PART TWO

… I know you will make the better choice, sister. After all, as the youngest, it may take longer to find you a husband. Cassiopeia hasn't settled yet and, while she refuses to answer my owls, she is corresponding with father. Irma sends her regards, as well, and urges you to consider her cousin, only six years out of Hogwarts.

Your brother,

Pollux

…Don't mind your brother, sweet. He is newly married to the Crabbe girl, and has his mind set upon the propagation of the family name. You will make the best choice for you, and barring any negative extremities, I can see nothing wrong with that.

With love, your father.

Dorea huffs at the two letters sitting on her desk, staring down at the neat lines of script, almost identical (they had all been taught script by the same house elf, after all) except for her brother's habitual flourish on any X.

Tucking the letters neatly into her folio as she stands, she gathers up her warm cloak before stepping from her room, an easy wave of her wand locking the door behind her. She glances around the almost empty common room, the only students in sight a couple of first years huddled together over a large book in one of the plush armchairs. She smiles at the sight before tugging the cloak around her shoulders as she slips out the double doors.

Striding through the dungeons, she flicks her dark hair from under her collar, the edges of her cloak billowing and flowing behind her.

It's been three months since Thoros first proposed to her and while it has been difficult, she has managed to avoid having to answer him. Of course, having left the castle for the entirety of the holidays and carefully dodging any and all Notts at the parties helped.

However, the letters she read this Saturday morning have almost ruined any hopes she has of dodging a pureblood marriage. Not only has Thoros' father sent a letter to her father but now

Stepping into the atrium, Dorea stops in her tracks at the sight in front of her. A few small crowds of students stand plastered to the walls and murmuring to one another near the Great Hall and main entrances.

In the very center, approximately thirty feet from one another, stand Thoros Nott and Abraxas Malfoy, facing one another, wands drawn, and magic practically vibrating in the air. They both bear the marks of numerous stinging curses and burning hexes on their skin and clothes, Thoros standing with a very uncharacteristic snarl on his face, while Abraxas is coolly sneering at his counterpart. Their hair is mussed, Thoros' shorter darker hair almost spiking out, while Abraxas' normally neat queue is falling around his face. It even looks as though a large chunk of it has taken the brunt of a slicing hex.

"You've gone too far, Malfoy! You have crossed the line of acceptability!"

"Nott, you've had your chance! For months, you've been prancing around and never taking a chance to move forward. My father has decided this course, and I agree with him. Now you can step aside, or you can accept my formal challenge." Abraxas arches a brow, grey-blue eyes narrowed at the bristling man across the space.

Thoros lets out an inelegant snort, stabbing his wand sharply and glaring when his stinging curse fizzles out on Abraxas' shield. "I'll never step aside. I have the first claim, and nothing you nor your father can do will change that."

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Dorea steps forward then, eyes narrowed in anger as she palms her wand, gaze focused hard on both young men. "You're blocking the exit for these students with your little show. Please desist and remove yourself, immediately, before I report you both for magic usage in the corridors."

The two eighteen-year-olds snap to attention upon hearing Dorea's voice, turning towards her and bowing deeply, all while carefully concealing their wands. If their actions – in public – didn't make her want to feed them both to the giant squid, their almost identical movements would have made her laugh.

With a sniff, she motions to the other students to move along, waving her hands at them, before she walks past the two men with her nose in the air whilst resolutely ignoring the two sets of eyes fastened to her neatly buttoned boots. "Good afternoon, Mr Nott, Mr Malfoy."

She almost makes it to the door when the solid thud of a fist meeting flesh makes her whirl around, mouth opening with a shout. Abraxas stands over Thoros, his reddened knuckles still tightly fisted as he breathes hard, all while glaring at his opponent who lies sprawled on the floor and clutching his jaw.

"Abraxas Malfoy! How dare you, you - you toad!" Dorea stomps over and shoves the blond out of the way before reaching out to help Thoros up. "Let's get you to the infirmary, Thoros." She scowls over at a stunned looking Abraxas, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Physical violence, Abraxas? Like some kind of muggle?" She sneers, shaking her head as she loops her arm through Thoros' and tugs him along towards the infirmary.

She completely misses the smug smirk Thoros shoots in his competitor's direction and the returning snarl that breaks across Abraxas' face.

After walking Thoros to the infirmary and watching him be set to rights by the healer, she frowns up at him. "That was completely unnecessary, Mr Nott. Causing such a scene in the middle of the school, where anyone could see you? That is so unlike you!"

Thoros lets out a sigh, peering down at Dorea through his mussed hair. "Abraxas is an uncouth blighter. He confronted me, told me his father had sent a letter of intent to your father; that you would accept him because his family was more wealthy."

"And?" Her sharp eyes narrow as she plants her hands at her waist. "Even if any of those things were true, you should have been the better man and avoided such a public confrontation. Yes, I'm sure he followed after you, or otherwise instigated you; he is an uncouth blighter."

The corner of his previously marked mouth quirks up before he leans toward her. "But you escorted me to the infirmary."

Her brows pop up in surprise as she looks back at his face. "Well, yes. You were injured in a duel over my name; it was the right thing to do."

"You chose me." Thoros smiles at her before standing. In her surprise at his words, she doesn't move and they remain a little too close for propriety's sake. He reaches into an inner pocket of his robes, withdrawing a small package wrapped in purple silk.

"Thoros…" Dorea trails off as he holds it out to her. She glances at his face then to his hand before reaching out with barely trembling hands to take the small bundle. She backs away, carefully unwrapping it, all with her eyes on him.

He watches her closely, leaning towards her with every muscle tense with anticipation.

Finally, she looks down and lets out a slow breath. The brooch is beautiful: a giant moonstone, easily the size of an egg, ringed by tastefully proportional, brilliantly sparkling rose diamonds, all mounted on a shining silver pin. It's truly beautiful, and she turns it in her hand slowly to admire it.

"Turn it over."

His voice is thick and low, rather deeper than she's ever noticed his voice, and she obeys his instruction almost immediately, instinctively. There, engraved into the thick band of silver that supports the back of the moonstone, is her name in a slanted, curling script that she is almost sure is his own handwriting.

Dorea stares down at it, her lips parted in shock.

"When we marry, it will change to Nott. Or I could change it now if you'd rather."

When she looks up at him, her eyes narrow at his smug self-assurance. When he reaches out towards her, as though to take the brooch and to change the name for her, as though she couldn't do it herself – as though she had accepted anything! But she hadn't.

In a flash, the brooch is no longer in her hand and has collided with his freshly repaired face.

"How dare you assume that I was accepting your proposal?! Just because I helped you to the infirmary?! You vile little flea! You are no better than Abraxas Malfoy!"

Dorea spins on her heel and strides from the room. She stalks through the halls blindly, her shoulders heaving until she pushes into an unused classroom. She claws at the heavy winter cloak, yanking it from her shoulders and throwing it to the ground before finally letting out a small sob.

"Dorea?"

She shrieks, jumping at the sound of an unexpected voice, before spinning around towards the door. There stands Charlus Potter, hovering in the doorway with a frown on his lips as he watches her with cautious brown eyes. "Are you alright?"

It takes a few tries before the word finally bursts free. "No." Instantly, she finds herself wrapped in strong, thick arms, pulled tight against a barrel of a chest. She sniffles back the tears as she presses her face into his chest. "No, I'm not alright."

"It's all right; I've got you now. You can tell me what's wrong. I'll help you."

His voice is soft against her hair and her arms, hanging loosely before winding tight around his waist to hold him back. The sweet scent of icing from the cinnamon rolls at breakfast still clings to his breath, as well as strong tea, and from his clothes, sandalwood and fire smoke.

He smells like home.