Portraits were nosy, noisy and annoying, in the opinion of Theodore Nott. It was worth being in the dank, cold dungeons to get away from the blasted things. Or it would be, were it not for the two oafs who had taken to following him around this year. Unfortunately, he was not the only Slytherin in Hogwarts this Christmas and, unlike Malfoy, Nott could not tolerate Crabbe and Goyle for more than half an hour. After half a week in the Slytherin quarters with them, he had decided that a visit to the rest of the school was overdue.

Of course he had forgotten that in the rest of the school he was even less likely to find any privacy. He hadn’t been properly alone since his foolish father’s funeral, and the strain of presenting his respectable Slytherin face to the world was becoming too much for him. Unthinking, he realised his feet were leading him to the library. Well that was no good, he didn’t want Madam Pince breathing down his neck. He was in a long corridor lined with nattering portraits and had no destination in mind. Suddenly the noise ceased. The corridor had turned off into a large alcove, with a stone bench and a window revealing a view of the dark, restless lake. There were mercifully no portraits, just a huge, slow moving tapestry of the sea, the waves moving laboriously across the fabric.

With no task to occupy himself, Nott sat down sharply on the bench, bewildered. The last week had been hell. Eight days ago, his father, all the family he had left, had taken part in a little Muggle torturing at the Dark Lord’s word. The Dark Lord. Destroyed two families in one night. The Muggle family had been targeted because their son was magical. The two parents had been killed, but the Aurors arrived in time to save the child, in time to kill his father. The child, under McGonagall’s orders had been brought here, which was exactly why he had spent half a week in the dungeons. He couldn’t show his face to the rest of the school, there’d be an uproar. He hadn’t wanted to come back after the funeral, but the ministry had taken over the Nott household, and ordered that he return to Hogwarts.

His mother he could barely remember, she had died long ago. Since then he and Nott senior had been very close. His role model. Always trying to follow his father’s example, and advice. “Be your own man, Theodore. A Nott looks after his own interests before anyone else’s,” his father had told him, perching him on his knee, or seated opposite him as he got older, ‘except his son’s’, he always added, twinkling. His father had been delighted when he was sorted a Slytherin. “You’re a true Slytherin, son. Always remember that. You have intelligence, use it. Be cunning. Don’t show yourself up unless you have to.” Independence, his father had said, was key. Involving yourself with other people was a mistake, setting a trap for yourself. When you become obliged to other people, there’s no going back, so remember, your only obligation is to yourself.

So now he had learned that lesson from his father twice, from his words and from his mistake. Because he saw now, that his father had done exactly that. The bloody hypocrite. Don’t give yourself away to anybody else son, he said. What did he think he was doing, when he took the mark. It’s the exact same bloody thing. Except worse, it wasn’t like the mutual friendships his father had been warning him against, it was a one-sided offer of servitude. It was offering himself up for slavery. He offered himself up to another person, in return for what? Power? Power over a defenceless Muggle, that’s no power at all. Who’d fall for such a thing? You’re damn right I’m a true Slytherin, father, more of a Slytherin than you ever were.

Suddenly, the watery tapestry gave a great lurch forward, and Nott realised two things in the same instant- that the tapestry only looked so watery because his own eyes were swimming, and that he had been talking aloud, though for how long he couldn’t tell. Blinking the tapestry into focus, he saw the reason for its sudden leap off the wall. Peeping round the edge of it, at about waist height, was a curious, slightly scared face.

A very short first year? A house-elf? As the world became clearer, the terrible truth announced itself to Theodore Nott. He really should have stayed in the dungeon.

The young orphan stepped out from behind the tapestry, and fearless now, (probably seen Nott for the snot-nosed weakling he was right now), asked,

“Who are you talking to? Are you talking to me? How’d you know I was here? I’m s'posed to be hiding.”

Nott blinked. He really should have got more sleep. Three days in hiding with two trolls had not prepared him for this ambush of questions. Tired, he tried to gather his wits into an answer.

“No. I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking, to my father.”

“Where’s your father? I don’t see anyone.”

“No. My father’s dead.” Nott cursed himself. Worst possible thing to say, surely. Rub it in his face, his father was killed seven days ago, and Nott just had to bring it up didn’t he. Give the boy a reason to hate you even before he finds out who your dead father is. The boy wasn’t shocked though. In fact he seemed to take new confidence from the intelligence, and sat himself comfortably on the bench next to Nott.

“Mine too, he got killed. That’s why they brought me here.” There was an uncomfortable pause, as Nott, silently this time, cursed his father once more. The boy was oblivious to any tension. “What’s your name?”

“My name? Er… Theodore.” Would the child have heard the name of his parents’ murderer?

“I’m Ben.” Another long pause, torture for one, apparent contentment for the other, who was industriously picking at a scab on his knee.

“Are you sad then, about your dad?” A horrible curiosity made Nott ask his own questions now.

“Sometimes. When I think about it.” Nott felt tears threatening to fill his eyes again. What was wrong with him? Acting like some bloody Gryffindor. He felt the need to break the silence again.

“Why were you hiding, Ben?”

“Oh, I’m playing hide and seek with some of the big boys and girls. They’re very nice. They were nice to me when I was sad.”

Ben didn’t seem to care that much about the game, and didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until, round the corner wheeled (Nott really really should’ve stayed in the common room) the fiery Ginny Weasley.

Nott watched her closely as she took in the situation, clearly painfully unsure what to do, and probably as uncomfortable discovering him vulnerable and tear streaked as he was to be found in such a state. Before either of them could make a move though, Ben distracted them both from the surreal situation: as soon as he realised who had stumbled upon them, he went to leap back into the gap behind the tapestry, only to fall flat on his face and burst into tears. Nott was too shell-shocked to move. He really couldn’t take much more of this. Ginny, throwing him a look of disgust, scooped the boy up into her arms murmuring comforting words. Numb, Nott sat still and speechless as Ginny perched herself beside him.

“All right, where does it hurt, Ben?” The child, no longer crying pointed to his elbow. “OK then, want me to kiss it better? There you go”

Miraculously, Ben seemed to return almost immediately to his prior self.

“It doesn’t count, you finding me, I wasn’t hiding properly!”

“Ok then, tell you what, why don’t you go find Colin, and we’ll start again, and you don’t have to be it.”

Ben considered for a moment. “Ok then.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Ginny, Theodore is very sad, and I think you need to kiss him better as well.” That bomb dropped, he scuttled out of sight.

Theodore attempted a derisive snort, but it came out as more of a muffled whimper.

Ginny stood, and he waited for her to berate him for allowing himself to be seen by the boy, upsetting him, or else rub it in his face, as would be expected of any Gryffindor finding a Slytherin in such a vulnerable and weak position.

Instead she bent down, and planted a brief kiss on his chapped lips.

The little ground he had left to stand on, after his world had been torn apart over the last week, was ripped out from under his feet, leaving him more disorientated than ever.

If she was at all shocked at her own actions she didn’t show it. She just straightened up and in a business-like tone, addressed him briskly,

“You know, if you’re not busy over the holidays, feel free to come and help with Ben. He’s alone now, but he doesn’t have to be lonely. McGonagal’s assigned him to some of the prefects, but we could always use some help. Mind you,” she added, in her jokey, Gryffindor-ish way, “don’t go getting the wrong idea. You’re just, a lot like Ben really. You could both do with, a bit of support, I suppose. Some family, maybe.”

Nott was beginning to recover himself a little. “Yes you’re right, we’re practically made for each other, the little orphan boy and the son of the killer who murdered his parents.”

Ginny shrugged, not to be shaken by his Slytherin sarcasm. “Just think about it is all. I’d best go find him. See you round.”

And he did think about it, sitting, watching as the lake grew darker with the sky outside. Perhaps the girl was talking some sense, for all that she was a Gryffindor and a Weasley. Perhaps he did need someone, in spite of his father’s advice about independence, they had always had each other at least. And here was a chance to pay back for his father’s mistake. He couldn’t live like a hermit forever. What better way to show the Dark Lord that he, unlike his father, was not to be enslaved. There was no harm in spending some time with the boy now anyway. Yes. He would do that.

Finally, when the light was all but gone, he stood and made his way back to the dungeons- he’d be out again tomorrow, to find the other orphan.