Written for willowscribe's Slash/Femslash Random Pairing Challenge:

topic/44309/66051491/1/Slash-Femslash-Random-Pairing-Challenge

We don't actually know much about Roger Davies and Theodore Nott. Roger is a handsome quidditch champ, Theodore a clever pure-blood. This is set 1996, I think. Roger just finished school and got his first Ministry job. We can't all be quidditch players when we grow up. International Magical Cooperation perhaps.

It was a muddy winter, a bit like smudged colours from a paintbox. The snow was not quite white enough; it was the slushy, grimy kind, thinned down by spit and spilt booze and the occasional sleet shower. London was sullen, exhausted. Chilled to the bone beneath a cold wide sky. No reddened children's cheeks, no eager Christmas shoppers. Just a city rubbing its tired eyes. A city yearning for just one day off.

A family of sparrows huddled close on a bare branch as they watched two young men stroll along the riverside, scraps of their conversation drifting by on the lazy current of some commercial Christmas carol.

"How are you?" Theodore shot a brief glance at his companion before blowing a line of smoke into the darkening winter air. Roger shrugged.

"Tired."

"You look it."

"I suppose."

"For Merlin's sake!" Theodore dropped his cigarette to the ground and kicked at it, frustration making his slender face twitch as he missed. "Is that how you're going to have it?" He stopped abruptly. "Why don't you say it already?"

Roger, who had turned around a few steps ahead, opened his mouth then closed it again, permitting Theodore to carry on.

"I know exactly what is going on, so why don't you say it to my face?" He had closed the distance between them and bared his teeth at the other wizard as he produced a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket.

"Aurelius,

We must speak. Meet me in London, same place, same time.

R."

Roger turned his face away. Theodore remained unrelenting. There was something deeply unsettling in his eyes, an almost childlike lack of comprehension.

"Aurelius? Aurelius? You dare not even use my first name?"

"Theodore, listen –" Roger took half a step back, his voice a hoarse whisper. Before he could help it he had allowed himself to quickly scan their surroundings with his eyes. Even here, even in Muggle London, no one could ever be sure.

Fury flared up in Theodore's face.

"No, you listen!" He grabbed the other man by the front of his coat. They struggled briefly before Roger let his hands fall to his sides in silent surrender. Theodore hissed angrily.

"Three bloody years I let you have your way with me," he growled and rammed his fist into Roger's chest when he sensed his upcoming protest.

"Don't you talk back to me now, I've had it. I was a child back then. I was thirteen years old!" He let go of the other man, only to push him away with all his remaining strength. Roger suppressed a gasp as he stumbled backwards. Theodore looked at him with pure, unfiltered loathing. An angry sob escaped his throat as he carelessly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"I was a nice little secret to have while you paraded around telling everyone you were banging a Veela, wasn't I? Almost too easy, wasn't I? And I thought …" He trailed off. Roger stared at him in horror, petrified, while Theodore ran a hand through his hair frantically, his gaze darting along the twilit path. Endless seconds passed.

"So this, this is it then." He laughed mirthlessly to cover the tremor in his voice. "Mr Davies is a Ministry man now, Merlin forbid he'd be seen with someone like me!" He shouted the last words across the water and cackled almost hysterically at Roger's shocked expression as the sparrow family burst into flight behind them, startled by the noise.

"But don't worry, I'll be fine." He shook his head, struggling to catch his breath. "I'll be just fine. Now that my father is in Azkaban, who knows. That Draco Malfoy seems like a charming character, doesn't he?" He buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "And since his old man is behind bars as well, I thought perhaps we should, you know, hang out more. I hear he knows some interesting folks."

Roger slowly woke from his stupor.

"Theodore, please," he began, but the younger wizard would have none of it.

"Oh, shut your face, will you." The boy shrugged again.

It was all he was now, a boy. Sixteen years old. Roger's stomach convulsed. Theodore tilted his head in that awkward, heart-wrenching elegance the former Ravenclaw had fallen in love with three years ago.

"I'll cope." He fumbled for another cigarette. Roger almost could not help but smile despite himself, watching those bony fingers wrap around the Muggle lighter with clumsy caution. Darkness had crept up on them, he realised as a flash of fire lit up the Slytherin's face for the fraction of a second.

Theodore smiled impishly as he walked up to Roger one last time. Their eyes met, and there was a tiny chance. Something could have happened, someone could have given in. Everything could have been alright. Then, then moment was over.

"I hope they kill you first." He blew a mouthful of smoke into his face. Then turned away.

The sparrows never heard the crack that echoed across the water mere moments later when Roger disapparated. They had settled down somewhere else.