Theo never found it particulary easy to relax regardless of where he was, unless it was helped along with alcohol. He was curled up on his bed, trying to keep the warmth in his thin and bony body and reading 'The Bee Manufacturer'* for the umpteenth time. He had his fingers pushed up into his hair, holding his head up as he read down, turning the page with a flick of the book when he needed to as he'd charmed it to respond when he did.
He was studiously NOT thinking about his imposter father or the fact that he'd have to go back home soon; he knew that once he did his independence would be quashed and he'd have to play the perfect little Deatheater doll or face Unforgiveables... he knew that 'no' would be a dirty word from him, but he knew that on one of these trips back home he'd be asked a question - or rather, given an order - that he knew he'd say no to. He didn't know if that would be now, because it seemed a little early for it, but really, who knew anymore when these things could happen. Especially with the doppleganger father in charge.
He knew that he wouldn't come out of that little discussion alive, but he was resigned to that fact, morbid as it seemed, and it was possible that this was why he'd been reading with his back to the door, something almost unheard of for the usually overparanoid Slytherin boy.
He soon wished he'd been keeping a better ear out though, when he felt someone land on the bed beside him; his reflexes were faster than his brain and he'd leapt to the other side of the bed and had his wand aimed at Greg, a incapacitating spell on his lips before he realised who it was and lowered the wand. "Hi." like he hadn't been about to hex the living daylights out of his roomie.
(ooc: *I'm playing, this is the Wizarding version of the Wasp Factory by Iain Banks)