Theodore Nott (maybenott) wrote in changedrpg, @ 2011-11-11 17:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | !date: 1997 - november, theodore nott, tracey davis |
Who: Tracey Davis & Theodore Nott
What: A meeting of the minds
When: Later that day...
Where: Library
Rating: PG-13?
Tensions were high everywhere, everyone was worried, but Theo had the feeling that he would have had this headache anyway. It had hung around on and off since he'd been back to the property and he still couldn't shake the feeling that something there had piggybacked a ride with him. He couldn't think of what it could be though, he'd run diagnostic spells to check for obscure hexes or curses and the like and he'd left the finger he'd found (his dad's) at home.
He couldn't do much about it but pain potions seemed to make it ebb and it was the least of his worries at the moment. It seemed as though half his House were gleeful about the latest turn of events but trying, and failing hard in a couple of cases, to keep their enthusiasm hidden. Some of them were staying quiet on the matter and mostly everyone was preoccupied in some way or another about the backlash against their House from the rest of the school.
Theo approved of paranoia if only because he had it down to an art, although there was always the problem where he just couldn't bring himself to care enough about the consequences to act on his paranoia - that had always made his dad furious. Theo rubbed at his elbow as it suddenly twinged in memory of an old agony as he made his way through the castle's corridors.
It felt to him like he was standing still while the people around him fluttered, as though he was in the eye of the storm. He supposed that everyone felt that way though and it was only because you were only ever the only person in your own head and so couldn't see it any other way. Well, Theo was mostly the only other person in his head. He hadn't seen anything of echo boy in a long time so he supposed the potions he had to take had been doing their job.
Not that it seemed to matter. It seemed as though every time he wrote something in those amusing journals that someone would still speak to him like they thought he was crazy, proving his point. If it was something they didn't understand, they demanded it be cut down and pushed into a box until they could understand it, could make it fit.
As much as he'd felt he'd needed to disguise his thoughts in case anyone saw through to his true opinions, lately he'd been wondering why he should bother. He didn't have anything left to lose and he was finding it more difficult to rein in his scorn over proceedings every day; he wanted to laugh. He didn't particularly want to throw in his lot with that bunch of clumsy fisted zealots who couldn't organise a piss-up in a brewery, but then again, well, Ron's reaction had just about summed up his other options really. He wondered if he should just take himself out of school and move to France, but running away from the situation didn't sit well with him, and besides, he'd have to live in France.
He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind to be juggled because it didn't matter if the world was collapsing or not, there was still homework to be done.
He made his way into the library, heedless of any glares or glances his way, and was about to find a cosy alcove somewhere when a smell hit him, sweet and floral and shaking at parts of his past like a pitbull. His head turned and he caught a glimpse of long dark hair, his headache suddenly spiking and breaking whatever he thought he'd been seeing... it was just Tracey.
He went over anyway.
"Hey."