Theodore and Daphne - Alliances

Theodore Nott strode through the Slytherin common room. The seventh year's once weedy build had recently transformed into something still slim, but subtly strong. His straight, spear-like path brought him to one of the enclaves where Daphne Greengrass was finishing up a Dark Arts treatise on the usefulness of cruciatus curses in interrogations. Theodore unveiled a letter from his robe pocket and threw in on top of her essay.

"I found this notice near Draco's satchel," Theodore whispered, acutely aware of the exact volume threshold that prevented his housemates from overhearing. "Snape issued a new academic standard: all seventh year students must master a corporeal patronus charm by winter break or face consequences. I don't think our dear Head Boy had any plans of posting this bulletin as instructed."

Daphne quickly hid the letter under the desk and scanned it over. "Thank you for the warning," said Daphne, but her words were laced with a trace of worry—

—which didn't escape Theodore's notice. "Do you know how?"

"No." Daphne admitted.

"I thought as much," said Theodore smugly. "I'll teach you; my father taught me when he realized You-Know-Who was recruiting dementors. I arranged it with Flitwick; we can use the charms classroom at night to practice."

"That's generous of Flitwick."

"Generosity had nothing to do with it," Theodore flashed her that sly smile that sent her heartbeat a few seconds into the future. "Be there by seven fifteen."

With that, Theodore turned sharply and sped towards the dormitories. Daphne watched two firsties jump out of his way before gazing back down at the memo in her lap. She rolled her wand off the desk into her palm. Muttering a quick disillusioned spell over the parchment, she folded it neatly and slipped it into her skirt pocket. Tonight she'd show it to the other girls in her dormitory; it'd be harmless gesture to gain a few feelings of goodwill.

Her alliance with Theodore might be strained soon and she'd need to build a few more bridges.

"It's a lot simpler than people think. A patronus charm is considered advanced magic, because it requires an extreme amount of mental discipline during a battle, but for a test all you need is a higher level of concentration. Since you're not pixiebrain like Pansy, you should be able to do this. Think of a happy memory, but don't dwell on the image so much as that feeling. Embrace that feeling, devour that happiness, and then—Expecto Patronum!"

A large scorpion rattled out of his wand. It turned, its pinchers ready to attack, its stinger twitching ominously before fading into the air.

Daphne flicked her wrist, uttered the incantation, but she couldn't summon a feeling of happiness. She tried meditating on one of her more innocent memories from childhood-chasing butterflies with her baby sister-when a strange feeling in stomach would jolt her out of it as soon as she said the spell. A pathetic sputtering of silver sparks caused Theodore to hang his head in shame.

"You can do better than that, Daphne," he said. "Capture that feeling of happiness and imprison it in your mind. Don't let it escape. Don't lose your concentration."

Her next attempt also failed miserably. So, she tried again, and again, and again. The results never changed; she couldn't push aside the persistent feeling of uneasiness.

"What is wrong with you?" Theodore exclaimed. "Your spell work is as pathetic as a Hufflepuff's love life. Concentrate!"

"Stop yelling. Give me some space!" She picked a different memory. The first time Theodore grabbed her hand after a Quidditch game, pulled her under the bleachers for the most amazing snog. She tried to recreate that feeling of warmth and excitement, but her body felt cold.

"Expecto Patronum!" Daphne cried and nothing happened. Not even a puff of silver wind escaped her wand. Theodore seethed.

"I'm wasting my time and influence trying to help you," he declared. "Remember, you will be tortured if you can't do this. What is so overwhelming distracting that you can't even summon a non-corporeal patronus?"

"My period's late and I'm probably pregnant!" Daphne blurted out the fear that had been plaguing her for weeks.

Silence reigned for an agonizing second before Theodore laughed.

"Stop overreacting Daphne," he took her head in his hands, and started a comforting explanation colored with condescension, completely non-pulsed by what should be surprising news. "I don't have the same first-hand experience with the womanly cycle, but even I know enough that stress can cause a cycle to be irregular. With Snape letting those insane idiot Carrows ruin the school and with bloody Longbottom trying to seduce everyone into becoming martyrs, we sure as hell are under a lot of stress. Besides, aren't you on the potion?"

Daphne shook her head no. Theodore stepped away and frowned.

"That might have been good to know before we had sex, Daphne," Theodore hissed, a little trace of fear heating his normally cool demeanor. "Why the hell aren't you?"

"The potion's expensive and you know how traditional my parents are about these types of things," she cried, pleading for understanding, "They're also stringy about giving me any allowance whatsoever—they sure as hell are not parting with their precious galleons for their eldest daughter to buy contraceptives!"

"So you steal it from them. Merlin, Daphne, this is not something you skip out on!"

"I thought you would've take potion for men! Please tell me that you've taken some type of potion before we've done it. Or did a charm." Daphne knew before he spoke he hadn't, and her face fell; that was the only hope standing between her and the creeping truth her body was undergoing a horrifying transformation from beautiful woman to a rapidly expanding incubator.

"I don't like how it makes me feel light headed afterwards. I've always left it up for the girls to do it."

"Yeah, because heaven forbid a man should bear any side effects of having safe sex. Who cares that it makes some women nauseous or have horrible cramps the next morning."

"How would you know? You've never taken it!" he retorted. "Besides, it's a woman's body, she has a right to it and what not, so it's her choice to get pregnant or not. Ultimately, I'm not responsible for your stupidity."

"You're a prat, Theodore Nott."

"Never said I wasn't." He paused. "But how late are you?"

"A month—and half. Or two, maybe?"

"Salazar's slimly balls, you are pregnant!" Theodore exclaimed.

"I haven't taken a test yet. I was afraid to know for sure."

"Ignorance doesn't change reality, Daphne."

She bristled at his superior tone. "I'm not an idiot."

"You're seventeen and pregnant. Apparently you are."

"And that doesn't reflect poorly on you at all? You're also seventeen and a father! Even if I don't say a word about you, my parents would badger me until I performed a simple blood paternity test; I'm not a slut like Parkinson, so guess whose name's going to be there?"

"We have a problem," Theodore collapsed into an empty chair and hung his head in his hands.

"No kidding. We're going to be parents."

"That's not the problem, I mean, that's not the main problem," Theodore corrected. "We're playing a dangerous game here, you and I. We're tight-rope walking the middle line, trying to keep under the radar so no matter which side wins, we'll come out unscathed."

"And this changes the status quo and draws attention to us, I know," she sat on top the desk next to him. "But maybe this could be a positive and protect us from being forced to fight for You-Know-Who."

"Protect us how?" Theodore asked interested.

"We'll, we'll be young, teenage parents with an unborn child. Surely, no one is going to force us to fight."

"Sure, if this was really a pure blood revolution, we'd be safe because purebloods aren't heartless barbarians." Theodore laughed bitterly. "But we're talking about a megalomaniac here. My father has witnessed the change in You-Know-Who since his resurrection, and that's why we're hiding in the shadows, kowtowing to those mudbloods and blood traitors instead of taking the mark! Even before You-Know-Who went loco, he tried to kill Potter as an eighteen-month-old infant. I doubt he'll care about that clump of cells in your uterus."

"Poetic as ever, Theodore" Daphne complained, but she couldn't argue. "So, pregnant or not pregnant, we're in the same position as we were before. Stuck in between."

"It's worse than that."

"Worse how?"

"You and I, we're secretly in this game together. At the end of everything, we'll come out and say we always supported the winner all along. I vouch for you, you vouch for me. If Voldemort wins, my Dad's long allegiance and your word will keep me safe just as I will keep you safe. Or if Potter prevails, we can claim to have been the two lone honest Slytherins stuck in a den of snakes and our non-interference with Longbottom and his gang will be proof; we'd claim we couldn't have publicly supported Potter in case of getting poisoned. We'd confess everything to the victors with the air of not caring whether the other lives or dies, which makes us appear truthful. But a baby, a baby changes all that; we'd be ousted as lovers. Our alibis are shot. No matter what side wins, we can't back each other up because they think our "love" will make us liars. Don't you see what a precarious position your prudish sensibilities and thoughtlessness has put us in?"

A look of understanding horror washed over Daphne's face. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't fix anything."

"So come up with an idea and fix it!" Daphne snapped, "You always act like you know it all, and so why don't you step up and think of something."

"We bring someone else in," suggested Theodore half-heartedly.

"No. We talked about this before. A third party is too risky. They could denounce us both. With just two, if one of us turns against the other, it's a 'he said, she said,' 'he pretended, she pretended.' It'd be a stalemate and so we still have protection from each other."

"Then need to bring in someone we trust to not sell us out."

"I'd only trust my sister, Astoria."

"She's a fifth year, practically still a child. And your sister. We'd have the same problem. What about Zabini?"

"Blaise is too smart," Daphne said. "There's no advantage for him to abandon his current strategy of sympathetic isolation, and nothing to keep him from turning on us later on."

"And Goyle and Crabbe are too dumb to understand the complexity of our game," remarked Theodore.

"Tracey Davis," suggested Daphne.

"Would wet her panties in an interrogation and we'd all be screwed."

"Millicent."

"She hates my guts for shagging her once and never again," said Theodore. "We need someone who has as much to lose if the wrong side wins."

"Avery?"

"A fourth year idealist; way too young, and he writes home to Death Eater daddy every Friday."

"What about—"

"Just shut up, Daphne! Give me time to think. This is all happening too fast. Just five minutes ago you sprung on me that you're pregnant and now I'm expected to save our bloody lives." Theodore complained. "We can't trust anyone. It's to no one's advantage." Theodore rubbed his hands over his face. "Okay, then, we take a different route. We'll have to become more active in our duplicity. We reach out to both Draco and Longbottom. Lead both of them along, like we want to become involved. We build credibility on both sides, and hope who's ever the victor won't believe the accusations of a sore loser."

"That's more dangerous."

"Less dangerous than giving someone our secret."

"We've got time to arrange it, though," Theodore said. "It's at least a month before you're showing, so, we have time to think about how to cover our subterfuge. It'll take all our Slytherin cunning to survive this. Merlin, Daphne, why were you such an idiot?"

The next week Theodore dragged her into the empty charms room on the pretext of an update. "Quick—cast a muffliato; the Carrows are patrolling everywhere and just looking for an excuse."

She complied, and he magically sealed the door as she soundproofed the room.

"I haven't exactly figured out how to arrange our new game yet, but here are some ideas to contact Long—" Theodore started, but Daphne had her own news.

"Don't worry about Malfoy and Longbottom," she cut to the chase. "I fixed it. It's done."

"What do you mean fixed it?" Panic colored Theodore's voice and he grabbed her arms. "Who did you tell? What did you do?"

Daphne looked offended, and wondered if Theodore really thought she was such an idiot as he often insinuated. "I fixed it because it's gone. I'm not pregnant anymore. I drank a potion and that was that. Status quo returned."

"Really?" Theodore scoffed. "And who did you beg that potion off of? Who now knows you were pregnant and desperate enough to end it. There's a reason I didn't suggest abortion, Daphne. You've opened us to blackmail!"

"No one knows," Daphne said firmly. "I did research on some methods in the library, covertly, and then snuck into the hospital wing to swipe some ingredients and pre-made base potions. I brewed everything while everyone was sleeping."

"That was dangerous—"

"I wasn't caught."

"—mixing potions like that. Even if you are in NEWT levels."

"Well, it worked," Daphne shrugged. "I'm still alive, and we're both going to survive this year no matter what happens now. So shut up and be grateful."

Theodore chuckled and seemed pacified by all her reasons. "You might a few brain cells after all," he complimented and nuzzled into her neck, brushing her collarbone with light kisses.

"You owe me now," Daphne pushed him away to stare into his eyes.

Theodore merely grinned confidently. "No, now we're even."

She sighed resignedly. That's how it was between them; a balance of power was the closest thing to love Daphne hoped to achieve in this relationship.

"So, have you tried the patronus charm again?" Theodore asked the question in a tone that implied he didn't quite care about the answer. He was more concerned about freeing her blouse from the waistline of her skirt.

"No," Daphne admitted, unable to see any advantage in lying about her ability. She shivered uncomfortably as Theodore's cold hands drifted across her bare back. "I can't make myself happy enough."

"Not even when thinking about me?" Theodore flashed his white teeth and raised his eyebrows suggestively as his hands ventured lower. "I wonder what wild, sexy animal you'd be."

Daphne felt the lingering pain of a cramp instead of the butterflies that used to fill her stomach when Theodore talked. She turned her shoulder into his chest, causing him to stumble back a pace.

Whipping out her wand, she exclaimed, "Expecto Patronum."

A disappointed spurt of silver smoke trailed off the edge of her wand and quickly dissolved. "Sexy enough for you? I'm never going to master it in time, so make do with that for your fantasies."

Theodore grimaced. "Well, I hear the cruciatus curse isn't all that bad," he lied reassuringly, "but I do have a not-so-secret desire to make you scream." The blond-haired Adonis leaned seductively back onto one of the charm classroom desks and Daphne doubted pulling her into the deserted room for an update on arrangements with Longbottom and Malfoy had been his primary motive at all. He looked at her like an art connoisseur waiting for the red velvet to be removed from a perfectly preserved Greek statue; his patient lust was grounded in the assurance he held the rights to her beauty. Two weeks ago, Theodore's blatant desire would have filled Daphne heart with passion. Now, she felt disconcertingly hollow.

"I'm still bleeding, Nott," Daphne growled in disgust, and pushed past him to the door. "And I'm your ally, not your whore. Go screw Pansy if you're so horny."

Daphne sipped her tea. She was visiting her sister, Astoria at Malfoy Manor. Her naive, mild manner sister had managed to wrangle Draco Malfoy, the biggest prat of her year, into a respectable citizen and future father. On her most cynical days, Daphne suspected her of using a love potion.

Astoria slowly put up feet on the stool, letting go of the lady-like demeanor in order to give relief to her swollen feet. She rested her teacup saucer on her expanded belly.

"We don't have a name," Astoria complained. "We need something strong enough to carry on the Malfoy tradition of beautiful dark names because his mother expects that, but honestly," She confessed conspiratorially, "We want a name that'd tweak Lucius, something that'd upset him, but fits the Malfoy tradition so he can't complain about it and Narcissa is content. It's tough finding the perfect boys name."

"If it's a girl?"

"Then it won't matter that much."

Daphne was surprised her sister would be so demeaning of her own gender, until she explained. "Lucius would have his panties all in a twist if we had a girl first and decided to let her inherit everything. Narcissa would be thrilled and By that point, we could name her Lucia and he'd still be angry."

Daphne was jealous of the way her sister laughed and seemed so happy. It was unfair that she could live in this dreaded Manor, the representation of the oppression of 1997, and act like it's perfect hostess, that she could sit in any chair and not wonder if You-Know-Who had sat there, not tremble but laugh, that she could dare bring new life into this world and be fearless about it, that she could cling to an arm with a dark mark and not cringe at that vestige of pure destruction. It seemed strange how much those two years between had sheltered Astoria, how at fifteen she had managed to retain just enough of her innocence during the war.

"It'd be nice if you could find a husband and have a child," Astoria said. "You know, I had always thought you and Theodore Nott were chummy during school. It's a shame he ended up with Pansy. Draco says that worse things about her."

"She's a slut with a slug-sized brain and magically-modified breasts," confirmed Daphne with perverse pleasure, "But a slut whose daddy has more money in his coin purse than we have in the entire Greengrass estate and therefore a beneficial acquisition for Nott. That's how he plays the game." Daphne thought back to their time together wistfully. For a second, she lost herself in the memories of those clandestine meetings of mutual need and she again wondered if a future with him would have existed if she had made a different choice. If that choice would have cemented his commitment. Perhaps they could have forged a life together from the fires of uncertainty. If she had kept the child, perhaps those lust-laced power struggles could have developed into something more loving, more permanent.

"Scorpius," Daphne said unexpectedly. "If I had a son, I would have named him Scorpius. It's strong and dangerous, like the name Draco. Even though scorpions are poisonous, they're often overlooked creatures; it would drive Lucius up the wall to have a grandson named after it."

"Scorpius. Scorpius," Astoria tried it out, letting the syllables bounce off her lips and tongue. "I think I like it. I'm glad you didn't have a kid before me, Daphne. Are you sure I can take?"

"Yeah, of course. What do I care? A kid just wasn't in the cards for me."

"One day maybe," Astoria said in that casual way, which reveals how little one actually cares about that future. Daphne wasn't sure how much she cared about her future either.