shook his head. It was Blaise that knew the ins and outs of conversation, how to steer it effortlessly and naturally without the pauses that compounded the awkwardness each second it lasted. "I then also trust you to know that those reasons were extended with today's invitation, Blaise," he said at last, eyes drawn to what lay beneath that finest fabric of the upper echelons of wizarding society.

The Prague fire had become more alive than the stories Blaise had teased on their adventure, once it sprang up from its hidden well and was encased by the special jars without extinguishing -- it was extraordinary, strange, perhaps interesting. But a pretty little flame was only that if it burned, not healed. Cashing in on its supposed healing properties seemed smart; never would Theo imagine that Blaise would require its soothing properties. "That's..." he started to say, finding himself short on words. Seeing was believing, as his sharp blue eyes traced every marred inch of Blaise's skin under the collar. And, perhaps, it carried a charge that his audacious friend would confide in him something so... taboo. The Essence of Dittany in his pocket would take care of the scarring, if only to diminish its power. "... brilliant," he breathed out, finishing the previous thought. "I'm impressed, actually. I never expected it to work -- you know how legends embellish the truth."

This admission allowed his shoulders to slack, the tension falling away in one swift motion. This was not the time nor place to inquire further, but he had gleaned enough from current events and the hazel-eyed witch. The unbecoming snap from earlier would have to be forgiven over tea. "I promised you tea, my friend -- we'll discuss your penchant for recklessness over it." The blonde beckoned Blaise to leave his seat for the short walk to the dining room, to finally cast out that shadow of doubt for good.

[d--l--malfoy]

robes like armor ⋆ draco and theo

Draco was tired of trying on suit after suit with no positive results.  The tight fitted suits like he preferred made him look gaunt and showed off how little he was still eating while the larger suits made him look like a child playing dress up in his parents closet.  None of his old suits fit and he didn’t want to see the pitying looks when he brought them in to be resized.  Fresh start. 

He waved one of the employees over and asked about a custom order, it was fairly short notice but he still had the money to splurge here and there.  He was not going to Daphne’s party looking like he didn’t belong especially with all of the effort she would most likely put into it. 

He stood in the store as he was measured and tutted at by some overbearing employee.  It wasn’t her job to mother him; she was being paid for her work and nothing else.  Draco ignored the bell as it chimed signaling another customer and chose to stay still, he wanted to be done as soon as humanly possible. 

Draco’s breathing became shallower as he felt the tape measure go around his neck.  The air wasn’t coming and he couldn’t take the feeling of vulnerability.  Draco pushed the woman away, ignoring the way she stumbled back a few steps as he clenched his hands into fists at his sides. 

[loosenthenott]

Wearing formal attire to a party hosted by Daphne Greengrass? That wasn't the sort of mail Theo expected amongst the various expenses and Prophet subscriptions, in fact, it almost seemed absurd that he was on the guest list and given the opportunity to bring a guest of his own along. There were firsts for everything, he supposed, and now he was resigned to an afternoon of getting his measurements done -- if anything, he might as well attempt to look as debonair as his father once tried to mold him into. Money and time were no issue, especially after setting Zabini on his merry way. As far as the guest part -- well -- that would have to wait until his attire was straightened out.

The bell in the shop twinkled its jovial tune as he entered, his steely blue eyes surveying his surroundings. There was a mother and a daughter trying on silky dresses to his left; to his right, the commotion concerning a familiar face and his personal tailor stole all of his attention. Theo was one for letting a scene play out until its big finale, but the signs were too obvious to outright ignore -- some intervention would be needed on Draco's behalf, to quell the tension between the players. And, not to mention, it was a gem of an opportunity to make important conversation with a childhood friend.

The smile that seemed so effortless was a Slytherin's brand of genuineness. Even Daphne and Blaise would marvel at its charm and the power it held. "Give us a moment, please," said Theo, the words saccharine. The tailor was still clutching at her measurement ribbon, affronted and stunned silent by his friend's poor manners. Anyone that had an eye for details that laid just under the surface could see that the last measurements had provoked that reaction, ergo the need for space. Theo could provide that space; he pressed a few gold coins into the palm of the tailor's right hand and guided her away with an almost-touching arm around her shoulder. The threat was removed, but Theo's presence offered up a new set of challenges for Draco.

The blonde glanced over the Malfoy heir, noting the subtleties in his appearance since their school days and last encounters -- surely, Draco made it nigh impossible to tell those differences apart. As such, it wasn't very difficult to surmise why the both of them had decided to visit the upscale tailors to fashion a new look. "Which woman are you trying to impress today, Draco -- Greengrass or your mother?" he said, smirking in spite of himself. This was his attempt to draw attention away from the earlier incident, and to extract the details of their small circles. Socialite gatherings weren't not for Theodore Nott, but he and Daphne's warmth phase warranted his acceptance of her invitation lest it show his indifference toward the purported careers of his swankier peers. "It's fascinating that we should meet under these circumstances, no?"

[staysofti]

(insp)

[laurelwreathedserpent]

of ice and fire \\ theo + daphne

[laurelwreathedserpent]

"An Unspeakable?" the witch echoed in her natural, warm dulcet tones. "That’s hardly unambitious." To become an Unspeakable required heavy specialization, and the desire to pursue the knowledge to the furthest extent, even if it required learning rather dark arts. The only reason Daphne would have been surprised that an ex-Slytherin chose such a career was the fact that the position usually didn’t garner any fame or recognition for their work, as was implied by the title. In the Nott heir’s case however, this wasn’t so unusual given the taint to his name. It made political and social sense to keep his head down - it was an art she herself was well versed in. Perhaps, one day, Daphne would figure out what more she could do with her rather singular talent for maintaining public image and bringing about the sort of change that would benefit her and those she was loyal to, but for now, she could only admire how Theo had found his purpose in life. "What does the Thought division entail? I would imagine it would require knowledge of Divination, but to be perfectly honest, I confess I have no context for the field." With the sandy haired pureblood, the elder Greengrass had no need to pretend knowledge she didn’t have. He had, after all, been her study partner.

"I have both," the witch protested. Perhaps it was childish, but the hour was late and they were alone, and no one judged her academic skill quite as much as Theo anyway, so it hardly mattered if she lowered herself in his eyes. "You have to admit, I started improving in both back in 5th year." She did not elaborate further; he had been there when she lost her wand in a stupid dare - which was, really, Zabini’s fault - though perhaps he hadn’t paid too much attention. In any case, Daphne did not care to remember old stupid frivolties. "So really, it’s not a matter of motive. I became more academically inclined last year in time for the OWLs and am merely continuing that trend," she explained in a rather logical manner. It did make sense, and if Nott was a true Slytherin, than he would already know that her interest in academia was an excuse to prevent explaining her lack of interest in the subject several other prominent pureblood children had partaken in; Malfoy wasn’t the only one in their house who had openly sided with the Dark Lord.

"I don’t doubt that he was being insensitive at the Memorial, he’s always been a bit rash," the hazel eyed witch allowed with a twitch of her lips. "But honestly, he wasn’t the only one. I heard the Potter boy and his Weaselette were enjoy a romantic rendezvous by the Lake later. And honestly, that’s even more rude, given how many people lost their loved ones." It was a subtle defense on Zabini’s behalf, yet didn’t excuse the dark eyed Slytherin’s behavior entirely - Daphne toed the line perfectly, as she had been for years. "Soft? You say that as if I was ever hardened to the rest of society," she responded before lowering her voice, "I was never able to perform the Cruciatus curse like the others, you know that." The subject was still to fresh to slip into conversation where it could be overheard, even in an establishment that catered more to the finer tastes of purebloods than the riff raff who preferred to mingle with the muggle population. Moving on gracefully from the topic, the elder Greengrass smiled brightly. "I suppose the Thought division has no interest in healing. It’s reassuring that you boys don’t perpetually put yourself in potential danger. I was expecting to hear about vampires, or werewolves, or dark pixies and the like being obstacles in your adventure."

"Merlin forbid I ever inquire about Malfoy’s romantic inclinations for myself. I have yet to understand what my dearest friend sees in the boy," Daphne sniffed, dark brows drawing together in a slight frown. She tilted her head, studying Theo for a moment - he was far from unattractive, certainly not since Malfoy had worked himself into a sick state working on…whatever it was he was working on. Blondish hair, watery eyes, slim and a good head on his shoulders; he would make a far better match for Pansy. The Nott boy even had a dark mysterious past, and wasn’t that what girls liked? Daphne preferred more straightforward courtships that didn’t require so much emotional intimacy that Pansy seemed to prefer given her proclivity to cling to Malfoy. "Yes, of course," Daphne agreed absentmindedly with a perfect smile. It was the same smile she offered her parents whenever she pretended to agree with them. Hazel eyes gleamed with more animated interest when the conversation shifted to her maternal side of the family. "Quite. He was a Curse Breaker back in the day, and I believe he hopes I will follow in his footsteps."

[loosenthenott]

"Ambition is in the eye of the beholder," Theo replied, with a wry grin. He could sense the heat that radiated from her words. "But I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't pleased when I was hired." In the months following the end of the war and criminal trials, he had decided that sitting for his NEWTs to pursue a job in the Ministry was the best way to mitigate the stigma wrought by the articles in the Prophet. If anything, he was properly suited for a division shrouded in mystery. The pay was a mere pittance compared to the rest of his finances, but the blonde was in it for the content. Plenty of study sessions with Daphne proved this to her without fail. "Divination? Not really. How can I say this? Think of it like a pocket watch -- what makes it tick? Cogs and charms, simple enough. What makes us tick? That is what we endeavor to find out using Charms, or Transfiguration, or Defense Against the Dark Arts knowledge," he said carefully. The lines were clear regarding what couldn't be said outside the doors of the Thought Division, but Theo thought that he conveyed it to Daphne as vaguely as possible. He took another modest sip of the ale before adding, "I like you well enough, Daphne, but not enough to risk my position."

Words were currency, a type of currency that could pay those that dealt in flattery and compliments. Words were crafted to suit certain purposes, of which Slytherins were skilled artists. If Daphne wanted to convince him of her determination and seriousness, she would have to do loads better than to craft a logical argument. "You can improve, but it's all too easy to falter. So prove it, then. Not now, of course -- pass Slughorn's last exam with an Outstanding before the winter holiday and just maybe... I'll change my mind," Theo said, posing a thinly-veiled challenge. Those brutish Gryffindors weren't the only ones that rose to challenges of varying difficulty; self-satisfaction was just as alluring as proving one's peers wrong. Greengrass was certainly one for challenges, wasn't she? If she did rise to the challenge, it would validate her efforts to him once and for all. A little motivation never hurt, though it was more so for her own gain than for his approval. He glanced back down at his parchment once more, favoring the carefully scripted words as he pondered over his next reply. Conceding would crumble his stance, but the mere fact that he allowed the hazel-eyed witch to study with him and his books already confirmed the notion. It was up to her to realize that, especially with the ambiguous head nod that followed her logic. "Indeed. It would be a shame not to take the NEWTs you qualified for after improving your marks."

She relented on Zabini's defense, which was the expected reaction to his baiting comment. He looked on indifferently, as if he wasn't pondering the dynamics between his peers. "Your first mistake was convincing him to go to the Memorial, I think," Theo said at last. Daphne could put on an austere expression without stirring up a hornet's nest and even Malfoy seemed to come out of the event unscathed. Her minimizing of Blaise's actions caused his face to contort with disgust -- even it if weren't true, it was still utterly revolting to think about. The expectations were higher for the Boy Savior and his girlfriend, at any rate. "That is rather rude and disgusting." His passing comment had evidently dredged up something taboo, something not for fellow patrons to hear. Making exceptions with blood traitors had prompted him to make it; it had not been received well. Empathy and dark magic were inversely related, as proven under the cruel tutelage of the Carrows. He dropped his voice, his eyes elsewhere than on her, and said, "I know." Theo then shook his head, flowing along with the change in topic. "None whatsoever. I'd leave that up to the Healers," he replied. "I suppose so? I can't speak for Zabini, but I prefer my adventures to be in a book. If there was even a sliver of danger involved, I wouldn't have agreed to go. He does his research, I'll give him that though. The day I tangle with those creatures will be the day I've gone completely mental."

"You're barking up the wrong tree, Greengrass," he remarked, his eyes rising to meet hers again. Such 'lessons' were trivial in a time where duty superseded young romance; Malfoy was noticeably absent, both in presence and on Parkinson's arm. There was no coincidence where this was concerned, and with Daphne being sharp-sighted, she understood this. Gossip bored him, though. The politics of friendships were much more intriguing, especially when the queen bee was involved. "-- So, are you saying that you believe Parkinson deserves better? Interesting. Many birds would think that Malfoy is the crème de la crème, as far as Purebloods go," he added, cautiously reviving the subject. "Not you, apparently." Conversing about personal matters would be considered protracting their assignments, even though it had been a direct result of her procrastination. Still, it would be a low-key opportunity to find out more about the girl whose family hosted fancy dinners and was crony to Pansy Parkinson. Even though the stacks of Galleons in old family vaults ensured that they, and the rest of the privileged class in Slytherin, would never have to work a day in their life, some endeavored to pursue career goals anyway. Others did so to please their family members. Of which Daphne fell into, he wasn't quite sure of that yet. "Was he? Must have been very good at what he did. It's not easy to undo ancient curses and the like. Is that the path you want to take?"

[pansyelizabethparkinson]

Returning to England after a trip to Switzerland is often so disappointing.

[pansyelizabethparkinson]

Was it not? I am aware that I must now play nice and do these trivial things that I once did. It’s just going to take a fair bit of adjustment, I suppose, reteaching myself to hide the utter disdain that my face so wishes to convey. Present company excluded, of course. Oddly, I find comfortability in your presence, Theodore. [laughs once] Consequences. If you’re foolish enough to get bitten by a beast because you can’t properly hide yourself when you’re out against curfew, I do believe that is called an expected result, wouldn’t you say?

If you’re inquiring whether or not Draco and I…reconnected…no. We did not. As I said. Uneventful. Nothing worth reporting. I fear I may not intrigue him as much as I once did, though to be perfectly fair, I don’t know whether he intrigues me or I feel slight resentment to a degree for the past two years. At any rate, he probably needs a sitter as much as Zabini. Next we’ll be hearing that our dear friend Blaise is a lycanthrope in need of euthanizing if he isn’t careful.

[loosenthenott]

Well, at least you realize it. Your problems really put mine in perspective, though. Pretending to be Greengrass' friend? Practicing facial expressions? Awful. It's strange, actually -- she and I are warming up to each other again. Did I mention that we went out for a drink? Greengrass has expensive tastes. [He smirks.] Do you? I'm flattered. You are in the minority, I'm sure. Ah. That would be an expected result. That's why you and I are intelligent -- breaking curfew is just begging to being bitten by foul creatures.

If you want to phrase it that way, then yes. That's unfortunate. You both could have benefited from reconnecting. No? Do you actually harbor resentment for him? Things change, I suppose, especially when you duck your head for two years. I haven't a clue of what he thinks of you lately. [He shrugs.] I doubt that Malfoy has a death wish, unless I'm missing something. For Merlin's sake Pansy, that's extreme thinking. Do you always anticipate the worst outcome? At this point, I think he's done romping around in the dark. If not, I've given Zabini some liquid luck to prevent that from happening.

[pansyelizabethparkinson]

Returning to England after a trip to Switzerland is often so disappointing.

[pansyelizabethparkinson]

Well there was nothing worth regaling when it comes to Daphne. We met, she was still Daphne, and I couldn’t wait to leave the place. The false pretenses have become somewhat exhausting where that is all concerned. Ah, Fifth Year. We were all such children then. As far as Switzerland, I had personal matters to attend to, pertaining to this lycanthrope issue. A few leads I wanted to follow up on. Nothing exciting.

And what would you like to hear, then? I went to see Draco and nothing came of it. It was quite literally the single most uneventful visit anywhere in my life. [slight eye roll] I was unaware that Blaise Zabini was so childish that he was in need of a baby sitter.

[loosenthenott]

Truly riveting, Pansy. Now that you've come back into high society, you'll have to continue to play nice. You realize this, don't you? You'll have to endure many more tea parties or whatever it is you girls do for fun. I suppose we were. Hm? That doesn't sound boring to me. This Blood Moon and its consequences have been anything but dull, really.

I don't know. Nothing sounds like a cop out to me. Did you loosen up our dear friend Draco? I was so hoping that you'd coax him out for good. As for Zabini, someone has to tighten the reins. He continues to make egregious errs in judgment concerning curfew despite the dangers.

[staysofti]

those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends. (insp)

[loosenthenott]

staunch your old wounds ❋ ( blaise & theo )

[sovereignslytherin-blog]

Blaise didn’t need an enchanted mirror to tell him that he looked like the devil stirred from his own grave. He felt it, intimately; each and every sag in his visage, however minute, was something that he was aware of. The sleep (or lack thereof) seemed to gather in his eyes and migrate in the form of swelling beneath them. His cheeks appeared even more gaunt than usual, and collarbones beneath his shirts were nearly tearing through the fabric- he couldn’t find anything that he liked to eat. Everything tasted so very bland. That, coupled with the lack of sleep (fitful nights and general restlessness did not count- the nights on which the moon did not shine were his most peaceful), made for one very disgruntled and unhandsome (by his own opinion) Zabini heir. The last several days had been a blur soaked in reds and oranges- the crimson of blood (his?) slick on the cobbles and then all over the sleek white marble of St. Mungo’s. Orange, for Ginny Weasley’s hair and the freckles on the bridge of her nose that he’d seen when she’d leaned in close and her damned inability to stay out of things that did not concern her. The days were harsh and jagged, golds and crimsons and ugly ochres that seared his eyes and caused him to withdraw to his quarters for hours on ends. Only when the lovely night had fallen did he relax, at least enough to pace the length of his room, awash in hues of indigo and purple, the sweet lunar orb like a painter’s dab in the middle of a luxurious, dark canvas. Merlin, when had he ever been this poetic about anything? He was hardly aware of it, and when the door opened at the Nott household, Blaise blinked from behind darkened lenses, confused for a moment when the space was blank where a person should be and- oh.

An elf. He looked down, aghast, for a moment, at the creature’s hideousness- his own vanity shoved aside for the time being because certainly he didn’t look as awful as this thing. He was relieved that his mother had ceased hiring them ages ago in favor of poor witches who’d never amounted to anything at school (or who’d never attended- these he favored, they were so easy to fool). “You may not,” Blaise intoned, lifting his chin again as though he hadn’t seen the thing, and he stepped inside, pausing for another moment and looking about. It would appear to an outsider that the male didn’t quite know where he was. They would be mistaken, because he knew perfectly well that he was at Theodore’s manor, but for a moment he couldn’t remember why. The flame had seared his skin and vanquished the awful lycan curse- if only for the moment. The venom had infiltrated his bloodstream and, he gathered, still was working against the cells in his body. He’d though the flame to be a cure-all, a magical remedy that could have prevented a disaster such as this (and perhaps it had, truly). Thus far he had not shown symptoms of being a fully-fledged beast, but he wasn’t convinced that the effects would soon manifest when he let his guard down. Blaise was not an optimistic man, and he thought that he was doomed. He lived out his days now like a man on death row, or a sufferer of an affliction that ended in a slow, wasted demise. He’d been lost in his thoughts, drawing his coat a bit tighter around his thinned form, careful to hold it over the scar that reached like a clawed hand from his shoulder to the thin skin on his neck, its pale fingers nearly visible from beneath the high collar. “I know the way,” he snapped, even though he wasn’t particularly irritated- only that the thing kept on talking to him. The wizard strode off down the hallway, shades still perched atop the fine bridge of his nose. 

He didn’t know what Daphne had told their friends, or if she’d told them anything at all (he desperately hoped for the latter- she was a well-raised witch, surely she’d know better), but he’d suspected when he’d first received Theo’s owl that she’d confided in their mutual friend. The ensuing conversation revealed this, and he then realized that the Prophet had been spewing fastidious rumors (in this case, truths) for days before anyone from the estate had even realized he’d been mentioned. No one at his household had been aware that Master Zabini had been in the county, let alone the country that night, and when he’d resurfaced days later at the Greengrass estate, no one had thought otherwise. He entered the sitting room alone, having left the elf behind with his long, powerful strides, and he stood in the centre, away from any windows, his coat still held tightly round his neck. He heard footsteps at his back and felt the hair at his nape prickle, his lips curling before he realized, and he turned toward his friend, quickly manifesting the growing snarl into a gleaming smile (the greatest sort of sorcery, his mother argued, was convincing your enemies– or friends- that you were well and whole, always). “Well, then,” he said, his voice a bit weaker than it normally was- a result of the sleeplessness, he thought. “You’re having a lie-in?” His eyes flickered over the male’s figure from behind his glasses. “Glad you have such time to waste,” Blaise drawled, effectively conveying his displeasure. 

[loosenthenott]

Superstition was a silly, illogical thing that would not appeal to someone like Theodore Nott, whose world was based on hard, factual science and the science his father charmed him with whilst growing up. It would be folly, however, to think that such notions didn't ever manifest in those that subscribed to the tangible and real -- even ghosts, their appearances as translucent as glass, were affected by their surroundings. There were certain thresholds that Theo dared not cross, not even as a hardened adult -- childhood terrors weren't easily outgrown -- and the direct route to his cache of potions was more or less forgotten. The room was covered in sheets once the Death Eater trials were over, per his request, but it hardly suppressed the sudden prick of memories that came with a brief glance. The ivory door at the end of the hallway on the left was fine to cross through, as it opened into a large, spacious room containing a copper cauldron in the center. Cabinets with thick glass lined the walls; some contained potion ingredients, others easy-to-brew potions with a longer shelf-life. The simmering potion shimmered its golden hue, tempting like the glint of an apple dipped in liquid gold. But it was the hutch with the handles of a serpent engorged on its tail that drew him, his hand grasping at the leaf-shaped vial of perfectly brewed Felix Felicis -- if anyone needed luck at the moment, it was Blaise Zabini and his penchant for dangerous endeavors. This was Blaise's rare opportunity to get lucky intentionally, as this potion was too difficult and too lengthy a brew time to warrant a nigh constant stream of liquid good fortune. As long as Greengrass remained abroad for the celestial event, the potion would do them both a favor. Yet, there was still another: the Essence of Dittany that had took well into the nights to boil over into a thin, murky brown liquid. The rook-shaped vial joined the other in his pants' pocket, covered by the off-white cashmere sweater that seemed one size too large for the slender blonde.

The rudeness of witches and wizards was expected and normal, to the point where Philomena barely batted an eye. She embraced her station in life (not like that poor, miserable wretch formerly employed to the Crouches), right below her late mistress and her family, and Orleana's boy was simply enforcing the status quo. The only insulting part of his replies was the rejection of her offers of hospitality, which was part of her job of receiving guests. Even the most demeaning chore would alleviate the feeling, but the socialite had already insisted upon his sense of direction and limbered off by himself. She shook her head; her next obligation was to alert the young Nott that his terse friend had arrived and was waiting for his presence. The house-elf happened upon Theo as he meandered down the hallway, he heading very slowly back toward the front of the manor. "Mister Zabini has arrived, sir," she said in her airy voice. Theo looked toward the sitting room with a tired expression. The upcoming tea time would rejuvenate him in ways his vice couldn't and wouldn't; he couldn't speak for Blaise, but the potions in his pocket would work much better than any blend of herbs and fruit steeped in hot water. Then again, he hadn't seen Blaise since that trip to the Czech Republic. What if the collective intel he had pieced together was more vicious than the actual -- supposed -- attack? Theo might as well be wasting both of their times if that were the case. He had come over at his request, so perhaps that was another point for the case of embellished news? There was only one way to find out. "Thank you, Philomena," he said, noting the apparent irritation in her eyes. This look had a specific reason attached, as it always did growing up. "There are few people that he doesn't offend, so don't mind him much."

His entrance into the sitting room had not gone unnoticed. Blaise greeted him with one of his handsome smiles, one that especially seemed natural and effortless. Theo decided that it had to be an innate trait, being a socialite both in looks and personality and that he himself possessed neither. "Muggle waitresses, your mate's house-elves... is there anyone you won't offend?" he remarked, ignoring the insinuation at the moment. As well as fraying nerves not easily frayed, the blonde wanted to make his own judgments. Anything less than impeccable in Blaise's overall appearance would draw his attention immediately. Well, he didn't look like a werewolf in human form. He figured that it might be hard to tell if they weren't outed, but Blaise was more familiar than most. All that he seemed afflicted with was a bout of insomnia, which was not as serious as a bite that could have transferred the lycanthropy taint.  Naturally, Theo figured that he should be more cordial with the trials the Zabini heir went through, but with his own late nights compounding over the current week, that would be more than he could manage. He had to address Zabini and the sarcasm that dripped from the last statement, however. "I think I'm allowed a lie-in after staying up half the night on top of working at the Ministry, Zabini," he said, vexed. If you hadn't broke curfew, mate... "What about you, then? Reaching into your coin purse all day is a full-time job for you, I suppose."