cover your tracks —

“I have tried,” Pansy responded defensively, voice lifting an octave higher as she presented Tracey with an earnest expression. Or as earnest as Pansy Parkinson could muster. “But Quidditch is just so dull. I mean, half the time everyone’s whizzing around so much that you can’t tell what’s going on. And all they’re really doing is putting a ball through a hoop. You could train a troll to do that.“ Sport had never held much weight in her world. Maybe that sentiment would be different had she ever attempted to partake in it herself, but Pansy wasn’t exactly a picture perfect team-player – nor was she very gracious when it came to losing. “It would be much more interesting if there was a dragon involved. Or if the bats were used to knock people off their brooms. Then I would definitely watch.”

“I disagree with that comparison entirely. If you asked Theo to do something I’d bet a decent amount of sickles that he’d do it. If I ask Blaise to do something I either have to trick him into it or try and annoy him into submission.” She frowned petulantly and seemed to sink into her seat as if to avoid Tracey’s annoyingly accurate accusations. It was hard to tell what was worse: not knowing how to deal with people like Theo or Tracey being right. “I– No, that’s… that’s–” A frustrated huff followed, arms crossing sullenly over her chest. Had Theo been in any other house, she likely would have added him to her list of people to pick on when she was feeling bored. Instead, she was left with his broody, quiet figure lingering in her periphery when chatting to Tracey in the Common Room. A ghost of a boy that threatened long drawn out silences (the sort she loathed with every fibre of her body). “Fine. Maybe I will attempt to talk to him at some point.” A single laugh escaped her lips, accompanied by a lazy smirk. “Nice things? About you? It really will be a short conversation.” 

“Oi - I’m better than a troll, thank you very much,” she protested adamantly, though it was rather ironic that Beaters Crabbe and Goyle were often compared to trolls in jest during practice. “The whizzing meant to be the exciting bit. Sure, you’re supposed to put the Quaffle through the hoop but there’s literally enchanted balls flying around trying to give people concussions. That sort of thing is right down your alley.” She pretended to give Pansy’s suggestions some serious thought. “But...I will admit riding dragons instead of broomsticks would make it a more exciting. Aside from the risk of, you know, burning the Pitch and stands to a crisp. A Quidditch Cup and Triwizard Tournament hybrid.”

Pansy had her there — Theodore was perhaps one of the only people Tracey would consider asking for favors, and vice versa. On the other hand, approaching Blaise (while delicately draped across a Common Room sofa, no doubt) with a similar need would result in a lofty eye roll. Disliking the fact that her comparison had seemingly crumbled into shambles, she failed to address it and instead chose to focus on the bit where she had been correct. “See? I’m right, and you know it.” Satisfied, she shot Pansy a good-natured grin. “Come on, you don’t have to sulk. I’m joking. Mostly. This is my last year to shove you two together so we can all seamlessly coexist. And,” she added, “for the record, he doesn’t dislike you.” At least, not entirely. “You’re just a lot for the average Joe to handle.” A sage, thoughtful expression flickered across her face. ‘See, that’s exactly the sort of thing Theo wouldn’t say about me. Maybe I do like him best.”

A small smile catches on Pansy’s lips and she blinks a couple of times before letting the curve of her lips grow. “I’m not going to lie, T, I got distracted by thoughts of lingerie and then you lost me completely when you mentioned effort and then I sort of zoned back in around the word bullying. But I’m completely certain that what you said was one hundred percent correct.” She inclines her head agreeably before adding, “See, I’m nodding so it must be true.” With a gentle hum, Pansy’s attention is rapidly refocused. “You make a valid point. I’d like to think that we’d all be a bit chirpier in the mornings after a bit of heavy petting. Listen, I am always willing to do whatever it takes to instil an emotion that isn’t simply casually aloof or competitively pumped into Aaron Urquhart. If requesting that the Quidditch team have a weekly circle jerk is enough to get even so much as a blink of a reaction out of him, then it is worth my time pursuing it.” 

Her lips purse at the other’s swift defence of Theo and she tries out a disgruntled frown that barely lasts for more than a heartbeat. “That’s because you have him hooked around your little finger,” she muses sagely, her chin perched on Tracey’s shoulder. “Oh – look at that. You have magic’d me into liking him. I am cured.” An eyebrow is arched, challenging, testing, unconvinced. “It’s not that I don’t like him. For a start, I’m pretty sure he’s not too fond of me. I just don’t get him, you know? Maybe one day we’ll bond over a love of – uh – nice chairs? Shoelaces? The colour black? I mean, what does that boy even like? He’s a closed book. A closed one, Tracey. You know I’d never bother with a book at the best of times, but one that I can’t even read? It’s just not worth it.”

Pansy’s response inspired another short laugh, this time accompanied by a nudge with her foot. “You? Distracted? So unlike you.” Though the concept of lingerie and heavy petting did conjure up the image of a scantily-clad Quidditch team, one that very nearly left Tracey’s mind wandering just as thoroughly. It didn’t matter how annoying her teammates were — they were all achingly attractive. Focusing on Aaron, she tapped her chin with her index finger. “I can vouch for....at least two more emotions. If you could sit through a practice in the stands without falling asleep or getting bored, you’d see it yourself. And I mean Cap’s emotional range, by the way, not a sunrise orgy on the Pitch.” 

Stepping between Theodore and Pansy was far from an unfamiliar dance. She rolled her eyes in subdued exasperation. “Nobody’s hooked around anyone’s finger. That’d be like...me saying saying the same thing about you and Blaise.” Her two best friends butting heads was more of a mild annoyance than a true hinderance. All the same, that annoyance had been...insistently buzzing in Tracey’s ear since they were thirteen. “Maybe you should ask him. What he likes, I mean. I think you just don’t know what to do with him, and since he’s not nearly as chatty as you’d like you write him off as boring.” Her hypothesis left her smug, certain it was true. “You both like me. At least, I’d hope you do. Isn’t that something to bond over? Sitting around, saying nice things about me...sounds positively quaint.”

“Sorry.”

It’s a kind admission and one that Theodore appreciates. Theodore could count the number of people who were fully aware of his circumstances on his hand, and even they didn’t know as much as Tracey. People didn’t often extend sympathies to Theodore because there was nothing to be sorry for. Although Tracey’s sorry didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things it was still a comfort. It was there to fill in the gap for all the things they didn’t say to one another.

He shakes his head at her sentiment and looks across at her rather than directly turning his head. “What do you want to bet that it would still be smaller than Draco’s?” There’s a wicked smirk on his face as he says it, uncurling their fingers from one another and lightly touching them together instead, tapping the tip of each finger to the other in a seemingly random order.

To an uninformed bystander this show of affection might seem absentminded, although that assumption couldn’t be further from the truth. There was no denying that when you had Theo’s attention you had it fully. This habit only worsened Theo’s aversion to crowds. Yes, he hated the noise and the commotion but he also couldn’t help but pay attention. They’d be in the common room and Theo couldn’t help but notice Pansy’s new dress, a thin lipped smile from Daphne, a decisive smirk from Blaise. Theodore couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the noise and sound of it all because there was no spell to just make it stop. Instead, he’d drown it out with books, escape to quiet corners, and take solace in the comforting familiarity of Tracey. There was something standoffish in Theodore when cornered in a room full of people, but when caught alone these behaviours melted away into something more patient, more considerate.  

“It’s a good thing I’m in Slytherin or I’m sure she’d deduct points from me every time I tried to talk to you,” he tells her, unconsciously scratching a spot on his neck with his spare hand. Their fingers plink plonk together, but he stops after a moment, shrugging. “It can wait. I’m sure Pansy will drag you away later, so I can finish it then.”

I guess this year’s going to be a bit different, isn’t it? A beat and a under exaggeration. A seriousness settles in.

“We should get off easy but I’m more worried about the younger years- and the other houses.” For once it seemed Slytherin would have it’s year to shine, though for all of the wrong reasons. “There’s going to be no telling what ‘Dark Arts‘ lessons are going to be like.” There’s a rich bitterness in his voice as he skims over the words ‘Dark Arts’, as fresh and purple as plums. Theodore was of course dutifully home schooled in the subject, and from what he knew of the Carrows they were just as despicable as his father.

It was very much like Theo to dismiss the somber subject light-heartedly, and as it always did, his reaction left her hoping he knew how seriously Tracey considered his home life. How often she thought of him when they weren’t together, particularly over the summer months when he wasn’t shrouded in the protection that Hogwarts offered. She had difficulty accepting it as Theo seemed to (at least outwardly). Nothing made her feel as terribly helpless as the purple bruises blossoming beneath his skin, the sore twitch in his jaw.

A moment of hesitation settled across her features like a veil. And nearly just as quickly, her edges softened. “I’m sure that’s true, particularly this year. What with his shiny new badge.” No matter how much Theo might have told her otherwise, true solace always seemed to linger just beyond her reach; it often felt as though compliance with his cynical nonchalance was the best coping mechanism she could offer him. Even so, the faint concern never quite left her dark eyes. As his fingertips decisively provided a physical distraction, dancing across her own, she was glad her gaze had fixated on the blurred landscape lest he see the worry directly. “But I also wonder if you’re underestimating just how thoroughly I could botch spellwork if I tried. It’ll be up to you and Blaise to make sure I don’t tank my NEWTs.”

The casual reference to end-of-the-year examinations seemed nearly as misplaced as Pansy’s petty, territorial tendencies. Tracey wondered if she was the only Slytherin grappling with vague unrest regarding the oddly political climate of their seventh year. “I wouldn’t let her do that,” she decided offhandedly. Even if his sentiment was on the mark. His shrug lifted her chin slightly, but the movement did nothing to shift her position.

“Any muggleborns that did try and sneak onto the train are either incredibly foolish or incredibly dumb. There is no way that going to school is worth the risk.” She announced as much in a matter-of-fact way, examining her own reflection in the window as the train passed through a tunnel and the world outside turned an alluring, endless void shade of black. A thoughtful hum wound its way up her throat at Tracey’s suggestions. “Do you think Blaise is a boobs sort of guy? I feel like he’d lapse into a speech on the human form as art and how–” she sniffed, preparing herself for a well-practised Zabini impression, “–breasts cannot possibly work as leverage when they represent an offering of nurture following the birth of new life.” She sipped from her invisible glass of whatever concoction it was the wizard chose to drink this term, entirely pleased with her performance. “I think I’d rather take the homework.”

Pansy grinned with triumph as she received a nudge, the curve of her lips remaining sharp and entirely satisfied. “Oh, so that’s how it works on the team. I’ll be sure to let everyone know that you’re the one calling the shots and that sexual favours are currency within the Quidditch circle. Hmmm, now I’m the one getting jealous. It would almost make it worth all of that exercise and early morning starts… Almost.” Pansy leant against Tracey, the side of her head warmed by the other’s shoulder, glad to have her on board for operation alcohol swindle. “Consider me the queen of distractions. I knew I could count on you. Just – don’t tell Theo. I still don’t completely trust him, he’s too shifty.”

Tracey merely nodded in agreement, hopefully bringing that subject to a close. She suspected that if Pansy had (for some reason or another) been barred from returning to Hogwarts for her last term, she’d attempt to smuggle herself into the school risk be damned. Social validation could only be found rubbing elbows with their classmates. She was glad for Pansy’s perfect impression of Blaise’s lofty voice, the uncanny resemblance triggering a genuine laugh. “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe he’d be more interested if you were wearing some...I dunno, thousand galleon lingerie imported from France. If it was freshly dry-cleaned. Bonus if you’ve got red wine. That’s probably the real way to get into his trousers. But after that amount of effort, you’re better off bullying a sixth year.”

Pansy’s speculation was followed by a humored eyeroll. “If I was getting laid at Quidditch practice instead of doing the same drill over and over at the crack of dawn, don’t you think I’d be a bit more eager to get out of bed in the morning?” she quipped. “Maybe we should make that the currency. Propose it to Aaron later and let me know how far his jaw drops.” The brief warmth of companionship served a stark contrast to her friend’s skepticism regarding Theo, a statement that nearly warranted another eyeroll. “Shifty? Please. He doesn’t tattle, much less on me. Can’t you just like him properly already?”

tracey’s   grin   washes   over   him    spreading   the   welcome   heat   of   relief   and   contentment   in   his   chest   —   she’s   one   of    few   he   doesn’t   care   to   pretend   around ,   not   that   he    pretends   very   often   to   begin   with .    INTEREST    is    usually   a    hard    feature   to    find     in   those    dark   glittering    browns    of   his ,   but   it   flickers    in   them   now      /    corner    of   his   lips    beginning   to   skew    upward .       ❛         INDIA  ?   what’s   that   like   ?                    ah     you   know   the    usual  ,   flew   until   my   broom    got    confiscated  ,   mcgonagall    gave   me   an    absurd   amount    of    work    to    do      since   i’m     so    terrible    in    her   class .     as   for   going    back   —   i     don’t     know ,    it’s    just       school .      ❜

“It’s honestly not as exciting as it sounds. I go every summer usually to stay with family,” she dismissed with a flutter of her right hand. “It was terribly hot, but I was able to set up camp on the beach for just about a week straight so it could’ve been much worse. My nani’s food was the best part.” Aaron seemed unbothered by Tracey’s sudden appearance, and thus she made herself comfortable in her seat, crossing her legs. “Oh! Speaking of brooms. I didn’t put two and two together until Pansy mentioned it earlier, but with the new...rules Gryffindor’s going to have to replace nearly half their team.” Her eyebrows rose, her tone bright. “Which has to work in our advantage this year. Unless you’re without a broomstick, in which case...that’d be problematic. S’pose I’d have to take over captaining for you.”

Tracey’s musings ricocheted through her mind with unwelcome precision, triggering an unnerving chill that crept down Pansy’s spine as she tried to keep calm. “Yeah, that’s, uh– that’s probably exactly it.” A large part of her wished that she hadn’t brought this topic up. Another similarly sized and now thoroughly put out part of her wished that Tracey had responded with a pleasant I’m sure it will all be fine and everything will turn out peachy. “We’re basically being held hostage at school to make sure our parents do as they’re told. Well shit, this is certainly a conversation I wish we hadn’t had.” She nibbled her thumbnail distractedly, the bad habit kicking in without any attempt to prevent it. This was not good. This was, in fact, decidedly bad. Her parents had managed to keep their heads low without stirring much attention, but should the Dark Lord decide to strengthen his ranks with one of them, Pansy wasn’t sure what the outcome would be. Neither her mother nor her father was the aggressive, battle-born, war-ready type. With stubborn determination and an eagerness to escape their hold, Pansy pushed her fears aside with the hope that she would forget about them completely. Wishful thinking and an ability to ignore that which should probably matter had gotten her this far in life, after all. “If that’s true, then something tells that me that Muggle Studies isn’t going to be your usual snore-fest this year. And that will mean fewer free periods. Merlin, the weekends are going to be dull if I have to spend them doing actual homework.”

Pansy could tell that the situation was dire when the prospect of discussing Quidditch was suddenly an appealing one. “I’ll be truly disappointed if we don’t win, it’s our final chance. Hypothetically speaking, given that there are a number of idiots who think that you shagged your way onto the team, would you have to suck Aaron’s dick again this term to play? Or would it have been a one-time thing?” She smiled lovingly at her friend, batting her lashes. “Pleased and sweaty sounds like a lot to ask. I’ll happily just settle for sweaty.” A sharp laugh dropped from Pansy’s lips, humoured by the concept of anyone else having to take over her head-of-celebration role. “As Head Girl, it will be my duty to throw a good party. I mean, I can hardly neglect our house-bonding activities. Although I might have to step aside from any alcohol gathering missions. You’ll be able to help Goyle steal a few bottles from the Three Broomsticks, right? Next Hogsmeade trip, that’s your number one goal.”

This is exactly the sort of thing that Tracey would often keep to herself, and she was promptly reminded why by the look on Pansy’s face. A combination of regret, horror, and fear simmered behind her narrowed eyes. “I didn’t say hostage,” she backtracked, though it was exactly what Tracey had said. The corners of her mouth pulled into a frown. “But...yeah. You’re right.” She shook her head, the gesture short and controlled, determined to shake away the sudden pang of fear that gripped her just as it’d momentarily caught Pansy. Thinking of her parents being confronted by Death Eaters or worse was horrifying. Stakes were even higher considering the lie they’d been nursing for nearly two decades. “That might not be it entirely, though. Maybe they just wanted to weed out the muggleborns and keep on eye on us.” The memory of the Death Eaters knocking on herself and Theo’s compartment door was still too fresh to suppress the quickened heartbeat. As though their vendetta had broadened to halfbloods and blood traitors and muggleborns alike. “Please. Then you can just...flash your tits at Blaise and have him do it for you. Or get a Prefect in another house to do it, tell them you’ll dock points if they don’t.” 

The rumor made Tracey’s face twist into pure distaste and earned Pansy a swift shove in the shoulder (though a smile crept its way through). “Please. If anything, it’d be the other way around. Getting me off so that I’ll stay every term. Crabbe honestly sounds like he’s taking a shit whenever he hits a Bludger and it makes me consider quitting every time.” She pretended to consider playing babysitter to Goyle even though they both knew Tracey would participate gladly. “Yeah, fine. But Goyle’s awful at distracting Rosmerta. You might want to have a go at that instead, might be able to knick twice as much.”

Tracey’s eye fidgets. Theodore watches her gaze dip from his temple, to his chin, to his chest. It would go without saying that Theo knows what she’s searching for. It wasn’t unusual for his father to send him off with a welcome gift to Hogwarts, packaged a few days before with a solid and stinging punch. Tracey had offered to to talk about his home life before, but Theodore had wanted to save her the details. There was nothing brave in feeling his ribs shatter or spit drying on the edge of his chin.  By keeping his home life behind closed doors and glamour charms he saved Tracey the burden of worrying about things she could not change, and saved himself from the shame, attention, and awkwardness of consolation.

Theodore can see the worry now, hesitating on the line of his collarbone. With anyone else he would lie about his situation — and in this moment he wishes he could. However, Tracey would not buy it and he would not mean it. Theo just wishes he could save her the concern. It was an irony - Theo would drop the world for Tracey in a minute - yet he couldn’t easily accept her own attentiveness to his well being.

He tucks a bookmark into the open book resting on his lap and places it, and the chocolate frog, carefully on the unoccupied seat next to him. As he stands up he points to what she was looking for, once to the left side of his face, then to his ribs. Theo falls into the seat beside her and stretches his long legs across to the seat opposite. “It wouldn’t be September without it,” he smiles, wry and wintery. He searches for her hand and laces their fingers together. Summer had felt long this year.

“It won’t,” he says with the shake of his head, a slight squeeze of the hand. I’ve missed you. “Unless you’re going to tell me about how Pansy somehow got the position of head girl, and then it might.”

Theo mulled over her request for honesty, and Tracey allowed it to continue uninterrupted, the silence respectful rather than tense. She wouldn’t have pressed him on the matter even if he had lied — it would go unspoken between them that she knew. But Theo drew comfort from illusions, thinly-veiled (at least to her) assurance that he was perfectly fine. Why would she shatter the very thing that made her friend feel safe in the face of something terrible? 

A crease appeared between her brows as Theo stood, tall and lithe, and gestured presumably to the bruises she was searching for. He’d concealed them so thoroughly that she wouldn’t have noticed the faint...porelessness of his left cheek if he hadn’t pointed it out. She supposed it was born from being well-practiced. The thought was accompanied by a sick twist of her stomach, an angry pang toward the man who’d hurt him. As the cushion dipped beside her with Theo’s weight a slow, long exhale whistled between her teeth. “Sorry,” she offered gingerly. An apology for bringing it up, or for the sad circumstances neither of them could control? Either seemed relatively useless. Palm pressing snugly against his, she reflected his squeeze with one of her own. “You’d think I’d have figured out how to be a more useful mate by now. How to fix it properly rather than just letting you cover it up. Though knowing how shit I am with wandwork, I’d probably just make your face balloon up the size of Hagrid’s pumpkins if I tried.”

Pansy’s lips parted to respond, the words lingering behind her teeth for a moment before settling with a vague answer of, “Risky like the I don’t think you want to get on the wrong side of the Carrows sort of risky. They’re in charge of detentions now. I guess Snape has enough on his plate running the school, although if you ask me I’m not entirely sure he is.” Her knee bobbed up and down, nerves making themselves apparent entirely without permission. She’d never been very good at hiding her emotions, although this was admittedly one she wished she did know how to mask. “I mean, think about it. It’s like the Ministry. We all know who’s really behind all of this. Who is really in control of everything.” With a quietly forced inhale, Pansy pushed the bitter taste of fear from her thoughts and attempted to settle back into her seat. “Not that it really matters. I mean, Hogwarts is just a dumb school full of children. Plus Potter isn’t even here this year, so it should be a relatively easy ride.” She wasn’t entirely sure who it was that she was trying to convince, Tracey or herself. 

“You think the Greengrass family are fighting? Maybe one of them is anti-Death Eaters. Or pro-Death Eaters. They haven’t exactly voiced where they stand, but then again most of the Sacred 28 are the same.” She pulled a face, unhappy that her thoughts had spiralled back around to current political tensions rather than immersing herself in trivial speculation and harmlessly toying with rumours like a bored cat with string. “Prefect gossip may be decent, but the rest of the group certainly aren’t going to win any competitions for being attractive. At least you get to see the Quidditch team all hot and sweaty.” At the mention of the Slytherin captain, Pansy snorted. “Aaron? Pleased? I’d pay good money to see that. I’d certainly like to think that we’re in with a decent shot of winning now, especially given that Gryffindor will have to replace the majority of their team, but I’ll leave that up to you.” She offered her friend a grin – the only part of Quidditch that she truly enjoyed were the post-win parties. The matches themselves were only exciting when someone got hurt. “I suppose he will. It’s going to be weird after six years of Dumbledore.”

“Oh.” Tracey frowned at the thought. The Carrows had a ruthless reputation, and thus she could envision more severe punishments taking place. They struck her as more...creative than Filch was. Perhaps it should have felt like a victory — after years of being treated unfairly just as Pansy mentioned, it was fair to presume that the other students were more likely to suffer than the Slytherins — but instead it left her unsettled. Pansy’s jittering knee didn’t escape her notice, implying that her friend perhaps felt the same discomfort. “Yeah. I guess it makes sense, Hogwarts being controlled by the same...force. And really, it’s an underrated sort of power, isn’t it? Because you’ve got all of these kids in one place — kids who have families out there, who are either falling in line or not — and it’s far easier to make threats that stick when you’ve got their third year under your thumb.” These were typically the sort of subjects that she saved for Theodore, but she found herself instead lowering her voice, now thinking aloud. “I overheard a sixth year say that Muggle Studies is being taught by a Carrow and we’re all going to be required to take it.”

It was unfortunate that petty gossip seemed to fall flat in the light of everything else. It occurred to Tracey dully that this could foreshadow the rest of the year; perhaps their seventh year wouldn’t be as carefree as they’d all hoped. The reminder of Pansy’s Sacred status only seemed to exacerbate Tracey’s dampened mood. “They might be,” she speculated airily, breezing past the subject. “You know, I hadn’t even thought about that. Maybe they’ll be absolute shit this year.” Envisioning leaving Hogwarts with the Quidditch Cup in her wake was enough to perk her up slightly. “Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll see Aaron pleased and sweaty at the end of the year. I hope your new duties aren’t going to keep you from throwing our victory party.”

The side of his face is swollen. He can feel the bruise from his cheekbone down to his jaw, and it takes practiced effort not to touch his bloated and bloodied lip. Out on platform 9¾s a young Hufflepuff girl drags her suitcase off of a trolley and stares up at the grim but smiling faces of her parents. He watches through the pane of the train window as her father hugs her, her red hair whipping in the wind. Theo presses his uninjured cheek up against the cool glass. It’s a welcome juxtaposition - cool on one side, pain on the other. He spots Lucius strolling through the thin outline of his own reflection, cane trying to govern the concrete, and Tracey’s mother, struggling with her scarf. 


“Hi.” 


Tracey’s voice snaps him to attention, yet the startled look on his face goes soft with the familiar sight of her walking through the carriage doors. Every other year this would signal to Theo that he was home - with Tracey, in Hogwarts, away from his father. This year Theo doubted Hogwarts would be his usual retreat. 


Tracey’s beautiful, he thinks. The feeling spreads like warm honey, across his chest, into his hands.

As she talks, Theodore idly turns the bright gold packaging of the chocolate frog between his fingers. Then, in a succinct summary, says: “Life’s fine. Chocolate makes it better.” He smiles and it hurts, and while the glamour charm just makes it look strained, there’s a genuine warmth to his voice. Hers and hers alone. “Thanks.”

Theo looked more than tired, actually, now that Tracey was up close and could see the strain in his smile. She wondered if he’d had an argument at home that morning. “Welcome. What I’m here for, yeah?” It similarly occurred to Tracey that this particular journey to Hogwarts might be different than the rest. The train ride was often spent idly gossiping, exchanging thoughts on mindless things or fantasizing about the food waiting for them in the Great Hall. All of those things felt somewhat out-of-place given the current state of affairs. With Hogwarts practically overhauling everything from staff, rules, and headmasters alike...well, the new year seemed daunting rather than exciting. 

Pleased by Tracey’s reaction, Pansy gave a hearty nod of approval as she pocketed her badge. “Not yet, but given Professor Sprout’s choice of Hufflepuff prefects this year, I can’t imagine it’s going to be long before one of them is found bawling their eyes out at having to enforce the new rules that Snape is putting into place. I mean, it’s not quite Umbridge level, but sneaking out after curfew is certainly going to be a lot riskier this year.” Leaning against the doorway, a small smirk slunk across her lips. “Tracey, Tracey, Tracey. Please. Do you really think I’d bother with it all if the meetings were boring? We’re not the Slug Club. The Prefects Carriage is a buzzing hotspot of post-summer gossip.” In sync with her friend’s movement, she drew the door shut before falling into the nearest seat. “Apparently someone saw Daphne at Ollivander’s a few weeks ago buying a new wand. So either Greengrass lost her temper and snapped her original, or someone has been getting up to things that she shouldn’t be over summer.” A knowing look had taken up camp on her features – it remained there for a moment before flickering into something less certain. “Then again, it’s Daphne. I’m pretty sure her idea of being rebellious is, gasp, spending too long working on her tan without a decent skin protection spell.”

Crossing one leg over the other, Pansy’s gaze dropped to the familiarly disgusting carpet that lined each of the carriages. “Yeah, he is. Dream duo, right? But – well – you know what he’s like these days. I barely saw him over summer, so–” She punctuated her sentence with a shrug, her line of sight flicking back up to Tracey. “Not that being Head Boy or Head Girl should mean needing to do too much work. That’s why Prefects exist. We just tell them what to do and then let them take the blame if it all goes wrong. It’s a win-win deal.”  Leaning forward in her seat, elbow to knee, Pansy’s voice dropped to a low murmur. “But given what’s currently happening in the world, I think us Slytherins will find this year far easier than previously. I certainly can’t see Snape taking away the House Cup from us for a start.”

Tracey’s interest was instantly piqued. “Risky? Like how?” she prodded. “Not like...string you by your ankles from the ceiling risky, right? I’ve heard rumors that Filch used to do that.” She shuddered. “I guess it’s a good thing I now have a connection. Odds are if you had to write me a detention, you’d have to write yourself one too.” Though not naturally as much of a troublemaker as Pansy, her rule-breaking often occurred with Pansy. The shift to gossip was far less morbid than the thought of dangling upside down from Filch’s dirty office. That was the unfortunate thing about the summer holidays — information was far less accessible with  schoolmates scattered across the continent. “Really? I can’t fathom her getting up to anything. She’s too dainty. Although...I have heard that she doesn’t get along with her step-mum. Maybe they got into some sort of argument, trouble in paradise, blew her wand to bits or got it snapped.” She mulled over the thought briefly, then groaned. “If I knew this was the sort of things Prefects talked about, I would’ve ditched Quidditch ages ago to do that instead. Hearing less of Goyle’s grunting would only be an added bonus.”

Unintentionally mirroring Pansy’s shift in position, she crossed her ankles, wondering what a partnership between Draco and Pansy would look like. Because Draco had changed over the past few years. In fact, Tracey found him less predictable now. Before she could comment on Pansy’s list of responsibilities (surely it had to be more than just bossing people around, right?), the subject of ‘the world’ left a sour taste in her mouth. Of course her friend was right. Life had rarely been easy for them as long as they were shrouded in green, an injustice. But the looming importance of blood purity prickled the back of her neck unpleasantly. “Aaron’ll be pleased about that. The whole team’s convinced we’ve lost the Quidditch Cup somehow because of Potter and Dumbledore, being like this.” She twisted her index and middle finger together to demonstrate. “He’ll have to give a speech at dinner, won’t he? I wonder what he’ll talk about.”

Even when folded into her mother’s perfumed embrace, Tracey was on the lookout for Theo; it was actually over her mother’s shoulder that she spotted him ducking into the train, avoiding eye contact with everyone and clearly having no interest in loitering. Such behavior was not uncommon, and if she’d taken it personally their friendship would have fizzled long before either of them had stepped foot onto King’s Cross. Thus, Tracey was unconcerned at the conclusion of her family’s goodbyes. A leisurely pace was adapted as she wandered the carriages even after the train jolted into motion, poking her head into each and greeting housemates as she went. She found Pansy’s absence odd until she recalled the hastily-scrawled note she’d received in the post last week. Duty called. Tracey made a mental note to tease her about it later. Thoughts of the Head Girl were promptly interrupted by the familiar sight of the back of Theodore’s head in the last compartment she checked. 

“Hi,” she greeted him nonchalantly, sliding the door shut behind her. When he turned to look at her, Tracey noticed he seemed tired. Or maybe it was just the way the soft afternoon light filtered through the window and cast shadows beneath his eyes. Either way, she plopped herself unceremoniously across from him and decided to refrain from commenting before feeling him out first. “How’s life? Oh, hang on.” Her train of thought was interrupted by a brief rummage through the front pocket of her luggage. “Here. Ran into the trolley on the way here.” Reaching across, she pressed a chocolate frog into his palm. “I’ve got more. If I was a good mate I would’ve brought you hot chocolate, but I probably would’ve sloshed it all over myself looking for you. She’ll probably come by later anyway.”