Who: Theodore and Blaise When: Afternoon of Wednesday, January 21st Where: Slytherin Common Room, then a corridor What: A DUEL TO THE DEATH - Or calm discussion of Blaise's issues with his father. Rating: G
It's always calmest before a storm, and Blaise could feel the storm welling around him as four or five Third Years sat in simmering silence in a corner. Traces of tears on the faces of at least two told the story of a minor disagreement in the ranks of that year. Two more sat whispering furiously to one another, sending looks to the two girls and -- a bit nervously -- to him. He bared his teeth at them, not in any mood to play nicely. Instead, he sat sprawled over a couch in the Common Room, reading over his Arithmancy homework but quite attuned to what was going on around him.
Theodore rarely paid any mind to the childish antics of the younger years, and today was no exception. His casual strides suggested near obliviousness to their presence - a feeling that appeared to be mutual, if the lack of recognition on the parts of the other students was any indication. He was amiable to most and well-acquainted with those who provided some form of benefit or, more rarely, piqued his interest, but he did not generally thrive on socialization merely for socialization's sake.
Amidst the throng of students, however, perched a boy who held the distinction of not only holding his interest, but earning his disdain as of late. Blaise's scathing condemnation of his father had not sat well with Theodore, a boy who had nothing but respect for his own late father. Unsettled by the sight of the boy blithely perusing his homework, Theo's lips tightened noticeably, his demeanor uncharacteristically frosty as he moved to sit upon the edge of the adjacent armchair.
Theodore's disapproval had not gone unnoticed in the preceding week; it had simply been a matter of time before his roommate had approached him. Marking his place with his finger, he closed the book and glanced at Theo appraisingly. "Is now the time when you explain to me how dishonourable I am, and then we duel?" He couldn't keep the slight note of humour from his tone, not truly wanting to have an argument with the last bastion of sanity left in their dorm.
Indeed, Theodore's disapproval had been most apparent, but it had not yet escalated to such a degree as to warrant physical harm. Still, there was no mistaking the sudden frequency of icy glares and cold shoulders following Blaise's entry. It unsettled him that the only remaining intelligent presence in his dormitory would be so quick to distance himself from his father, but Theodore was not so consumed by anger that he intended to allow his disdain fester unchecked indefinitely. When Blaise spoke, it was clear that it was time to address the issue, whether or not either of them was pleased to do so.
"From your statement," Theo began coolly, "It seems clear that you are aware of the dishonor of your actions." His dark blue eyes were characteristically calm, but there was no mistaking their unfriendly glint. "I had thought you had more integrity than to disavow your blood at the first sign of difficulty."
Instantly, Blaise's features cooled, all humour leaving his face. "I believe that it is most unwise to speak ill of that which you know relatively little." He paused, catching himself. It would not be wise to alienate every ally and friend. "I won't speak of this here."
So saying, he rose, leaving his book on the couch and turned toward the door. The Slytherin dungeon wasn't the place for this at all. "Walk with me?" A request, weighted by an implied promise to explain.
Blaise's bitter retort did little to allay Theodore's distress, but he was not so emotional a person as to ignore his deliberate pause in favor of assaulting him for his initial comment. He was by no means willing to abide ill treatment, but it was only fair to afford him an opportunity to explain himself - an opportunity that Blaise seemed interested in taking, if his beckoning was any indication.
Unencumbered by books, Theo rose from the chair and followed the taller boy, content to allow him explain in due time without any insistence that he hurry up the proceedings. It would become apparent soon enough if he had any intention of truly offering a valid explanation.
Silence reigned as the two walked the corridor, past the potions classroom. "I do not disavow my father lightly." It was perhaps harder to speak of this to Theodore, knowing how much he'd looked up to his father. At one time, the same could have been said of Blaise. "Over break, my father attempted to... secure... my loyalty to his associates. He did it in such a way that caused him to lose any respect and love I may have ever held for him."
He paused, then. "He attempt to secure loyalty was a vain trick, I am afraid, as it was not needed. But in any case," his eyes were dark with anger when he glanced at Theo, "threats against my mother's life will not be tolerated. By anyone."
It was with patience that Theodore listened to Blaise's explanation, unwilling to interrupt him mid-speech despite the questions that instantly popped into his head upon further elaboration. To dishonor one's father was a cardinal sin in Theo's eyes, but the suggestion that such a parent would attempt to secure loyalty through death threats was disturbing in itself. He was adept at concealing his emotions, but even he could not suppress a faint flicker of surprise at the revelation.
"Your father attempted to secure your loyalty by threatening to harm your mother?" His tone was faintly incredulous. It was inconceivable; his own father had hardly been an emotional man, but he recalled the haunting boyhood image of the instant when his father's composure slipped upon hearing of his wife's tragic death. "Why did he feel it necessary to use such measures?" Neither Blaise's resistance nor his father's chosen means were pleasant thoughts.
"Desperation to prove that his family is loyal, is my only guess." He'd asked that question himself, silently, many times. He'd never come to a satisfactory answer. Blaise himself had never given any indication that he would do anything but his father's wishes, and while doubt had still had him in its tenuous hold until New Year's Eve, after that night he had no doubts. The corridor in which they found themselves was deserted, quiet except for the crackling of the torches. "It wasn't simply harm, either. It was a direct threat against her life, couched to seem as if it had come from above."
The look in his father's eyes when he'd thought Blaise wasn't looking would haunt him for years, he had no doubt. "I am distressed that he will no longer be able to do the work assigned him, of course. But... I find myself slightly happier that he is not free, now. He isn't any sort of father to me, any longer."
Theodore was silent for a long moment. He could certainly understand desperation, especially in a time when the war effort was at such a crucial point.He could even understand a misguided threat to his son's life in the heat of the moment. But to threaten the life of his mother, a woman he loved dearly, suggested a level of deliberateness and lucidity that Theo simpy could not understand.
"I can understand that your father would be eager to ensure that his son followed in his footsteps." Indeed, Theo fully believed that Blaise should, if not for his father, then for himself. "But I can't condone the tactics he used." A thoughtful pause, before eyes lifted upward to meet his eyes. "I hope you will not abandon the cause on account of his unacceptable means of persuasion. He is an exception, but by no means the rule."
"I remain faithful, despite my father's threats." Assurance given, then, if only a lie too easily slipped from the tongue. He reached out, resting his hand briefly on Theo's shoulder. "Thank you for understanding. There was a time when I held Antonio in as much esteem as you held your own father."
The mention of his own father prompted another solemn pause, all too aware of how recently he had been imprisoned, but alive. "My mother..." A rare crack in his voice in the midst of his unusual candor, quickly rectified but irreversible. "My mother did not live long enough for my father to make such a threat, but I would like to think that he would not have turned to such means." The fainest flicker of sorrow in nostalgic cobalt eyes, before they regained their impassivity once more.
"To mothers, then."
"No... no, your father wouldn't have." A glimmering of an idea -- perhaps the need to secure Blaise and the wealth that he would inherit upon Marguerite's death, wholly separate from Antonio's own money -- formed in his head. "Your father was honourable, and you do him honour."
He paused, then turned as if to return to the Common Room. "To mothers, and their sons."