Disclaimer: Characters you recognize do not belong to me. The world of HP belongs to J. K. Rowling. Songs at the beginning of each chapter are by the artist listed under them.

A/n: A series of drabbles revolving around Tracey Davis. Not connected, and featuring various Genre's and characters. Most probable being Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter and Snape. All of them inspired by songs, going from most played and on down.

Prompt: Early Morning (#245)

"I've got a tight grip on reality,
But I can't let go of what's in front of me here.
I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up.
Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream."

(Paramore, The Only Exception)

Slate-green eyes were wide open, staring up at noble features, relaxed with sleep. They took in the sandy blonde hair, that fell softly against very pale, long but somehow marginally handsome features. Thick, but quite pale lashes, touched against soft skin, their lids hiding grey eyes.

Long arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her loosely. Like the boy she rested with in the hollow, dark manor, they were very lean, and deceptively strong.

For a moment as she took in his features, she wondered that the boy who stooped, had grown so beautifully. But then... she'd always found something about him fascinating, something she'd never been able to put her finger on... and unlike the rest of the girls, she hadn't exactly been surprised by his metamorphoses from moth, to something more...

Of course, then Daphne Greengrass, the Miss bloody Hogwarts or Miss Wizarding UK, had swept him up.

Tracey felt her heart throb as she rested against the nineteen year old boy, wondering what she was doing there. What she was thinking when she'd allowed herself to be carted off the Nott Ancestral Home.

When she'd found him the previous night in the Leaky Cauldron, he'd been a hideous, drunken wreck; perhaps that was the reason, that she simply couldn't stand to see him in so many little pieces. But then, war had that affect on people, perhaps on some more than others.

The war hadn't been easy on Slytherins, even those who had chosen to abstain from fighting, no matter what is that the world thought. It hadn't been easy on Theodore, who despite no taking part of the final battle, had not escaped the war without his fair share of scars.

Daphne hadn't survived it at all. That was the reason it was Tracey in his arms, and not the blond bombshell.

She could feel tears sprouting in her eyes.

Merlin, she thought to herself. Somehow she'd imagined that two years away from him would remove the hideous pain that it was to know that between herself and Daphne, he'd chosen Daphne.

Daphne, to many, was the obvious choice. Her looks were perfect. And to top it off, a shining personality. And while not overly friendly or kind, she wasn't unnecessarily cruel. Just a bit standoffish.

For her part, Tracey had always been rather invisible. She liked it that way. It invited a lot less trouble if you simply blended in, especially when you were a half-blood whose father was an Auror and whose mother was muggle-born, at least when you were a Slytherin.

Don't be his bloody consolation prize, Tracey told herself angrily as she slowly pried the arms from around her and raised herself up. The boy hardly stirred. She imagined it was the drunken stupor that had rendered him unconscious that allowed this.

As she slowly rose from the bed, bright, orange-tinged, sunlight beginning to peak through the curtains, she felt her heart go out to the slender young man.

The previous night was far from a dream, she knew, pulling on her boots. She'd spent a greater portion of the night, trying to get Theodore through his grief of losing his abusive father who he hated but still irrationally wanted approval of as simply himself, and losing the blonde ray of sunshine that somehow had made life bearable for him.

As she pulled on the black cloak that had been discarded at the foot of the bed and pulled out her wand, she turned to give one last look to the passed out boy. His peaceful features, made her heart twinge at the way his expression was so tortured the previous night.

"Will you still be here, when the sun's up?" the boy slurred, wrapping his arms tight around Tracey and burying his face in the crook of her neck. She knew from how slowly his words came, how softly they were spoken, that he was on the brink of sleep.

Tracey hesitated a long time. She didn't want to lie to him, though she'd spent years lying to herself and everyone that she didn't care about Theodore, that it hadn't hurt when he'd started dating Daphne.

Instead, Tracey merely raked her fingers through his very fine, and astonishingly soft hair. She placed a kiss on his forehead and told him to go to sleep, that she'd look after him.

"Please Trace... don't leave me, I couldn't bear it again..." he muttered, finally drifting off, leaving a trace of wetness on her neck.

She hadn't been a good friend to him in the last four or more years. As much as she wanted to be different from her house-mates, she hadn't been. She'd made herself blend in when it suited her, instead of speaking her mind. And when it became imperative that she save herself from more pain, she'd left the country and left Theodore to face his own demons and ghost, to deal alone with his grief, cause she couldn't stand living for him anymore.

Stepping further back, her cloak and dark hair allowing her to blend with the darkness of the room, she whispered a quiet goodbye to Theo as a tear trekked down her cheek.

She simply couldn't invite him back into her life. She couldn't be his life-saver, when she was still drowning herself. And with one last look, she dissaparated with a soft pop.

~Fin~