Shadow of the Prophecy

Ch.1 - I've Got My Mind On You

Hogwarts Castle is not quiet, even with all its students tucked back into their respective dormitories. Music from the enchanted instruments above Central Hall on the landing, and the murmurings of enchanted portraits and ghosts tumble down the marble stairs. The rush of water from the mermaid fountain in the middle of the hall adds to the noise, leading to a pleasant white noise that could lull even the most vigilant into drowsiness.

Prefect Theodore Sallow hates late-night patrols in general, but it is the ones served in front of the Library in Central Hall that he dislikes the most. Not only is every library patrol an exercise in surviving sleep deprivation in the wake of boredom, but the guarding of knowledge in any way annoys. Still, duties are duties, and Theodore knows his night could have been worse.

He had joined the other prefects in their common room in the faculty tower to determine who was assigned which patrol for the evening: The library, grounds, grand staircase, or faculty tower. Patrol assignments were determined via a game of straws, and due to the heat of the early September night, the grounds had been the short straw on the first round. Technically, Theodore had gotten lucky.

Library patrol is still bloody awful, though. At least in the faculty tower, the Prefects can hang out in the common room and play wizard's chess or gobstones. If a Prefect wanted to ignore their obligations, that is. Theodore groans and runs a hand over his eyes when he has to stifle a yawn.

Why in the bloody hell had he even agreed to be a Prefect in the first place?

He shuffles his feet from where he stands in front of one of the doors to the library and forces himself to look around to occupy his tired mind. The worst thing one can do when exhausted and being lulled to sleep is to be still, but standing guard in front of the door calls for it. If he cannot move, at least his eyes can.

His gaze trails up the staircase and across to the second landing on the left. Even from here, Theodore can almost make out the case that sits there, housing a book filled with the names of all of the other students who had the 'honor' of being selected for his position. Were he to open that case and peruse the book's pages for long enough, Theodore is sure he will find his father's name in neat, elegant script enchanted to never fade.

Ah, right. His father. Theodore grimaces. He had been the reason behind Theodore accepting the position.

When the letter bearing Theodore's appointment as Head Boy of Slytherin House had come prior to the start of his fifth year, his father had been pleased and impressed that Theodore had been chosen for such a position. It had come as a shock to Theodore, though more so his father's reaction than the letter. His father was, after all, so rarely pleased and impressed with him about anything.

From the minute his father had read the letter, it had become an expectation that Head Boy of his House was a position Theodore would accept with grace and honor. So much of an expectation, that Theodore had immediately realized it would be next to impossible to do anything but.

That night, his sister, Anne Sallow, had their house elf, Firn, prepare his favorite meal in celebration. Theodore had sat at the long, wooden dinner table in silence, staring at his plate as his father had recounted without pause the tales of his own days as Head Boy of his House. Theodore had barely heard any of it, in honesty. His thoughts had zeroed in on the task of trying desperately not to think about the new and interesting way in which he could bring disappointment to his father.

His brother Solomon, who was his junior by one year, had noticed Theodore had not touched his food and elbowed him in the ribs. Their father must not have been paying attention to Theodore, either, because their seats were not close and Solomon had needed to lean quite far to accomplish the ribbing. By the look Solomon had given Theodore, it had been obvious that he had felt that Theodore was not only being rude but also ungrateful by failing to touch his food. Solomon's eyes had promised violence, so Theodore had taken up his fork and had begun eating mechanically.