Luck of Nines

67

       Harry's head pounded with a murderous rage when he next awoke, thick shackles cling to his wrists to nearly halfway up his forearms pinning his arms to the ground. He groaned trying to lift his head up even partially but wasn't able to manage it. He was in a cell of some sort, he realized, seeing the bars in the corner of his vision. Words blurred in and out of focus and he tried to focus in on what was being said.

       "Due to the exceptionally dangerous nature of the prisoner..." something something something... he scrunched his face up and groaned quietly in agony as the booming, pompous sounding voice faded back into practically white noise as the nausea redoubled with the irksome sound. He gagged, fighting not to throw up, unable to move, the last thing he needed or wanted was to be partially submerged in his own throw up on top of the rolling headache and chains.

        It wasn't long before he slipped back away and into nothingness, except the constant, dull, rolling pain that stuck to him like tar even there, not allowing him the slightest bit of relief. He couldn't think straight. He couldn't even move, his every limb and muscle feeling like it weighed innumerably more than it should have.

     All he wanted was relief from the throbbing, torturous pain, for the pain to leave him alone.  But it was inescapable. 

Theo wondered what he should do, as he watched the trial proceed, for once in his life he didn't just want to be a passive observer and yet there was nothing he could do.

Bulstrode had been the passionate one, filed with pep and snark, with a sarcastic comment for everything, even if it wasn't necessarily to one's face. And Draco had always spoken his mind, making his demands loud and clear and daring any of them to oppose him. Phineas had been the most boisterous of their circle, always saying or doing something, and while they'd never really learned where he had stood until he had died, that wasn't to say he had been reclusive either. Even Greengrass, in her own cool way, had made a habit of letting her displeasure or agreement known.

Theo had never felt that urge like they had, to make his opinions known, nor had he wished to be like the other part of their circle, mere back up, a stalwart support to fall back on, always agreeing like Goyle or Boyd or any number of the others had been.  Instead he had been an observer, not neutral but also not not-neutral, if that made any sense. He had his opinions, and they knew he had them, they just never could be sure which side, if any, his would fall on.

        But now he felt the urge to stand up and scream his frustration to the assembled crowds like never before.  This wasn't fair!  Oh sure, Harry had killed people, probably more than even Theo knew, but he hadn't been caught, and they'd deserved it anyway. Those older Gryffindors hadn't been planning to just rough them up and let them go. 

The Gryffindors had wanted answers, they wanted names, and most of all they wanted revenge for the troll incident they were firmly under the impression Slytherins had orchestrated.  One way or the other, once they had gotten what they needed to know, they were going to even out the first years numbers, it was only Harry's lingering status as boy-who-lived which some still clung to which had them waiting for him to leave.

     Theo didn't feel a shred of guilt in assisting in their cover up.  He would do it again in a heartbeat, his only regret is the sheer cowardice of those Gryffindors' actions wouldn't stain their names forever instead being overshadowed by the mystery surrounding their deaths.

         They hadn't been caught. None of the adults even suspected them, not aside the particularly superstitious ones; they were first years they were learning to make fruit dance and hearing about vampires in defense.