Seeing Alice's sheepish grin, Theodore's anger melted a little.
These tasks were ones he'd picked himself—no point griping.
About two months back, Alice had pitched him her "flying sword" idea. At the time, he'd brushed it off. Brooms were fine; the wizarding world didn't need new toys.
Plus, there were plenty of other flying options—flying carpets, even enchanted Muggle cars—just all banned by the Ministry, so nobody used them openly.
But as Alice's funding kept rolling in, his potion work got deeper, and her own power kept climbing, Theodore started to change his tune.
He wanted to follow her—not just for the cash, but because he was betting on her future.
Once that clicked, he volunteered to help with the flying-sword prep: digging up old texts, scouting potential assistants.
Alice, naturally, turned into a total delegator. Taylor the house-elf had drilled it into her: a real leader doesn't micromanage.
Her hands-off style made Theodore feel respected—and turned him into a legit right-hand guy.
Which explained why he'd been out before dawn doing who-knows-what and came back steaming.
Alice just smiled and watched him stomp over.
The closer he got, the calmer his face became.
Now she was curious. "Weren't you just fuming? What's with the chill vibe now?"
Theodore tapped the teapot with his wand; it poured two cups on autopilot. Then he said,
"Nothing big. At first I was salty—me busting my butt while you look relaxed.
But then I let it go. How do I know where you're grinding?
Like I said, you're not Pansy Parkinson, and I'm not you. We're different, right?"
Alice laughed. She'd picked Theodore because he thought like someone twice his age, not an eleven-year-old.
"Exactly," she said. "No secrets between us.
If you're wiped, take a break—don't burn yourself out.
The flying sword's just an idea, not a must-do. Got it?
We're young. We've got time. Growth matters more than rushing the win."
Theodore nodded—he bought it. But that made something else impossible to ignore.
"Alice, don't you think you're wound a little tight lately?"
Huh?
Alice's smile faded; she stared at him, serious. "What do you mean?"
Theodore's stomach flipped—her face had gone stone-cold—but he pressed on.
"I mean, you're holding back your urges, but everything you do screams hurry.
You might not notice, but when you're alone, you look… grim. That's not the girl who showed up first year.
Then around me, Pansy, whoever—you act like you've got it all figured out, nothing scares you.
That split? It's dangerous."
Was she really like that?
Alice wasn't sure she looked grim alone, but she couldn't deny the rest.
The pure-blood hardliners were watching her—and their families too. No moves yet, thanks to Dumbledore and Snape's first-year promises.
But second year, third year… she didn't expect them to keep shielding her. They had their own pressure. Plus, Alice wasn't the type to hide under anyone's wing.
The real weight crushing her wasn't even those families. Sure, old names, strong wizards—but they were just bugs living off past glory, scared of their own shadows.
No. The real pressure was her theory:
The whole wizarding world's peace might be built on a lie. The Dark Lord who terrorized it might still be alive.
If Voldemort came back in force, someone like Alice—who loudly trashed pure-blood supremacy—would be first on his hit list.
She figured Dumbledore was grooming Harry Potter, but she wasn't about to pin her life on a kid who'd lost his parents before he could walk.
That'd be selling herself short—and unfair to the so-called Chosen One.
So when she was alone, she was either plotting power-ups or testing them. Looking grim? Yeah, probably.
She nodded at Theodore. "You might be right. I am split.
But I don't have a choice."
Theodore's face screamed nope, but he held her gaze.
"Why?"
"What's got you this stressed?"
"Don't give me the pure-blood excuse. I know them. I know you. You don't give a damn about them."
Alice went quiet. She didn't want to spill her guess—it was just a hunch.
And Theodore's dad was one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters.
But those eyes wouldn't let it go.
Finally, she answered:
"What do you think could actually scare me?"
"If you think I'm fearless, flip it—what's a fearless Alice afraid of?"
"What could freak me out so bad I don't even notice the panic leaking through?"
Theodore's face went dead serious.
He started thinking.
Shock crept into his eyes.