Shades of Gray

"You're dating a what?" The words rang through the high-ceilinged room as though they had a life of their own, echoing off every surface, from the midnight blue plush carpets to the high-backed chairs of the same hue. A man with graying hair around his temples paced the carpet with a fanatic gleam in his eyes, glaring at a boy who occupied one of the chairs.

It really was not fair to call him a boy, though. He was sixteen years of age, with a shock of light hair that fell into his equally light blue eyes, which were full of laughter despite the interrogation. "It's not a 'what', it's a 'who'. And her name is Michelle Nott." His tone was even, smooth, and controlled, as one would speak to a superior when they did not agree with the other's beliefs.

The man whirled on his son. "She might as well be a what! Do you know who the Notts are?" There was no reply from the young man, although it was obvious that he knew the answer. "They're one of the major families that supports of He-who-shall-not-be-named! They are his thinkers, his planners, his weasels. The ones who will be the first to jump from side to side, whenever they think that it will benefit them! But they truly support only you-know-who, and will never truly be of the light side." He glared even harder, as though he was attempting to bore through the young man's brain, so he could see what lurked inside.

"That is her family, father, not her," he replied smoothly, but was cut short by the elderly man.

"I don't care if it's her family, Trenton, damn it! I forbid you to see this girl throughout this summer, and also whenever you return to Hogwarts next year." The man stopped pacing long enough to look his son in the eyes. "You will not speak to her directly unless required to due to an assignment, teacher, or meeting."

Trenton rolled his eyes in the first gesture of defiance towards his father that he had shown throughout the entire ordeal. "She's a prefect, father, as am I. It's not logical that the two of us will never speak other than when we're required to. The prefects of each house are supposed to help promote inter-house relationships." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "That's rather hard to do without speaking, don't you agree?"

Silence followed that remark, and it was quite obvious that the young man had won. The elder man was tired of arguing, drooping visibly with only a slightly harsh look remaining on his face. "I will not have a son of mine associating with a Nott," he finally replied in a hoarse whisper. "Unspeakables and Death Eaters. Doesn't that sound appealing to you?" The man wore a sneer that fit his face perfectly, and it was quite obvious that he wore it often.

The young man made no reply, but simply sat up straighter in the chair and stared intently at the fine cherry wood table. Finally, after several moments of silence that was thick with unspoken words, he replied. "Whatever you say, father."

The older man sighed deeply, his face relaxing to show lines that had not been obvious a few moments before; careworn lines, deep with age and worry. "Thank you, Trent." He rested one hand on the young man's shoulder. "I promise, if I didn't think that associating with her would be a bad thing, I wouldn't have asked you to stop. Thank you for understanding."

Trent shuddered slightly as his father placed his old, weathered hand on his robed shoulders, but said nothing, merely staring straight ahead into emptiness.

Some promises were never meant to be kept.