Chapter Text
The first two weeks back at school were admittedly much more burdensome than Jolie had originally expected.
Along with her prefect responsibilities and regular coursework, the professors had begun to crack down on O.W.L. revisions as the fifth-year students would all be completing the dreaded standardised exams in June.
Normally, the idea of revising this early wouldn’t be a problem for Jolie.
However, the next few months already ensured a jam packed schedule for her without spending any extra time on her usual coursework.
Already, on the first Saturday back, Jolie and Daphne had worked tirelessly to transform the common room with various decorations of streamers and balloons, celebrating Madeline’s birthday that evening.
It would have been an all-day event if Daphne had anything to do with it, the witch wanting to drag along balloons, cake, and gifts to dinner that night. However, when Madeline threatened to smother them in their sleep if they so much as sang Happy Birthday aloud to her in public, Jolie and Daphne had decided to make the party a quiet, Slytherin House-only proceeding.
Then, later in January—only one week from now, the Yule Ball would take place as it always did on the last weekend of the month, giving everyone that had not stayed over the Christmas holiday to enjoy the decorations and holiday spirit just a short while longer before the elves disposed of everything.
Jolie was stressed enough about this on its own, truly.
She and Cassius had only discussed it twice ever since he had asked her. And the custom dress she’d had made for her at Madame Malkin’s had not yet arrived in post—even though the seamstress had assured her it would arrive at least a fortnight prior to the ball.
Then, on the first weekend of February, the second task of the Triwizard Tournament would take place.
Jolie wished she could join the rest of her peers in the commotion and excitement for the upcoming task, but unfortunately for her, she had quite a lot more to worry about.
On top of the approaching ball, the task, and their usual duties of nightly rounds, the prefects had also been assigned to the task of creating, overseeing, and scouting for various clubs that might interest the younger years.
All in the name of promoting this ‘House unity’ that the school had been seriously lacking in the last few years.
Though, if Beatrice and Brennan had actually taken Jolie’s suggestion of a House-wide slumber party into consideration, perhaps this divide between Houses wouldn’t be such a problem.
So far, a few prefects had only come up with a potential chess club, a gardening club, and a flying club—but no one had been able to get any first or second years to sign up quite yet.
Therefore, the mandated O.W.L. revision hours expected of them—both in and out of study hall—being stuffed into Jolie’s carefully constructed, precious spare time made her want to scream.
Just a bit.
Jolie enjoyed keeping herself busy, she did. But not this busy.
Still, she tried not to let herself stress too much about all of it. She’d been consistently reminding herself not to overthink these events and tasks—as, really, her only true priority in her many years of schooling was solely her marks.
The only problem with this?
Potions.
Every year, Jolie had questioned those in the year above her about her final exams and projects. She had always made sure she knew everything she needed to do to receive an Outstanding mark.
For third year Transfiguration, Theo had warned her that the final exam would be to transfigure a teapot into a tortoise.
So Jolie had nearly wiped out her entire supply of quills, inkpots, and notebooks in her many months of practising. No one had been able to understand the sudden overabundance of reptiles and amphibians that had infested the Hogwarts’ grounds that year. And Jolie had pretended to be just as confused as her peers.
But she’d received an O.
And in second year Astronomy, a Ravenclaw two years ahead of her, Linderina Crane, had told her the exam details. So Jolie knew her final would be a randomised lunar phase and constellation assigned to her on the day of—both of which she’d needed to draw out. So Jolie had practised drawing each phase and constellation she knew of.
Even in her jump to Advanced Potions last school year, Jolie had been aware that the antidote project would be her final mark—and it had frustrated her beyond belief that she’d known nothing of the potential potions that Snape would assign. As, according to all the sixth years she’d asked, he chose a new selection of potions every year.
Jolie always knew about her exams. Even if she wasn’t aware of the acute details, she at least knew the overall premise.
Until now, anyway.
“Now,” Professor Snape drawled, flicking his wand to lift the cast iron lid off the stout cauldron before his desk, revealing the surface of the swirling neon pink potion within, “I have, here, the Venenum Ultionis. Translation, anyone?”
There was only about twenty minutes left of today’s Potions lesson. And after the last hour and a half of being stuck in the damp dungeon classroom whilst staring into their boiling cauldrons, most were itching to finally leave.
Several hands rose, Jolie’s included. Snape gestured lazily at one of them.
“Yes, Mr Pucey?”
“The name is Latin, meaning ‘the poison of revenge,’” Adrian recited with an arrogant smirk. As though that question had been the least bit difficult.
Jolie rolled her eyes.
Mutterings of similar annoyances echoed around the chilled, dank classroom as everyone dropped their raised hands back to their laps. All except Jolie, anyway.
“Very good,” the professor praised. “Five points to Slytherin.”
Adrian turned his head to shoot that stupid smirk at Madeline, then back at Jolie and Cassius.
Cassius gave him a thumbs up. Jolie gave him the middle finger with her free hand. Madeline coughed to hide her laugh.
“Now, who can tell me…” Snape began, then trailed off with a sigh as he spotted Jolie’s hand still high in the air.
She wriggled it for emphasis.
“Ms Carrow,” he addressed, eyes closing for just a moment in exasperation, “might you allow me to finish my questions before volunteering to answer?”
Jolie shook her head. “Sorry, Professor. I’m not volunteering. I just have a question of my own.”
Seated at the middle table right in front of hers, Theo glanced back at her with a teasing grin, shaking his head.
It was an effort not to stick her tongue out at him.
Snape’s expression minutely shifted into what could only be annoyance. “Very well. What is this question of yours that apparently could not wait?”
Unphased by his pointed irritation, Jolie smiled primly at the professor.
“Well, as you’ve mentioned in our last two lessons, since our final exam will be a physical project—one that will be the first of its kind—I wanted to check again to see—”
“As I have already said,” Snape cut her off, his tone clipped, “with the many distractions in the upcoming weeks, I find it unwise to present this information now. I will announce this year’s final project following this dreaded Yule Ball and abysmal Triwizard task. And, I shall advise you, Ms Carrow, to not ask me again—”
“But, Professor, I feel that with all of the many distractions this year, it is imperative that we are properly prepared for this project sooner rather than later. Especially if it is an assignment that you’ve never offered before—”
“Ms Carrow.”
“What? Can you not just give us a hint—?”
“Moving on,” Snape said loudly through gritted teeth, cutting her off. “As I was saying before I was so unnecessarily interrupted…”
Theo snorted.
Jolie crossed her arms, grumbling silently to herself. Grinning with amusem*nt, Cassius patted her on the back.
“It was a good effort,” he whispered.
She glanced sidelong at him. “It was fruitless is what it was.”
Cassius shrugged one shoulder. “Well, at least now you can focus on just a couple more weeks of peace.”
Jolie shot him a look. He clearly did not know her all that well.
As she began to turn her gaze back to the front of the room, beyond Cassius’ head, Jolie caught a glimpse of red hair.
She whipped her head back to face the front.
She was not doing that to herself.
“Now, who can tell me the first symptom upon ingesting this particular poison?” Snape asked.
More hands went up.
Jolie kept hers down despite knowing the answer. He wasn’t about to chance calling on her again, anyway.
Snape’s chin rose, peering closely about the room. Probably because the only hands that were raised were Gryffindors, Jolie determined. Several silent beats passed.
Reluctantly, Madeline raised her hand.
“Ms Lilith,” the professor called.
A soft chorus of groans sounded throughout the eager Gryffindors. Jolie wiped a hand over her mouth to disguise her smile.
Madeline cleared her throat. “Upon ingestion, the first symptom is a subtle burning on the tongue and throat that will grow more painful with each passing second.”
Professor Snape’s eyes softened—the subtlest of changes that Jolie never would have caught had she not known what Madeline truly was to him.
“And, following ingestion,” Snape questioned his daughter once more, “how long might one expect to wait before experiencing this sensation?”
“It… depends on the dose and the size of the consumer. Are we talking sixty millilitres? Two hundred? And how much does this person weigh—?”
His eyes hardened once more. Jolie grinned.
“Consider both an average dose and weight, Ms Lilith. The question is merely a hypothetical—”
“Yes, but there’s hardly an average when it comes to poison. So the specifics matter! Because, a hundred millilitres would hardly affect someone over one-hundred and fifty kilos—I mean, it might make them a bit sick, but it wouldn’t kill them—”
“Ms Lilith—”
“And that same dose would kill, say, a toddler in mere seconds! Then, eighty millilitres would eventually kill someone weighing, like, forty-five kilos, but if they gained just a stone, they would likely be fine in a few days’ time—”
“She’s got a point, Professor,” Jolie reasoned, unable to hide her grin.
“Right?” Madeline said to her. “I really think we need the specific parameters.”
Jolie nodded firmly in agreement.
Snape narrowed his eyes. “The dosage is the standard millilitre to kilogram ratio that causes death,” he said with a sigh. “Is that enough specifics for you?”
Jolie raised her hand, not waiting for him to call on her.
“But how soon of a death?” she asked. “Because the ratio will vary depending on how long it takes for the consumer to die, won’t it?”
“Exactly!” Madeline cried.
“Wait, so how little of a dose could kill me?” Kenneth Towler interjected, sitting at his table near the front.
“Mr Towler, you will not speak out of turn—”
“How much do you weigh?” Madeline asked him.
“Dunno the exacts,” Kenneth mumbled, frowning as he ignored Professor Snape’s scolding. “Seventy-five kilograms? Maximum… eighty?”
“If I were the one poisoning you, I would probably figure the eighty kilos—just to make sure you died,” Madeline informed him.
Jolie laughed as Kenneth raised his eyebrows.
“And the lowest possible ratio is just over, like, one and a half millilitres per kilogram… So, you’d round up to 1.6, carry the…” Madeline muttered to herself, counting on her fingers for a moment. Then, she turned to Jolie with a huff. “What’s the maths on that?”
To avoid ruining her own notes, Jolie snatched Cassius’s parchment and laid it between them, angling her hand to keep her quill from touching their cauldron. She began to cross multiply.
The class remained silent, only the scratching of Jolie’s quill audible in the dark room.
“And it’s…” Jolie drew out. “There. X is equivalent to one-hundred and twenty-eight.”
“Perfect,” Madeline said, then looked back at Kenneth. “One-hundred and twenty-eight millilitres of the Venenum Ultionis would be the least it would take to kill you!”
“Also, since it’s the lowest dose, it’d likely take around two to three days,” Jolie informed him.
“And you’d end up bleeding out from every orifice of your body,” Madeline pointed out. “Very slowly.”
“And painfully,” Jolie added.
Kenneth blinked at them.
Theo turned around on his stool, leaning close to their table.
“You two ought to stop smiling like that whilst talking about killing people,” he whispered loudly. “Just some friendly advice.”
Madeline fixed her cheerful expression into stoicism with ease, and turning towards Kenneth once more, she threw in, “All hypothetically, of course.”
Jolie inhaled sharply, trying not to laugh.
“Right… How lovely!” Kenneth chirped.
From a table behind them, Angelina Johnson wheezed with laughter. Katie Bell shushed her.
Madeline looked back at Jolie, grinning. The girls started to high-five until a harsh clearing of a throat interrupted them.
They both glanced towards the noise, finding Professor Snape—Madeline’s father, glaring down at them, his cold dark eyes flickering between their faces.
Madeline winced slightly.
“Are you two quite finished?” Snape asked, his tone sharp.
His daughter nodded quickly. “Yeah—Er, yes. Sorry, Professor.”
He turned his obsidian eyes to Jolie.
She gave him a tight smile. “Our apologies, sir. Won’t happen again.”
When he remained silent and continued glaring, apparently unsatisfied with her response, Jolie flourished a hand.
“Please,” she breathed, “don’t let us hold up the lesson. Do continue.”
Madeline shot her an incredulous look.
From a table off to her right, someone snickered.
Jolie glanced towards the noise, unable to stop herself.
The light amber of George Weasley’s gaze stared back at her, his eyes glittering with amusem*nt. She hated how much that single look affected her, the fluttering in her chest nearly making her suck in an involuntary breath.
“Did you have something you wished to add, Mr Weasley?” Professor Snape hissed, evidently catching the noise too.
George raised his eyebrows innocently, pointing at his own chest. “Who? Me? Nah, nothing to add to that.”
Snape narrowed his eyes before starting to turn his gaze back to Jolie.
“Though, off-topic,” George suddenly went on, “I reckon it’d be nice to get a few more sconces in here. It’s incredibly dark. And dreary. And all this squinting we have to do to see the board just can’t be good for the eyes—”
“Enough,” the professor snapped. “That is five points from Gryffindor.”
On George’s right, Fred smacked a hand over his face. George gasped.
“What? You asked me if I had anything to add!”
“Shall I make it ten?” Snape warned.
George shut his mouth. Lee propped up his open textbook and hid his face behind it, shoulders shaking.
“A wise choice,” Professor Snape drawled after a long moment of silence.
He stalked back over to the front of the room, approaching his cauldron of poison once more—his discontent with Jolie’s answer evidently forgotten after George’s second outburst.
Oblivious to Cassius’ dark eyes boring into her, Jolie glanced back over at George, finding him already looking back at her.
He arched an eyebrow.
The expression was an obvious ‘You’re welcome’—likely the haughtiest one he could manage.
She exhaled a silent breath, nodding just once at him—an obligatory ‘Thank you.’
According to the sudden rise of his other brow, he hadn’t quite been expecting her response.
It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him.
‘See?’ it said. ‘I can be civil.’
George’s eyes flickered towards Snape for a moment, then back to her, dropping his chin.
‘Was that meant to be civil?’ the expression wordlessly asked.
She narrowed her eyes at him, lifting her nose.
‘You’re one to talk.’
George shook his head. And then, just to rile her, he very slowly and very deliberately mouthed just one word, pointing a subtle finger at her as his lips formed it.
Troublemaker.
Jolie nearly gasped aloud. She fixed her features into an outright glare.
George smirked.
Jolie turned away, sure to flick her hair with the sudden movement.
She heard his quiet, breathy laugh.
Cheeky bastard.
During her and George’s ridiculously useless silent exchange, Professor Snape had continued to ask the students a few more questions. Now, he levitated a clean glass phial to hover above the cauldron.
With another flick of his wand, a small portion of the offensively bright pink liquid rose up and found its way slowly into the vessel.
He grasped the phial in his hand, holding it out to the class.
“Now, would anyone care to volunteer?”
Kenneth Towler audibly swallowed.
“Volunteer to… drink poison?” Angelina Johnson asked loudly.
Nervous murmurs echoed throughout the classroom.
Snape indicated a hand towards Kenneth and his partner, Clarence’s, cauldron. Then, waved that hand around the rest of the room—where everyone else’s cauldrons sat after that solid hour of brewing.
“You’ve each created a simple antidote, have you not?” the professor asked slowly, looking directly at Angelina.
“I mean, yeah,” she muttered. “But…”
“And, Mr Towler,” Snape went on, eyeing Kenneth coolly, “did we not spend the entirety of this lesson last week… discussing the many antidotes that successfully counteract this particular poison?”
Kenneth cleared his throat. “Erm… Yeah, we did—”
Snape raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, sir. We did,” Kenneth corrected himself.
“You never told us we’d be testing it on ourselves, though!” Alicia Spinnet called.
Jolie bristled.
Cassius placed his hand on her thigh comfortingly.
“Have you no confidence in your antidote, then, Ms Spinnet?” Snape asked.
Alicia opened and closed her mouth.
Like a fish.
“Hold on, so what’s the dosage in that phial?” Lee asked, then abruptly clamped a hand over his mouth, realising he’d spoken out of turn.
Snape rescinded another five points from Gryffindor before answering, “There are one-thousand millilitres in this dose.”
Gasps sounded all throughout the room.
That was enough to kill a whole bloody horse. In less than ten minutes. If any of them drank that, they would need the antidote within moments to keep from keeling over.
Jolie pitied anyone dumb enough to—
Suddenly, Cassius’ hand shot up as he cleared his throat.
“I’ll volunteer, Professor.”
Jolie gaped at him.
She was confident in the antidote they’d brewed, of course. They hadn’t needed anything complex; in fact, using Golpalott's Third Law would have been laughable in this instance. As deadly as the poison was, the antidotes for it were actually quite simple and accessible.
But it was still a deadly f*cking poison.
Professor Snape gave Cassius an approving nod, ushering him to the front of the room.
Cassius patted Jolie’s leg just once before he stood up. He began filling one of their own phials with the antidote they’d made.
As he worked on stocking his antidote, Miles and Graham—who had swapped seats with Madeline and Jolie last term—began snickering.
“Attaboy, Cass,” Miles cooed quietly as Cassius stepped back from the table and began approaching the cauldron. “Look at him go—braving death to impress Carrow.”
“Shut up,” Cassius sighed, passing them without a second glance.
Graham laughed. “See? I’m telling you, mate. It really must be gold.”
On the last word, Graham seemed to purposefully meet Jolie’s eye, then wheezed a laugh as Miles shushed him.
Something about his words, about the look on his face, made the hair on her arms prickle with unease.
She looked to the front of the room where Cassius now stood, trying to garner whether or not he’d heard the comment—if he understood it.
His face was bright red with a furious blush.
Jolie had seen him host an entire party, had seen him address a large group of people at several social events; she knew Cassius Warrington would not become flustered solely by standing before a small group of his own peers.
So he did know what Graham meant.
The sound of a clicked tongue drew Jolie’s attention away, her gaze finding Adrian Pucey as he placed his elbow atop the desk and shifted to look at her.
“Don’t mind them,” he whispered, co*cking his head in the direction of Miles and Graham. “They’re just being idiots.”
Jolie raised a single brow at him. “What did he mean by that? Graham.”
Madeline frowned in confusion, catching onto the conversation. “By what? What’d he say?”
Adrian grinned at her, waving a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it, love.” He looked back at Jolie. “It was nothing, Carrow. Really. He’s just being a twat.”
Jolie started to say something else, another question poised on her tongue—but she stopped when, behind Adrian, she saw Theo turn.
A muscle in his jaw ticked, his deep blue eyes cold and seething as he locked his stare onto Jolie’s.
He didn’t need to say or do anything for her to understand, then. Theo knew exactly what Graham meant; it wasn’t good, and it had pissed him off.
And he would tell her about it later.
So Jolie nodded at Adrian, letting him believe she had brushed it off. Satisfied, Pucey turned back to face the front of the room.
The whole class went silent as Cassius lifted the phial of poison to his lips with slightly shaky fingers.
And, he drank.
“He said what?” Jolie gasped, the sharp inhale making Tea Kettle’s ears flatten.
Theo grimaced.
They’d been dismissed from Potions and had come straight to Jolie’s dorm to convene.
Madeline had wanted to stay, but she’d already promised Pansy the night before that she would paint the witch’s nails with one of her many, many Muggle lacquers to choose from. So, Madi had pouted a goodbye as she hoisted up her bag of clinking nail varnishes, and left Jolie and Theo alone in the dorm.
From then on, Theo had not wasted a single moment—diving right into the night that the whole group of wizards on the trip had partaken in a lengthy conversation in objectifying the witches onboard.
Everyone but Theo, anyway.
He did not provide many details, really. In all honesty, he wasn’t able to remember much of that night—just bits and pieces.
He had partaken in way too many drinks that night in particular. In fact, he was pretty sure that, had he been given one more co*cktail, his future recollection of the whole night would have been completely blank.
But whenever Graham made that comment in Potions, the memory of what the git had said about Jolie had slowly come back to Theo. Then, when Adrian had turned to tell Jolie not to worry about the comment, the things Adrian had said that night had come back to Theo, too.
He knew that many horrible remarks were made about the other witches as well. He just couldn’t remember exactly what.
So he told Jolie what he could—what he remembered.
And now, Jolie was livid.
“Graham said that?” she hissed. “Graham Montague?”
Theo nodded.
He didn’t think there was another Graham that even attended this school, but he kept that thought to himself.
Jolie made a noise of revulsion, spinning around to continue her pacing between her and Madeline’s beds.
Sitting on her bed, Tea Kettle nestled in his lap, Theo watched her work through her thoughts.
Even in the silence, her disgust and fury was louder than ever.
She whirled around again, pointing a finger at him.
“Why the hell have you kept this from me—this whole time?” she hissed.
Theo’s hands shot up, shaking his head in offence. “I haven’t been keeping it from you! How could you think I’d ever do that—?”
“Well, considering you’re just now informing me of this,” Jolie spat, “it seems rather a lot like you’ve been keeping it from me—”
“I’m telling you now because I didn’t remember! I was several drinks in when the conversation took place—and do you know how bloody strong a Manhattan is? We’re lucky I wasn’t completely blacked out!”
Jolie ran a shaking hand through her hair, her fingers catching in the wild tangles that had formed thanks to her pacing.
“I swear to you,” Theo sighed, “I would’ve told you everything the very next time I saw you had my stupid brain not blocked off the memory. You know I would’ve.”
Jolie drew out a long breath, sinking down to sit on the edge of Madeline’s bed and staring at him.
“I know. Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s just… Cassius really didn’t say anything? He didn’t do anything to stop it?”
Theo shook his head, scratching behind Tea Kettle’s ears.
The cat began to purr.
“No, he didn’t.”
“You’re certain?”
He nodded. “Definitely. The main thing I remember is how alone I felt—and nauseated that no one else seemed to care.”
Jolie sucked in a breath through her teeth, seething.
“I would’ve done more if I hadn’t been so drunk,” Theo muttered, not meeting her eye as the guilt swirled in his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
He knew the whole lot of them had deserved much worse than just a cigarette burn and a few blows to the face.
Sighing, Jolie shook her head.
“Don’t apologise. You did what you could. That’s more than what the rest of them can say.”
Theo nodded, even though he didn’t really agree.
He should’ve done more.
Even if it wasn’t resorting to violence, he should have pointed out how vile they were all being. He might not remember what all exactly had been said, but Theo knew they had talked about Madeline, too. And Daphne.
Theo should have told them all to shut the f*ck up at the very first sign of the conversation tilting in that direction.
And he hated that he hadn’t.
After a small bout of silence, Jolie spoke again.
“You really can’t remember anything else?” she asked.
“No, they didn’t say anything else about you. Graham’s foul mouth is what finally set me off—”
“Not about me,” Jolie clarified. “I know to them, I’m apparently just a mutt with a c*nt of gold—”
Theo couldn’t help but snort at her brazen language.
“—and a loud, impulsive, loose cannon that’ll one day make a sh*t wife because I won’t—What’d Pucey say?” she asked. “‘Roll over’ in submission?”
“I mean, technically, I reckon I said that bit,” Theo confessed. “But it was more like, Pucey said all that rubbish and I said, ‘Oh, why? Because she won’t roll over in submission?’ and Pucey was just like, ‘Yeah, exactly.’”
“Thank you for the clarification.”
“Anytime.”
“So, like I said: I know what they think of me,” Jolie went on. “But can you remember anything else they said about the others? Can you think of anything specific that was said about the other girls?”
Theo felt his shoulders slump.
“No, nothing. I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know things were said, just not what was said.”
“Do you know which of them said things about who?” she pushed. “Like, if Miles said something, who he said it about?”
“I mean… maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be right,” Theo told her. “My memory isn’t exactly—”
“Adrian,” Jolie said, cutting him off. “Did Adrian say anything about Madeline?”
Theo blinked.
“I… don’t know—Actually… Yes? I think maybe—”
“What’d he say?”
Theo gave her a look.
“You really can’t remember?” Jolie asked, giving him a pleading look. “Not even if you try really hard?”
He ran a hand over his face, shutting his eyes and trying to picture that night, retracing his steps, recollecting everyone’s words.
But the memory was jumbled. Sentences were stilted, voices sounded distant.
It felt as though he were only just recalling a dream he’d had the night prior in the middle of the afternoon, grasping at vague images and choppy scenes that didn’t quite add up—the more he tried to remember, the more confusing it became.
He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze.
Theo shook his head glumly.
Jolie groaned.
He sighed. “Look, I promise to tell you everything I remember if anything comes back to me. I swear it. I just—can’t right now.”
She didn’t appear satisfied in the slightest, but she nodded.
“Thank you,” Jolie murmured. Then, after another few beats of silence, she said, “By the way, I know I’m making it seem like we all have to know what was said about us. But… maybe don’t tell Daphne about any of this.”
Theo raised his eyebrows.
“It’s just—she’ll be crushed,” Jolie rushed out. “You know how she is. Hearing anyone talk badly or negatively about her—it would be the only thing on her mind for weeks.”
That was fair.
If anything, he already hadn’t fancied the idea of Daphne knowing because it embarrassed him that he’d taken so long to finally react that night—how long it had taken him to defend his friends.
But Jolie’s point was true.
Daphne had always had a minor fixation on making sure others liked her.
And if someone didn’t like her, even without outwardly admitting this, Daphne would obsess over it until she nearly brought herself to tears.
For Salazar’s sake, the whole reason Jolie had even created that silly ‘Slytherin Girl Slumber Party’ was because, in only her first year, Daphne had nearly begun to cry herself to sleep each night when her and Jolie’s fellow roommates didn’t want to spend time with them!
So, this, he could agree on. He wouldn’t tell Daphne.
Truthfully, Theo hadn’t really planned on telling Daphne anything about that night at all—or anything in general.
Ever since their last night on the ship, he had barely been able to breathe around her. He couldn’t be too close to her without his gaze seeking out her lips, remembering what they had felt like against his own.
And considering she hadn’t acted any differently around him whatsoever, Theo doubted she even remembered anything from that night.
She hadn’t mentioned Kyle the Yankee. Nor had she mentioned Theo interrupting them to beat said Yankee to a pulp.
If she didn’t remember those volatile details, there was no way she remembered Theo kissing her.
She had been too drunk that night; Theo knew that.
That had been the whole reason he had stopped her from going any further. The whole reason he had stopped himself.
Still, part of him wished she remembered.
Wished she would look at him like she had that night. Just one more time.
But—it was likely for the best that the memory evaded her.
Daphne Greengrass did not seek out people like Theo.
He was loud, brash, and impulsive. He didn’t have this… deep, thoughtful, mysterious demeanour like Blaise. He wasn’t capable of keeping his private life private. He said things that he shouldn’t, acted on thoughts without reconsidering.
He was not calm nor collected. Sometimes, he was violent. And cruel.
Theo was no good for her. And, really, he never would be.
People like Daphne—good people, kind and compassionate people—knew that.
She would never truly want to be with someone like Theo.
And if the only thing he could be was her friend, he was happy to be just that. Only that.
So Theo had behaved accordingly.
He hadn’t come close to mentioning their snog from that night. He hadn’t even hinted at it. Instead, for the past few weeks, Theo had gone right back to being what he had always been to her—her silly, teasing friend that could both make her scoff, and make her laugh.
It was easier that way.
Simpler.
So, he nodded. “Yeah, alright. I won’t tell her.”
Jolie seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Good.”
After a moment, he raised an eyebrow at her.
She frowned. “What?”
Tea Kettle made a trilling noise, reaching her paw out to touch Theo’s hand, demanding he continue petting her.
Theo obeyed. Then, he looked back at Jolie.
“Are you going to say anything to Warrington?”
She grimaced. “I don’t know. I want to, but I think I may kill him if I do.”
He breathed a laugh.
“I don’t know,” Jolie repeated as though he’d asked again, running her hands through her hair.
To Theo, it seemed she was considering just ripping out a few strands—just to relieve some stress. She probably needed it.
“What would I even say to him?” she asked. “Do you think I should bring it up?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Just… Tell him—”
A sharp knock at the door made Theo stop, both of them turning to look right as a muffled voice recited the password and the door handle turned.
The door cracked open.
Glancing once at Jolie, he saw her cheeks bloom pink with what must be both surprise and fury. Her brown eyes narrowed, burning with disgust and rage.
Theo nearly considered praying for the visitor that now stood at the threshold.
Unable to glean the emotions on her face, however, this visitor didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Wholly ignorant to his unwelcome intrusion when, really, he ought to be fleeing.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Cassius just grinned at her.
