A is for Abulia
loss or impairment of the ability to make decisions or act independently
being the first part of I Fought the War: A Slytherin 'A to Z'.
warnings: rated r, slash, swearing.
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Theodore Nott does not remember meeting Blaise Zabini. In fact, if he hadn't been smart enough at age five to know that it was not the case, he would have assumed that Blaise and he had always been in each other's lives.
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By the time Theodore and Blaise were four and had fully mastered the English language, Blaise's mother had begun to teach them French. At five, they had fully mastered most nouns. By six, they were good with adjectives and verbs.
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When Blaise was seven, he accidentally learned how to time travel, and it was Theodore that covered for him at tea when his mother inquired after his whereabouts. Theodore had every faith that if Blaise had been able to put together the right equations to get to the 1600s, he'd be able to get back. Blaise did not disappoint, and was back for supper.
"Don't do that again." Theodore told him sternly (you shouldn't be surprised that he was very well-spoken for a boy of seven; he was a Nott), and Blaise smirked.
"Miss me?" he asked, walking over to the tree he'd been carving equations and symbols into when he'd vanished and studying them.
Theodore stared. "No. I was just terribly bored."
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When they were nine, Draco Malfoy said some rather unflattering things about Blaise's mother, and found himself at the wrong end of Theodore's wand.
Draco couldn't walk properly for weeks, and Blaise came to visit Theodore every day when he was instructed to stay in his room. He didn't pout.
Blaise never said thank-you, and Theodore didn't expect him to.
They both won an equal number of games of exploding snap, much to the chagrin of Theodore's father, Alexander Nott, who was busy in his study.
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Theodore raised an eyebrow and glanced around the Slytherin table on the first day of Hogwarts, with his mother's words ringing through his head.
Theo, darling. You'll make so many new friends at school...
After thoroughly eyeing the other tables, where kids his age were busy shaking hands, exchanging names and making friends, Theodore took his seat next to Blaise, and turned to ask Queenie Greengrass if her dad had returned from South Africa yet.
Draco Malfoy sat whispering to Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, Millicent Bullstrode was insulting Pansy Parkinson's hair and Blaise was busy trying to convince Gillian McSweeny (from fourth year) that the Manchester Mingles would win the Quidditch cup that year.
As Theodore glanced at all the food in front of him, he wondered what the big deal was. Thus far, school looked exactly like tea at the Parkinson's on a Sunday afternoon.
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"That's Harry Potter." Theodore heard Draco exclaim, in the hallway of their first night. Both he and Blaise turned their heads quickly, anxious to get a glimpse.
He was small, skinny and he didn't stand up straight. His hair was plastered to his head on one side, and he was guffawing loudly with the other Gryffindors.
"That's too bad," Blaise intoned, turning back to Theodore. They continued their conversation on cross-universe travel using binomials, thoroughly unimpressed.
But not before Theodore caught the determined, decidedly Slytherin, look in Draco's eyes after the savior of the Wizarding World refused to shake his hand.
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"Really, Blaise? Boys?" Theodore raised an eyebrow, and lay back in his chair. They were in their fourth year, and Blaise had just announced that he thought Cedric Diggory was quite fit.
"Dear Theodore," Blaise smirked, "do not knock it until you've tried it." Theodore pondered, and Blaise grabbed a quill and a long piece of parchment.
"Is it the fact that he's male," Blaise asked, walking to the door, "or Hufflepuff, that gets your panties in a twist?" Theodore returned Blaise's smirk, looking up from his Potions text.
"I can't decide," he teased, and Blaise laughed before leaving.
Later that night, Theodore found him in their dorm room, sitting on his bed, surrounded by pages and pages of what Theo would have named gibberish if he hadn't known Blaise as well as he did.
"Blaise," Theodore cautiously stepped into the room, not wanting to startle him or break any brilliant trains of thought. When Blaise looked up sharply and noticed that it was Theodore, his features softened, and he loosened his hold on the quill.
"What time is it?" he demanded, motioning that Theodore was free to come in. Theodore told him, and sat on the bed.
"Essayez-vous de résoudre les problèmes du monde?" he asked gently, picking up the nearest piece of parchment and studying it.
"Something like that."
When Theodore leaned over and kissed him, it wasn't awkward or confusing. It was just natural, an instinct. Blaise gripped his forearms, and pressed him back into the foot of the bed.
Blaise eventually pulled away, leaving Theodore's lips puffy and swollen.
Theodore took a deep breath. "So. Cedric Diggory, then?"
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While Blaise busied himself with Cedric (and Draco, and Ernie, and Esmerelda, and Theodore, for that matter), Theodore spotted Neville Longbottom.
Neville wasn't attractive in the conventional way, and it was this fact alone that first caught Theodore's eye. When he sat in Herbology and listened to Neville raise his voice at Pansy for slipping up and feeding her Mandrake the wrong kind of plankton, Theodore knew that there was more to Neville Longbottom than met the eye. Pansy gaped at him in astonishment before scrambling off to correct her mistake. Neville looked suddenly humble, hanged his head slightly and walked over to resume his position at Harry Potter's right side.
The fact that he was a Gryffindor wasn't an immediate problem for Theodore. The fact that dating a Gryffindor would bring him several notches down some sort of Slytherin social ladder might be. The fact that his parents would crucio him if they ever found out definitely was.
Theodore had always loved a challenge.
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"Why do you like me?" Neville asked one day, while they were lazily snogging by the lake. Out of the way of prying eyes, it was the perfect rendezvous. Theodore had quickly gotten over his aversion to dirt; being with Neville, who had dirt under his fingernails and dust on the front of his jeans, had made it necessary.
Theodore pulled away and observed Neville, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth (Theodore wondered how long he was going to have to converse with him before those teeth were his again), and his hair mussed beautifully.
"Don't doubt yourself." Theodore said, annoyed. "It's unattractive."
Neville grinned, and caught Theodore by the wrist, yanking him forward into another kiss. Theodore let out a tiny hiss of pleasure when Neville's tongue snuck out to battle with his.
"Clearly," Neville mused, letting Theodore press him backwards onto the grass, "there's something about me you find attractive."
Theodore kissed him again to shut him up.
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Draco's obsession with Harry Potter, much to Blaise's annoyance, was growing rapidly. Blaise had decided to stick with Draco, purely, Theodore was certain, so that he could have license to lecture Theodore on inter-house relations.
"It's all he bloody talks about..." hissed Blaise, one day during sixth year when they had arrived at Herbology before the rest of the class. Theodore had time to glance at the bare skin of Blaise's forearm, which was covered in inked black runes, before Blaise grabbed the sleeve of his shirt and pulled it back over.
"Working again?" Theodore asked, curiously, and they both knew he wasn't referring to Potions revisions. Blaise nodded distractedly.
"You're not really upset about this?" Theodore was incredulous, and Blaise glanced up, scowling.
"Of course I'm not... Draco can have whichever distractions and obsessions he chooses." Blaise gave Theo the look that he knew meant that if he dared not believe him, he'd be sorry.
Theodore smiled, "Jealousy does not become you."
Blaise's dress shirt rode up on his hip as he trapped Theodore up against a wooden supplies shelf and snogged him.
"I'm not jealous," he insisted, and his teeth pulled at Theodore's bottom lip as he locked his eyes to his best friend's. Theodore believed him. It's not jealousy if Blaise says it's not; Blaise does not lie to Theodore.
He whispered, "Good," and let his head fall back against the Panthium seed as Blaise mouthed at his neck affectionately.
"Ahem..."
Both boys heard the throat being cleared and Blaise jerked upright, nearly sending Theodore tumbling to the ground at the lost pressure.
Neville stood there, carrying textbooks and empty pots, and he didn't look hurt; he looked incredulous.
"Um, I'll just..." he took a few steps back, but Theodore had gained his balance and his wits by that time, and hurried forward to catch Neville's hand before he could leave the greenhouse.
Blaise brushed off his pants, straightened his shirt and watched the scene as though it were some amusing muggle film.
"Neville..." Theodore started, but Neville pulled his wrist away from Theodore's grip with more strength than most people would guess that Neville possessed. "Blaise is just... we were only..." Neville shook his head, and was out the door before he could hear a thing Theodore had to say.
"Explanations? Really, Theo?" Blaise deadpanned, gathering his books together for class. "How Gryffindor."
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Theodore didn't like to think about the war, if you could call it that.
It was more of a huge misunderstanding, full of cowardice and casualties, than a war.
Neville insisted on fighting the 'good fight', Draco insisted on fighting some other type of fight and Blaise and Theodore effectively got left behind.
Not left behind, actually. Not at all. They stayed behind, because they were sane, thank you very much.
Theodore let go of his pride (not let go, really, just set it aside for a moment) and begged Neville not to go.
"I have to," Neville insisted, his eyes red, and Theodore gripped his forearms.
"No, you don't!" He was panicking by this point. "NO YOU DON'T! That is something they fill your head with. They don't need you, you don't have to, and if you do go, you will be killed, Neville!" These sorts of things, the things Theodore was currently shouting, were things he never thought he would have to say. He would never have to say them to Blaise, because Blaise wasn't stupid. He would never have to say them to Draco, because Draco loved himself too much. Trust a Gryffindor to believe notions of false bravery.
Neville looked doubtful for a moment, but Theodore watched as his resolve hardened. "Theodore, I'm going. Harry needs me..."
"Harry needs to be crucioed, is what Harry Potter needs!" Theodore insisted, locking eyes with Neville.
"Don't look at me like that!" Neville yelled, pulling out of Theodore's embrace. "I'm not like you! I can't just look out for myself and be satisfied!"
"I do not just look out for..."
"Right, and then there's Blaise," Neville spat, and Theodore's eye darkened.
"I told you, Nev. Blaise is my best friend..."
"Right. Your best mate who you snog all the time, and think about all the time, and who you worry about..."
"Right now..." Theodore's voice was dangerous, "I am worried. About. You. Don't do this, Neville. If you need to be helping someone, help me."
Neville's eyes filled with tears, and he looked like he might cry as Theodore took him in his arms. He already knew that Neville was going. He knew weeks ago, when he took one of Blaise's ink quills and drew patterns of protection and safety on his skin while Neville slept.
"Don't..." Theodore struggled to keep his own council, "don't cry, Neville. It's unattractive." Neville didn't smile, like Theodore was hoping for. He leaned down and snogged him lightly, and when Neville pulled away, he knew that it was their last kiss for a while.
As Neville walked away, Theodore tried to keep it together, but failed and ended up shouting at his back, "Vous êtes insensé! Ceci n'est pas votre guerre!"
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Blaise and Theodore spent most of the war annoyed at how worried they were. They were both way past lying, which is why they admitted that the thought of never seeing Draco and Neville again made them sick.
It was Blaise and Theodore in the beginning, and it was Blaise and Theodore who stared at the Wizard Wireless in utter fascination when they found out that the Dark Lord had been destroyed.
They both held each other for support as they apparated to the battlefield to assess the damage.
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It took Theodore no time to locate Neville; he was looking for Theodore, too, and at the sight of him, Theo thought that he might be knocked off his feet by the wave of relief that hit him.
"You idiot," Theodore accused, as Neville clung to him. Neville grinned, crookedly, missing several teeth.
"Yeah, I missed you, too."
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After days of drowning himself in equations, Blaise was no closer to being himself again. They hadn't found Draco on the battlefield, not a trace of him, and Harry Potter wasn't speaking no matter how many times Blaise threatened to hex him into oblivion. Blaise had been ushered backwards by the brute force of the red-speckled arms of Ronald Weasley. If Blaise had been himself at the time, instead of beside himself with grief, Theodore was pretty sure Weasley would have ended up another casualty of war.
A few days, and several hundred molecular diffusions later, Draco showed up, letting himself into Theodore's flat and smirking in Blaise's direction.
"Miss me?"
Blaise looked up from the floor, from his equations. "Shut up."
They didn't even ask Theodore before they proceeded to fuck on his kitchen floor.
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Graduation was nothing; it was overshadowed by the War that wasn't. And yet, there they were: done with school and out in the world, and the fact was, it was boring.
Harry Potter had started speaking again; speaking, and apparently telling everyone tall tales about Slytherin alliances, and Draco, and Blaise, and even Theodore himself. It wasn't as if Theo particularly minded that they now had a reputation all over town of being dangerous. If anything, it made people stay out of his way.
No, Harry Potter could say whatever the bloody hell he wanted to. What pissed Theodore off was that Neville had believed him. It's sort of like conditioning, Theo mused, someone pounding ideas and stereotypes into your head until you can't help it, and those ideas are in your brain as defaults.
"I've told you, Neville," Theodore insisted, not for the first time, "we weren't even anywhere near the war, Blaise and I."
When Theodore heard himself declaring that he and Blaise had been at his flat the entire time, Neville's eye narrowed, and Theo wondered if that was really a better answer.
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"I've never been as strong as you," was the explanation Neville gave when he packed his things one morning.
Theodore could hardly see for the sleep in his eyes; he'd rolled out of bed when Neville had yanked at a shirt that Theodore was lying on. When Theodore realized what Neville was doing, he jumped up, pulled jeans on (with two unsuccessful tries) and followed him around the living room and the kitchen.
None of his protests mattered, though, and with one final "Neville!", the door closed and Theodore was alone.
Theodore stood blinking in the morning sun that streamed through his window.
He'll be back, Theodore thought, before climbing back into bed with his pants still on.
He wasn't. But Blaise was there with a large amount of fire whiskey and a few packages of Marlboro Reds.
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The search for Draco Malfoy continued throughout the country, and Theodore pretty much ignored it. Draco was everywhere; why he was so hard for everyone to locate, Mordred knows. Sometimes he was on Theodore's couch. More often, he was in Blaise's bed. He'd gone to Italy for a few months (during which Blaise had taken up residence with Theodore). Draco wasn't exactly tactful, but he moved around a lot and maybe that made the difference. Harry Potter and his lot of aurors were never keen on things that moved too fast.
Neville never came back, and Theodore had heard from Pansy that he'd taken up with the little sister of Ronald Weasley. Theodore wished them luck. Grudges were more of a Malfoy thing.