The Liturgy of the Hours

PRIME

It was late August, and it was sweltering; even this early in the day. Theodore Nott could feel rivulets of sweat pooling in the small of his back, running over the skin of his sides; causing the linen of his shirt to stick in damp patches over his ribs. The shade of the gigantic oak did nothing to cool him, and there was no hint of a breeze.

Theodore watched the water of the pond, unmoving except for the occasional ripple as small black midges moved across the surface, tempting fate at the mouths of hungry frogs. He stared until his eyes felt glazed, unfocused, before blinking and looking down.

Next to his left foot a wasp made its lazy wobbling meander over the grass, wings tight to its body. Theodore watched as it stumbled and lurched over the uneven ground. Reaching out slowly, he trapped one tissue thin wing beneath his finger, watching as the insect turned and twisted in its attempt to escape, before crushing it beneath the tip of his wand.

In the distance the bells rang the hour. Theodore slowly stood, dusting off his trousers as best he could, and headed back towards the manor.

As he opened the front doors onto the main foyer an icy blast of air hit him, momentarily relieving him of his ability to breath. He wiped damp hands over his face, pushing back the fringe that dripped wetly down over the angles of his cheekbones. He walked slowly, headed towards the marble staircase that led to his room, when a familiar, laughing voice caught his attention.

"Theodore! Theodore!"

Theodore stopped, turning to the portrait of a small blonde girl in a pink summer dress and beribboned hat. He smiled.

"Good morning, Andrea."

"Good morning, Theodore." The girl in the portrait leaned against the frame, grinning. "Where have you been? Mother had the house elves searching all over for you, you know. Today is the trip to London."

Theodore cursed quietly under his breath. He had forgotten, whether on purpose or not did not excuse him where his mother was concerned.

"Thank you, Andrea. Do you know where Mother is at the moment?"

The girl in the portrait rolled her eyes at him in an exaggerated fashion, "She's in chapel, silly."

"Of course." Theodore started down the hall to where the family chapel was located, a small dark room at the back of the manor. "Do you have any plans for the day, since I won't be here to entertain you?"

The girl traipsed after him through a few portraits of farmland and rolling hills, chattering about her ideas on how to spend the morning. When they reached the end of the corridor she stopped, waving to Theodore and giving him a conspiratorial wink before heading back to her own frame. Theodore sighed, once more running his hands over his face and hair, before pushing open the heavy, carved wooden doors.

The room was dark, lit only by flickering pillar candles; the cloying scent of myrrh hung in heavy clouds throughout, lingering in purple hazy patterns near the ceiling. Theodore dipped his fingers in the water by the door, genuflecting and making the sign of the cross, before heading towards the front and kneeling into the pew next to his mother.

Vanessa Nott did not look up, did not acknowledge Theodore's arrival. Her head remained bowed and Theodore could see the quick shadow of her fingers moving over the teakwood beads clutched in her hand. He watched as her lips moved silently over the words of the prayer as he reached into his front pocket, withdrawing his own polished set.

Twenty minutes later Vanessa Nott appeared to come out of her trance like state, noticing Theodore and nodding, a small smile playing about her lips. They moved together out of the chapel, blinking at the sudden brightness as they stepped into the main hall.

"We will be heading to London today, Theodore. We need to purchase your supplies for the year and your father would like a visit before you head back to school."

Theodore nodded. His father was still at St. Mungo's, having hit his head and fractured the back of his skull when that Granger girl had stupefied him. Theodore shuddered, thinking back to the first time he had gone to visit, a few days after the accident. His father's head had been wrapped in thick gauze and his face was greyish pale with deep, bruised circles underneath each eye. When Theodore had stepped into the room he had suddenly been besieged by a barrage of voices, feeling, sensations; he had fallen faint and landed on the floor in an undignified heap. The medi-wizard's had said this was a relatively normal occurrence, that sometimes the unconscious injured would project onto other people in the room. Theodore had nodded, the incident had not happened again.

But Theodore had not forgotten the sense of fear that he had received from his father's still form, or the words of Lucius Malfoy that had echoed in his head for days after the visit.

"Leave Nott, leave him I say, the Dark Lord will not care. . ."

Theodore smiled at his mother, reaching out and squeezing her hand gently.

"I'll be ready within the hour."

SEXT

The first of September fell on a Wednesday, and the crowded, familiar bustle on platform 9 and ¾ had been nothing less than expected. Theodore had left his mother near the outer wall at King's Cross, kissing her cheek and telling her to say hello to father for him when she stopped by for her weekly visit, before slipping easily through the barrier and busying himself with storing his trunks and boarding the train.

Blaise had caught up with him just as he stepped onto the rickety step-ladder leading up to the final car, calling out his name and racing forward, robes billowing out behind him until he stood, panting slightly, at Theodore's elbow. Blaise grinned; a wide spreading that encompassed his lower face and displayed the small gap in his upper teeth, before pulling himself up the steps behind Theodore and following him into the first available cabin. Theodore shook his head, withholding a smile of his own in return, and flopped onto the worn leather seat with a sigh.

"You really are a disgrace to Slytherin, Zabini. You know this, don't you?" Theodore pulled his wand from his robe as he spoke and whispered a quiet locking charm on the door, not wanting to be disturbed.

"Ah," Blaise's smile grew even bigger as he stuffed his carry on in the compartment above his seat, "It's why you keep me around, Nott. I make you look good."

Theodore's smile finally broke over his face as he shook his head, stretching out his legs in the cramped confines and placing them on the bench across from him. "Regardless. What if some Ravenclaw, or worse - a Hufflepuff - had witnessed such a display? Hopeless, I tell you."

Blaise snorted rudely, punching Theodore's arm and withdrawing a deck of cards from his pocket as the train whistles sounded and the compartment lurched forward roughly.

"Exploding Snap?"

Theodore sighed, closing his eyes and trying to dispel the tiredness he felt. He had not gone to bed until the early hours of the morning; preferring to spend his evening talking to Andrea and reminding her to be good and not make things too difficult for mother. He buried his hands deep in his pockets, rubbing his fingers over the uneven oval of metal, a charmed image of Saint Benedict that his father had given him on his last visit. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled lazily at Blaise.

"Why not?"

The remainder of the trip passed in tired companionship, broken only once when a Prefect, not Slytherins of course, had knocked on the compartment door and informed them they had to leave it unlocked for "safety" purposes. Theodore had glared and Blaise had slumped low in his seat, staring at the boy in distaste; and as soon as his echoing footsteps could be heard heading down the hall to the next compartment, they had immediately relocked the door. Blaise had quickly tired of losing games to Theodore and had pulled out the newest issue of Quidditch Weekly from his satchel, leaving Theodore to stare out the window at the blurred landscape.

At some point Theodore must have fallen asleep, as he woke with a start, staring out at the darkened scenery with bleary eyes. Next to him Blaise whimpered and elbowed him in the ribs, rolling closer to Theodore's side. As usual, Blaise had crept close to the nearest source of heat he could find in his slumber; a habit which had landed him in trouble more than a few times when drinking. Theodore, however, was accustomed to it and simply shifted his arm, draping it loosely over Blaise's shoulder, and continued to watch the night sky. When he knew they were nearing Hogwarts he gently shook Blaise awake, laughing silently as the other boy mumbled under his breath and tried to pull his robes over his head.

As they disembarked onto the Hogsmeade platform, Theodore shifted painfully; stretching his arms over his head and hearing his shoulders and knees pop gently. He waited with Blaise while the luggage was unloaded, finding his own quickly, then went to join the other sixth year Slytherins who were waiting impatiently for the carriages to arrive. Theodore nodded curtly to the others in his class, answering questions about his summer with a slicing smile and a brief "it was fine", not bothering to ask how the questioners were in return.

Finally, the carriages rattled down the walk towards the waiting students. Theodore felt the familiar tug of unease in his stomach as he watched the great black, skeletal horses approach; pawing the ground angrily and expelling giant huffs of air through their nostrils. Theodore's hand instinctively moved to his pocket, running his thumb over the medallion there.

As everyone made their way slowly towards the waiting carriages, Theodore stopped, startled by an all too recognizable voice close behind him.

"Have you read the papers lately? Potter is so in for it this year; even Mother says it will take a miracle for him to want to show his face anytime soon. Probably under Dumbledore's robes already, quivering like a baby."

Draco's eyes flashed and he aimed his best smiling sneer towards Goyle, who nodded dumbly, his massive head tottering on his massive shoulders. Theodore shivered in the cool evening air. Draco Malfoy had never been one of his favourite people, there was just too much about the boy that annoyed, and now, after a summer of listening to the echoing voice of Draco's father rumbling through his head, Theodore disliked the blond even more than before. Theodore tried to look away quickly, not wanting to talk to the git, but Draco turned just as he was realizing this fact, pinning Theodore to the spot with his mercurial gaze.

Draco scowled.

Theodore glared, feeling his heart slam in his chest.

"And how was your summer, Nott? Anything interesting happen?"

Theodore continued to stare for a moment longer before blinking and turning his back on the blond.

"The same as any other, Malfoy." Theodore stopped, rubbing his hand over one of the leathery wings of the Thestral closest to the carriage door, feeling its massive body shudder beneath his touch. "How was yours?"

Draco's face flushed crimson in the dim lights of the lamps as he pushed past, calling for Crabbe and Goyle to follow him. Theodore released a long breath and climbed into the carriage, settling in beside Zabini and Bullstrode, and slamming the door shut with a swiftly uttered charm.

MATINS

It was the end of the second week when Theodore began to notice a shift in Slytherin house. Many, as usual, still followed blindly in the faltering wake of their self-appointed leader, Draco Malfoy. However, there were many more this year who seemed to question this leadership, more people - like himself - who started to question the idolatry of parents and following, unquestioning and uninformed, in their footsteps.

There were the common ones, the ones who outside of Slytherins common room would nod and agree, defend any attempt to slight another member of their house (simply because that was what Slytherins did); but who inside their dungeon home would scoff and laugh off the theatrics of Malfoy and his cronies as asinine or childish ideals. In years past this had always been regulated to a specific few - Stephen Jugson, a quiet, mousy seventh year, Zabini and himself, along with a few of the younger students - yet, the actuality of the Dark Lord's resurrection seemed to have placed those kernels of fear into the hearts of many, fear that they next would be expected to take the mark, and this year the select few had turned into nearly half of Slytherin house.

If Theodore Nott found any of this odd, he said nothing of it.

**********************************************

In the distance the large Grandfather clock that monopolized one wall of the common room struck midnight. Theodore stared at the page before him, watching as the inky lines smeared and blended themselves into nonsense. He yawned and blinked, and the letters reshaped themselves:

They don't know, neither do they understand/
They walk back and forth in darkness/
All the foundations of the earth are shaken.*

He had been stuck on this final analysis for nearly two hours, his eyes were gritty and his head was pounding. Sighing, Theodore rolled up the parchment, deciding he would finish his homework for "Ancient Texts: Meanings and Mysteries of the World" in the morning. Next to him Blaise snored softly, face pressed against his Charms textbook.

Theodore watched him for long moments, measuring his breathing to the even rise and fall of Blaise's back. As his body relaxed he felt his head bow forward and he jerked awake. Stretching, he gathered his texts and rolls of parchments, starting to move toward his own bed.

A sleep warm hand on his arm stopped him as he started to rise.

"No," Blaise yawned and turned, pulling down the comforter and crawling beneath, his hand still holding onto Theodore. "Stay here."

Theodore sighed, closing his eyes. Opening them he leaned forward, pushing back a stray clump of Blaise's hair with his fingers. "Blaise. Come on. I need to go to bed."

Blaise grumbled into his pillow before turning his face to Theodore, blinking sleepily. "This is a bed, Nott. Come on." Blaise yawned widely and tugged on the arm he was holding. "Please."

Theodore sat down on the edge of the bed, balling his hands in his lap and staring down at Blaise. "Are you having dreams again?"

Blaise nodded sleepily against the pillow, producing a soft raspy noise.

"Fine." Theodore toed off his shoes, pushing them under the edge of the bed before standing and pulling the curtains shut. "Just make sure I get back to my own bed before the others get up."

Blaise sighed and scooted over on the mattress, pulling back the comforter for Theodore to climb in. "I will."

Theodore lay down, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. Next to him Blaise fussed with the blankets until he was satisfied, then rolled close to Theodore and draped his arm across his waist. Theodore shivered as cold fingers pressed against the exposed skin of his side where his shirt had ridden up.

Closing his eyes, he pressed his head deep into the pillow and once again began to follow the deep evenness of Blaise's breathing, feeling himself relax. Theodore yawned, feeling his chest expand and deflate, and then yawned again, "Just make sure I'm up, ok."

Blaise let out a sleepy noise of acknowledgement, pressing himself tight against Theodore's side before whispering, "Roll over, you're hogging the bed."

Theodore nodded, rolling onto his right side and draping his own over Blaise's, trapping the other boy's hand against his waist.

Within moments the dorm was filled with nothing but the gentle sounds of slumber.

LAUDS

For the third time in as many weeks, Theodore had spent the night in Blaise's bed. Blaise had woken him just before sunrise, pushing at Theodore's shoulder and pulling away the pillow before rolling over and snuggling back under the blankets; snoring softly before Theodore had even had a chance to yawn and lower his feet to the cold stone floor.

Usually Theodore would crawl into his own chilly bed, burying himself beneath the covers, and sleep for another hour or two until the sounds of the others in the dorm rising for the day roused him; but this morning he had lain in bed for nearly half an hour, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Finally, he had slipped from the bed and dressed quietly, leaving his slumbering dorm mates behind and headed outside into the chill October air and down to the lake.

Theodore had walked the parameters of the waters edge twice, keeping a careful eye on the surface for any signs of the giant squid, before settling himself down in a small patch of grass not completely covered by the morning frost. A large boulder shadowed the area, and Theodore leaned against it, staring out over the water and watching as the sun rose on the horizon. A slow tranquillity seemed to envelop the space, something which Theodore had been sorely missing over recent months, and as he watched the morning sky bleed from pale grey to pinkish purple, he removed his string of polished beads from the front pocket of his trousers; his mouth moving silently over the opening words of the Pater Noster and his breath escaping in small puffs of white.

He was part way through the first repetition, and trying to remember which of the Mysteries would be appropriate for that particular weekday, when the angry sound of raised voices interrupted him. Theodore cursed under his breath, already lamenting the loss of his private meditation and was just readying to stand and move on when the voices became clearer, identifiable.

"No, it's too dangerous to even consider attempting. We should just go to Dumbledore and request that he . . ." the bossy, soprano tones of Granger drifted through the morning air, sounding even more aggrieved than usual.

"Hermione! It's not like we don't need the training and Dumbledore's already got enough on his plate, what with everything that's been happening lately. You know damn well that we need it, so I say why not just continue it the way we always have. We'll just let Harry continue to lead the class, what with him being the best at defence and all that ..." the exasperated tones of Ronald Weasley interrupted Granger's reply, but was soon cut off by Potter himself.

"Will you both just stop?" Potter's voice sounded dull and weary, even to Theodore; as though the other boy has slept too little and thought too much. "We're not continuing without Dumbledore's knowledge, there are too many chances, to many opportunities for others to get hurt. Especially now that Voldemort," Theodore repressed an instinctive shiver at the sound of the name spoken so carelessly, "knows there are other involved. I'm sorry, Ron, but Hermione has a point. It is simply too dangerous to continue."

Theodore's mind quickly digested the information; this was something big, something important. Now he just needed to discover what it was exactly There were others who knew about Voldemort's return, really knew, who knew about the Death Eaters and recent activity. Theodore wondered who exactly had been with Potter and Granger at the Department when his father had been injured. He pressed against the rock as the trio came closer to where he sat, ears pricked to pick up any further information.

Weasley continued to moan and insist that they had to, they simply had to, pointing out the various dangers of not being trained properly if and when anything ever came to Hogwarts. Granger made noises of protest and scoffs of disagreement; her comments irritating to Theodore, who had never much cared for the girl, brilliant though she undeniably was, and cared even less for her after landing his father in a coma for two weeks. Nothing but a snotty, know it all, middle class muggle born plebeian; not that Theodore had anything against the middle class, Zabini - by wizarding standards - fell into that self same category, it was everything else about her that grated him.

Theodore listened as the trio passed, not picking up much more of use. They were up to something, for sure -something which included training in defence against the dark arts; something which Dumbledore may or may not be aware of. And they spoke of an attack as though it were an inevitable truth.

Theodore's hand hurt. He grimaced and swore softly as the nylon string holding his prayer beads together sliced through the flesh of his finger; he had not realized he had been twisting them so tightly as he listened to the Gryffindors talk.

He watched as the three moved past, rounding the bend of the lake and moving out of sight. As they went, Potter slowed, trailing slightly behind the others, who continued along - arguing without him. Potter turned, staring at Theodore for long seconds, Theodore tried to sneer back, but it proved difficult with his thumb in his mouth; so he hardened his blue gaze, daring Potter to say something, to do something, for catching Theodore overhearing their conversation.

Potter just stared, green eyes slightly distorted behind his glasses. Theodore frowned, hand in his pocket, fingertips balancing on the end of his wand, waiting. When Potter simply turned and walked away, trotting slightly to catch up with his friends, Theodore watched, half expecting for the three to return in mass. When nothing happened Theodore sighed, turning back to the lake and watching the rays of pale glittering sunlight turn the water to elusive silver and gold.

TERCE

By the first week of November the growing amount of owl deliveries to the Great Hall had become an alarmingly frequent occurrence. In the beginning, the increase had been barely noticeable, but now the sheer volume was near alarming.

By the second week, the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had begun to leave at an astounding rate; called home by concerned parents or for reasons not disclosed in general conversation. The Great Hall buzzed each morning as the owls arrived, waiting to see who would be the next to go.

When his Father's grey bearded barn owl arrived one morning with the post, Theodore had felt his stomach curl and he'd pushed away his partially eaten breakfast, no longer feeling hungry; he quickly shoved the envelope in his pocket, sipping on his tea and waiting for breakfast to be over.

Next to him Blaise leaned close, pressing against Theodore's arm with a familiar warmth. Theodore turned, blue eyes guarded and issuing a silent warning. Blaise moved closer, reaching across to grab a slice of toast from the platter, and whispered in a low voice.

"Odd. Your father usually doesn't contact you until just before holiday starts."

Theodore cleared his throat and replied softly.

"Don't be such an idiot, Zabini."

Blaise smiled weakly and continued eating.

***************************************

In the half hour lull between Charms and Potions, Theodore returned to the dorm, pulling the curtains tight around his bed and opening the letter he had received that morning.

Theodore,

As I am sure you are aware, things are starting to change. Much will come about over the next few months.

Be ready for it.

You are an intelligent boy. I trust you will make the right decisions.

Father

Theodore read and re-read the note, tracing his fingers over the spidery script. Finally, having memorized it completely, he placed it on his nightstand, pointing his wand at the wrinkled parchment and muttering incendio.

He was just on his way out of the dorms and heading into the common room when he met up with Blaise.

Blaise stared at him for long moments, shuffling his feet and stuffing his balled up hands in his pockets. Theodore moved close, placing his hand on the other boy's arm and squeezing. Blaise smiled nervously, waiting it seemed, for Theodore to respond before exhaling a long held breath.

The boys turned together, Theodore's arm draped loosely over Blaise's shoulder and heads bent close together, and headed towards the veiled door that led to the dungeon hallway.

As they reached the door, Theodore slowed; turning to look down at Blaise's upturned face. He reached out, feeling a slight tremble in the muscle of Blaise's shoulder beneath his arm, and touched his fingers gently to Blaise's jaw.

"I think it is time we talked to the others."

Blaise nodded, blinking several times and swallowing visibly, before following Theodore out of Slytherin and into the hall, not wanting to be late for class.

VESPERS

It was the middle of December and only a few stragglers were left in the Slytherin House, many having already been withdrawn from the school, the others having recently left for the holiday. Dumbledore had sent a notice to many parents asking that students who did not need to go home be allowed to stay at Hogwarts over the break, for safety purposes.

Theodore had received a message from his mother a few days prior, informing him to stay and to remember to attend services on Christmas Eve. Theodore had smiled at the missive, so typically Vanessa Nott, and had owled back, telling her that he would try to have presents sent as soon as possible (the last two weekends to Hogsmeade Village having been cancelled) and to give his best to father, who was still in the protected security ward at St. Mungo's, and Andrea.

The few members of Slytherin with whom Theodore had spoken about his plans had just returned from the library, dusty and cranky and walking with hobbled gaits from having sat bent double over books of potions and spells for the better portion of the afternoon. Everyone was tired and frustrated, the limited resources available in the Hogwarts library gaining them little to no knowledge that they had not already garnered growing up in the homes of snakes and former Death Eaters.

Theodore stretched out on one of the leather sofas closest to the fire, feeling his back pop as he reached over his head, twisting. He sighed heavily. This was getting them no where. They were no better off now than they had been a month ago, when he had first gathered a trusted few together and told them his idea. The others were frustrated, understandably so, and Theodore feared how long he would be able to keep them together without someone finally giving up and returning to more accepted paths within the house.

Blaise flopped down onto the floor next to him, whispering a spell beneath his breath as he handed Theodore a butterbeer, the cap popping off as Theodore closed his fingers around the slick bottle. Theodore could feel the movement of Blaise's chest against his arm as the other boy released a long breath, he slowly opened his eyes.

Blaise's hazel eyes looked at him questioningly and Theodore fought the urge to reach out and wipe away a smear of dust and sweat that angled across Blaise's cheek. He drank deeply of the bottle in his hand and closed his eyes again.

When he finally spoke his voice was harsh and low.

"Do you think it's pointless?"

"No." Blaise moved against him, the fleeting sensation of his oxford brushing against Theodore's arm causing small shivers. "But there has to be something . . . something else . . . something we're missing."

Theodore nodded his head, feeling drowsy. He sighed and adjusted himself on the sofa as Blaise moved, scooting further down on the floor and laying his head against Theodore's hipbone. Theodore raised his hand, hesitating a few inches above Blaise's damp hair, before letting it fall back to the smooth leather beneath him.

"It's getting close. You can feel it in the air. Everyone's nervous, on edge. There has to be something, some way . . ." Theodore's voice drifted sleepily and Blaise nodded against him, bunching up his shirt edge, stubble rasping against the skin of Theodore's stomach.

He had nearly drifted to sleep when a commotion outside the hidden door jolted him awake. He swore loudly, pushing Blaise back and getting to his feet. Theodore reached the door the same time as a third year, he gave the girl a sneer and a barked, "I'll handle it" before stepping through the veiled doorway.

Only to be confronted by a very tired looking Harry Potter.

Theodore glared.

"You're an idiot, Potter. Why are you creeping around the dungeons at this hour?"

Potter blinked at him, eyes owlishly large behind the thick frames of his glasses. He shuffled his feet.

Theodore snorted and drew his lips back in a sneer. "Look, what do you want? I have other things to do other than waste my time standing in a cold . . ."

Potter stepped forward, pressing a gold coin into Theodore's palm, words spilling out in a messy jumble, "Tonight. Nine o'clock. Seventh floor. Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, walk in front if it and it will let us know you're there. Bring who ever you think will help."

Theodore's fingers closed around the coin. His scowl faltered.

"What are you on about, Potter?"

Potter had already turned, rushing along the corridor. He stopped, looking back over his shoulder and smiled tiredly.

"Just be there if you want to help."

Theodore nodded slowly; reaching into his pocket and depositing the coin, hearing it clang dully against the medallion of St. Benedict his father had given him.

A smile spread across his face as he stood in the dim light of the corridor. It appeared that the answer had finally arrived. Still smiling, Theodore entered the common room and went to talk to Blaise and the others.

COMPLINE

The first of the attacks had come just after New Year's, someone - a Ravenclaw they had later discovered - had lowered the wards on the left side of the Hogwarts property; closest to the Forbidden Forest. They had only been down for a matter of minutes before the alarms had signalled and Flitwick and Snape had managed to get them fully restored; but it was just long enough to let in an estimated seventeen Death Eaters.

Before Dumbledore, Potter and the staff had realized what had happened the followers of the Dark Lord had managed to capture and slaughter five muggle born students. By the time this was discovered, most of the Death Eaters had managed to slip out by tearing a hole in one of the schools wards and apparating away. Only one had been captured, and he had been of no use since he died within minutes of Filch cornering him near Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. It was later discovered that he had committed suicide by swallowing a particular type of poison contained in a gelatinous capsule that responded to chemical changes in a person's saliva.

It was now early March, and the members of the Order of the Phoenix and what had been previously referred to as "Dumbledore's Army", but was simply now Hogwarts Army, were permanently stationed in the dungeons of the school, that being the largest area with the fewest ways of undetected entry. What had once been the Slytherin common room was now home to the remaining students from all houses; as well as a few Order members and professors.

Theodore sat at a small table with Snape and some of the other members, staring dully at the map spread out before him. The Grandfather clock struck three times, and Theodore blinked, watching as the lines and topographical relief's danced and blended across the page until they symbolized nothing.

Frowning, Snape stood, rolling the map up and placing it back into the inner pockets of his robes. He stared round the group, beetle dark eyes shadowed with weariness.

"We're getting no where tonight gentlemen. I say we stop and resume at a more decent hour."

Several nodded in agreement, stifling yawns, and gathered their supplies, heading their separate ways.

Theodore stood slowly, eyes partially closed and intent on making his way to the dorm he now shared with nine other boys. He stopped when he heard Snape address him.

'We're on the right track, Nott. Now we just need to make sure we know where we're going."

Theodore nodded. Not exactly sure whether Snape was expecting an answer. He watched as Snape finished gathering the supplies from the table, and tried unsuccessfully to hide the look of surprise that crossed his face when Snape walked over to him, placing a hand briefly on his arm, before heading to the door that led to his private quarters.

Part way across the room Snape turned, meeting Theodore's tired gaze with his own.

"You made the right decision, Theodore. You must know that." Snape turned away with a small billow of robes. "Get some rest Nott, you look like hell."

Theodore could do nothing but nod and head towards his room.

The dorm was chilly and filled with the sounds of various stages of sleep. Theodore stepped into the bathroom, running the tap and rinsing the stale taste from his mouth before undressing quickly and hurrying to his bed. He pulled back the blankets, pushing at Blaise's shoulder for him to move. Blaise muttered sleepily and rolled onto his side.

Theodore crawled beneath the blankets, shivering even as he pressed himself into the warm indentation where Blaise's body had been. Blaise turned, pressing himself fully against Theodore, covering him with his heat. Theodore's shivers turned to trembling muscles and muted whispers as Blaise's warmth trailed slowly down his body, enveloping him until he cried out; biting down sharply on the pillow beside him to keep from waking the others. Slowly, Blaise moved back up, resting his head on Theodore's shoulder and yawning.

"It's late."

Theodore nodded, burrowing his chin against the crown of Blaise's head.

"Did everything get worked out?" Blaise rolled back onto his side, pulling Theodore with him and pressing his back against Theodore's chest.

"Not yet. But we're close."

Blaise yawned again, pressing his face into the pillow. His breathing deepened and Theodore measured his own to the even rhythm, feeling himself being pulled towards sleep. His fingers moved over the prominent planes of Blaise's ribs, light touches against the sharply angled skin. His lips moved softly against the warm skin of Blaise's neck as he silently mouthed the familiar words,

. . . forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who have trespasses against us. And lead us not into temptation: but deliver us from evil . . .

Theodore pressed closer, feeling Blaise sink into him. He tightened his grip momentarily, the dull thud of Blaise's heart beating beneath the palm of his hand. The sounds of slumber and the heavy warmth surrounding him pulled him deeper, and for a few needed hours, Theodore Nott allowed sleep to come.

* the text that Theodore is working on is Psalm 82:5