CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THEO
Theo watches his watch turn to four o'clock in the dim, flickering light of his desk candle. He's trying to work, or pretending to. Just as he had been pretending to try and sleep. He fails at both. He's been failing at both for days; cannot settle on anything long enough to commit to it. Blaise snores softly in the bed behind him, tangled up and naked in Theo's sheets. He arrived late at night, as he often did, and proved a decent distraction for a short while. But still, as ever, once the silence fell, Theo was left alone and awake, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like his whole life has so far proven an enormous waste of time.
At least, pretending to work, he can pretend it isn't.
He stares unseeingly down at the ream of loose pages he's supposed to be editing. Five hundred, and only fifty bare his red, scrawling handwriting. The deadline – the hard if-you-miss-this-one-Nott-you're-out deadline – is in two days. Theo's usually pretty decent at deadlines. Even with his long-standing habit of leaving everything to the few last minute, he rarely misses one. It had been the same at school, spending every night before an essay was due in the library after weeks of procrastination. Draco had despaired, had warned him unfailingly each time that this is the one he won't make. But he did. He always did. It's just been harder lately, impossible to get out of his own head long enough to think about anything that isn't Draco. What's going on with Draco? Something's happening. What's happening. I need to know what's happening.
It's because he promised Pansy and Blaise to leave it alone, to let Draco get on with it in his own way, to allow himself to get on with his own life. And he has. Or, he's tried to. But the harder he tries, the harder it gets, and the more he thinks, the more he worries, and the more impossible it becomes.
It's been a week.
A week since the letter.
A week and a day since he last saw Draco.
And it doesn't feel right.
They never go this length of time without contact, not since they were little, apart from a few isolated incidents where something terrible meant that the world was different. That's the only reason. And the fact that it's happening again is terrifying.
He should be doing something. He should be doing something. He should be Floo'ing straight to the Manor and making sure for himself that the world is still turning.
But Theo promised not to. And even though he hates it, he understands it. Would even go so far as to agreeing with it.
Because Draco isn't his responsibility.
Draco hasn't really been his responsibility for years.
Nearly a decade.
It's more than time to move on.
Staring down at the page filled with words that refuse to make sense, Theo chews his lip.
He doesn't want to.
As much as he denies it to their friends, for Draco's sake, for his own sake, Theo is still holding on to the distant wish that somehow they might be able to find their way back to where they had been.
'I thought you liked Blaise?'
Theo smiles to himself, remembering Draco's bafflement, picturing that night so clearly it's as though it happened yesterday and not almost a decade ago.
They stood in the falling snow; the lights and the music of the Yule Ball bright through the stained-glass windows of the Great Hall behind them. It hadn't been planned, and Theo remembers staring at his feet, face burning despite the cold, wishing and wishing that he'd never said anything, cursing himself for being so stupid. But he hadn't been able to stand it.
The pang of jealousy when Draco and Pansy agreed to go to the Ball together had hit unexpectedly. He had always loved Draco – they'd been best friends since the moment they'd met when they were six years old – and he was confident that Draco loved him too. More-or-less confident. It had always felt different with Draco, and it felt like Draco felt it was different with him. Theo wasn't stupid – he was aware how much easier Draco was with him than with anyone else, and Theo knew he didn't feel about anyone else the way he felt about Draco, though it took a long time to really put a name to those feelings. It was just always right when they were together, in the good moments and the bad, and Theo knew – categorically – that he wanted to be close to Draco forever. Not just because he wanted him for himself – though that was certainly an element – but because they were the best when they were together.
For the longest time, Theo just assumed that it would stay the case, but there was something about seeing Draco and Pansy together – platonic to the point of familial though they were – that set something in motion inside him. Pansy might be safe, but there were girls all over Hogwarts and beyond who had their eye on the Malfoy heir. Draco had never hinted at any interest in anyone including him, but if there was a chance, any chance at all…
He had resisted for most of the night, skulking on the sidelines and grinding his teeth, not really angry but frustrated with himself, until Blaise drifted over with an infuriatingly knowing look, and nodded directly to where Theo had been looking for the last hour.
"Just do it," he murmured. "What's the worst that could happen?"
Theo could think of many terrible outcomes, each worse than the last. Each one less realistic than the last. What's the worst that could happen?
He didn't answer the question, just started moving; striding through the dancers right to the centre, right up to Draco and Pansy. She saw him coming, caught his eye with the same look Blaise had given him, and had already let go of Draco's hands, who looked between them with bewilderment bewildered when Theo grabbed his sleeve and started tugging him wordlessly through the crowd, past the ice sculptures, through the doors and out into the snow-swept night.
"I just…I just needed you to know," Theo had mumbled, addressing his feet, laced up in shining dress-shoes. "You don't have to say anything. Actually, I'd prefer if you didn't. But I couldn't… I had to tell you. So now I have. So that's it. You can go back inside now. If you want to."
Draco was silent for the longest time, years it felt like, though it couldn't've been more than a second or two, then, foolishly, "I thought you liked Blaise?"
"Everyone likes Blaise," Theo retorted, risking a glance upwards. Draco's nose was pink, his expression unfathomable. "I mean, no-one likes Blaise. I mean– You know what I mean. He's an objectively attractive and irresistible human being but that doesn't necessarily lend itself to, y'know, love or anything."
"Love?" The word came out cracked. Draco looked terrified.
Theo bit his tongue. The answer to Blaise's question was 'this'. This was the worst thing that could possibly happen. "Forget it," he repeated quickly. "Please. It honestly doesn't matter. I just needed to tell you." He started to turn away, wanting nothing more than to forget and move on and go back to how they were. "Come on, let's go inside. I'm sure the others are—"
But fingers around his wrist stopped him.
Theo turned back. Draco still looked as though Theo was a boggart, but there was something else mixed in there too. He opened his mouth, looking for words he didn't have, then gave up, then moved closer, closing the distance.
They kissed in the snow. Clumsy and confused and right.
For six months, it was perfect; dizzying and dreamlike and unreasonably perfect. Theo had never seen Draco smile so continuously, and he himself had never felt so light or so peaceful. The concept of 'soul mates' was, of course, absurd, but it felt like everything finally made sense in a way it never had before. Theo loved the way Draco looked at him, loved that they didn't look away from each other. They didn't feel the need to declare it to the world, but casually twined fingers as they studied in the Common Room and working out their kisses behind drawn curtains had a warm, addictive sweetness. It all just made sense.
And then Cedric Diggory was murdered.
And Voldemort came back.
And the world started to crumble.
Slowly at first. They didn't talk about it. Fifth Year was spent specifically not talking about it, pretending that all was as it should be and not quite being able to find the ease with which they managed before. Hogwarts didn't feel as safe, even with the absence of Moody. Umbridge's regime was kinder, generally, on Slytherin house – they were no longer being actively persecuted as they had been the year before – but Theo and Draco were both keenly aware that movements within the castle were being reported back to the Ministry and, consequently, to those with eyes and ears within it. They didn't talk about it, but Lucius Malfoy's presence was heavy that year, and it weighed them down and the sweetness was a little more sour. They had always been careful, never too outward in their affections,; they had been so close from the beginning that no-one who didn't know to look for it would notice the difference in the way they looked at each other, or the increase in the little moments of contact as they walked through the castle. But with Umbridge's spies rife and unidentifiable, those moments became fewer and farther between; stolen in the brief seconds of seclusion, and so quick they might not have happened at all.
This isn't forever, they had agreed. Just that one year. Just until she was gone. Until Hogwarts returned to normal.
It had been a relief when the arrests came early that summer. Theo remembers being called into Snape's office, along with Draco and others with family involved in the Ministry raid. He remembers the silence as the news was delivered, and being distinctly unsure how he was supposed to feel. He'd never been close to his own father, had been lucky enough to have a grandmother willing to intervene when his mother had died – complications in childbirth, they told him, though Theo knows that isn't true – and his absence wouldn't make much difference. But Lucius Malfoy's would. It would make all the difference. Draco was free. They were both free. Theo glanced sideways, expecting to see Draco's own relief mirrored back. But his face was pale, paler than usual, tight with shock. And frightened.
"Draco." Theo ran after him after they were dismissed.
Draco had wheeled without a word, as though the rest of the world had suddenly stopped existing, and stalked off.
Theo caught his sleeve, pushed his fingers through Draco's and held on. "What's the—"
But Draco snatched his hand back and shoved it deep into the pocket of his robe, cutting a clean path through a clamour of small first-years
"What's the matter?" Theo called after him, anger overcoming caution. "I thought you would be pleased."
"Pleased?" Draco rounded on him, his own anger bright.
And for the first time since they'd known each other, Theo didn't understand him.
It was a feeling that lingered and grew steadily from that moment. It was horrible.
Draco withdrew from the rest of the world, becoming quieter, angrier, and more stressed than any of them had ever seen. Pansy and Blaise had no idea what was going on either. They all despaired, could do nothing but watch as Draco seemed to destroy himself from the inside out.
"What is going on with you?" Theo demanded eventually, finally managing to corner Draco in a temporarily private corner of the library.
Draco wouldn't meet his gaze.
They hadn't touched since the very end of Fifth Year, certainly hadn't kissed. Draco barely spoke a word to any of them anymore, and Theo had had enough.
"Talk to me," he hissed. "Please. Whatever it is, whatever's going on, let me help you." Just come back to me.
A look flashed across Draco's face, one that Theo might've classified as despair if he'd been given another second, but as quickly as it came it vanished, replaced by snarl that made Theo withdraw.
"I don't need your help," Draco snapped, face pale and sharp. "I don't want it. Stop interfering and leave me alone." And then he shoved passed, their shoulders colliding. This time Theo let him go.
Later, the stillness and the darkness of their dormitory, Draco sought him out.
In the smallest voice, Theo heard, "I can't do this right now."
"Can't do what?" Theo was lying on his bed reading by wand-light, the drapes pulled across. Draco stayed on the other side of the curtains.
Theo listened to the pause, the page creasing between his fingers, waiting for a verdict he didn't want to hear.
Draco's breathing was ragged, the word broken when he finally said, "Us."
Theo almost told him, 'okay', too tired and too angry, almost wanting to hurt Draco as much as Draco seemed determined to hurt him. But that's not the way they worked.
He ripped back the curtains and glared up at Draco. "Why?"
Draco blinked back, almost flinched, clearly not expecting a real face-to-face confrontation. He looked like shit, Theo noted. He looked like death. His gaze dropped. "I can't tell you. And I wouldn't even if I could."
"I'm not stupid." Theo moved to stand, not even saving his page. "I know what's going on. I know about the mark." Of course he did, Draco was stupid if he thought Theo didn't.
Draco did flinch then, unconsciously gripping the place where the brand lay beneath his sleeve. He looked like he wanted to talk, had to press his lips tight together to stop himself, tears bright in his eyes.
"I don't care," Theo told him forcefully. "Whatever it is, I don't care. I love you."
He hadn't said it since the Yule Ball, and Draco had never said it at all. Theo wielded it almost like a weapon. It felled Draco. He folded in on himself and ground his palms hard into his eyes, and sobbed bitterly through his teeth.
"D-Don't touch me," he said when Theo tried to, though he didn't move away when Theo ignored him; just stood there, rigid and trembling, and let Theo hold him.
"Whatever it is," said Theo again against Draco's ear, "I don't care. Whatever it is, I love you. I don't need to know, just don't shut me out. Let me be on your side."
"Why?" The question was weak and weary. "Either way, win or lose— What's the point? We could all be dead tomorrow."
"Doesn't that make it all the more important?" Theo said. "Win or lose, and maybe we're all dead anyway, but isn't it worth having something to fight for? Something good. Categorically good." He knew he was just speaking words, could barely find the sense in them himself let alone expect them to reach Draco, but he didn't dare stop. If he stopped, they would have to move forwards, and Theo was terrified that forwards meant alone. "Even if I can't help with whatever it is you're doing, let me stay. Let me be here."
Draco didn't say anything, but his arms curled up and Theo felt the sharp pain of Draco's fingers digging into his shoulders.
Less than a fortnight later, Dumbledore was dead and Draco was gone. After that there, were nothing but rumours. No-one knew anything. Nothing tangible anyway, and no-one was brave enough to go seeking the truth.
Theo was dimly aware that his father had broken out of Azkaban, alongside a handful of others. He was dimly aware that Lucius Malfoy was in that handful. He had no idea if Draco was alive or dead, and it wasn't like before, it wasn't like the summer of First Year. It wasn't just Lucius this time.
His grandmother was more watchful, more overbearing, no doubt anxious about Theo's father's involvement in the rising trouble and what it might mean for her grandson. Theo managed a few letters with Pansy and Blaise, but nothing substantial. No-one had heard anything from or about Draco, though rumour had it that Malfoy Manor was being used as a headquarters. Rumour had it that Snape was the Dark Lord's right-hand-man. Rumour had it that he had been the one to murder Dumbledore. Nothing seemed possible. Nothing seemed real. Just one long, unwaking nightmare.
Yet somehow, mid-July, Hogwarts letters still arrived. The castle was still there, with academics and exams, and a new Head. Theo had assumed, as they all had, that it would be McGonagall. The shock when Snape had stepped up to the podium had been almost as immense as the news of Dumbledore's death. And Draco wasn't there.
As soon as the start of year feast was over, Theo took a detour straight to the Headmaster's office and demanded, "Tell me what happened. Tell me the truth."
Snape looked exhausted and out of place amidst the grandeur of the room that had been Dumbledore's, and when he saw Theo standing there, furious and trembling, he had sighed.
"Sit down, Mr Nott."
Theo didn't.
"Is Draco alive?"
"Yes."
"Why isn't he here?"
"It's not my place—"
"Tell me!"
"Theo." Snape spoke softly, too tired even to be angry. "Sit down."
Theo obeyed begrudgingly, throwing himself down into the chair on the other side of the desk and folding his arms hard with a challenging glare.
Snape sighed. "Draco is alive. He is at the Manor. I am doing my best to negotiate his way out. I know you are worried, but you have to understand – I am playing the long game—"
"To hell with your game!"
Anger finally broke across Snape's face. "Draco is not the only one in danger, Mr Nott. Have you not been paying attention? The war is here. Right here, right now. Every student in the castle is at risk and my responsibility. As much as I want to, I cannot prioritize Draco at this moment."
"Is it true? What they're saying about the Manor? That the Dark Lord—" He stopped, wincing. He couldn't help it. Just the thought of it closed up his throat.
Snape hesitated, assessing him carefully, perhaps trying to determine his trustworthiness, perhaps trying to decide whether he deemed Theo old enough or strong enough for the truth. Then he said, "Yes. The rumours are true."
Theo swallowed, palms suddenly slick, trying not to sound as frightened as he felt. He failed. "A-and the rest?"
An eyebrow arched. "Specifically?"
"Dumbledore." It came out as a whisper, and the answer was plain as day across Snape's usually unfathomable express.
The professor dropped his gaze. "Yes, Theo."
"And it was supposed to be Draco, wasn't it? That's what he was trying to do, the whole of last year. That's what he'd been ordered to do. And he didn't. He failed. And… and…" He looked desperately to Snape, begging to be told he'd got it all wrong, and receiving only grief. "Tell me."
Snape's face hardened. "All you need to know, all that matters, is that Draco is alive."
"But at what price?"
But Snape didn't want to say and, honestly, Theo didn't want to know.
"Get him out of there," he said through gritted teeth. "If you don't do something, I will. I swear it. I'm seventeen. You can't stop me." Theo flushed, fully aware of how childish he sounded, but meaning it nevertheless. He would go to the Manor, whatever awaited him, and he would find Draco and he would do whatever he could to get him out. Whatever it took, he would do it.
He was running frantically through his options, his possibilities, the odds of success if he stormed the manor and confronted Voldemort and Lucius-fucking-Malfoy, and coming up short when Snape said softly, "Give me a week, Theo."
"A week?" Theo flashed between outrage that a week was too long and relief that Snape thought it might only take a week. "A week and what then?"
"And we'll talk again. If needed. I will prioritize Draco for a week on the condition that you sit still and do not do anything rash." He looked at Theo steadily, with a look that was so familiar, so comfortable, Theo almost felt himself relax. "Do I have your word, Mr Nott?"
It was the best he was going to get, a more than he should've.
"Yes, sir."
It was the longest week. Theo didn't relay his conversation with Snape to Pansy or Blaise, it felt too fragile, too frightening; he kept it in and mulled it over, and tried not to let his imagination get the best of him. It was hard when he knew perfectly well that whatever the Dark Lord was doing was far worse than anything he could conjure up in his head. And Theo counted the minutes. He wasn't sure, exactly, what he was counting to. Truthfully, he dreaded the next conversation with Snape, certain that it would be nothing more than a confirmation that nothing could be done, that Draco was there and would remain there, and fighting for one person was a risk not worth taking. Theo tried to plan his response, his actions, the steps he would have to take, but the closer he got, the more real it felt and the faster it sent his head spinning.
As a rule, Theo had spent his life avoiding confrontation, he had no idea where to start when it actually came down to fighting. But for Draco, he would learn.
Theo started in the only logical place he could think of, the librar; retrieving every book on the theories of combat he could find. It was all very intricate, and all very persistently assuring him that proficiency would take years of dedication. Theo didn't have years. He had days, at most. Days to learn how to take down the most evil fuckers ever to exist.
He stayed there until stupid-o'clock in the morning, pouring over words that had stopped making sense hours ago, if they'd ever made sense in the first place. He could barely keep his eyes open, but he forced himself to keep reading. Every second was precious. Time could not be wasted.
Then Pansy, skirting around the shelved in her pyjamas, and her breathless, "He's back."
Theo grabbed her hand and ran.
Draco was there. He was just… there. Standing in the Common Room as though he'd been there the whole time. He even looked okay, uniform crisp and ironed, the shadows that had become a permanent fixture on his face last year, gone. It was as though nothing had happened and everything was okay, as though they'd gone back in time.
Theo would've sobbed from relief if he hadn't been so exhausted.
Instead, he lunged.
It hadn't quite registered that Draco wasn't moving, wasn't saying a word.
Theo grabbed him in a tight embrace, crushing Draco to him. Crushing him.
Draco was skeletal beneath his clothes. He didn't move, neither to return the embrace nor flinch away, though beneath it all Theo thought he could feel the distinct prickle of instinctive magic. Theo stood back to look at him properly, still gripping thin arms swathed in loose sleeves. He still looked the same, somehow crafted back into Draco at his best, but there was a dullness, a deadness, in his eyes that didn't look back.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Sedation." Snape spoke softly from the side of the Common Room. Theo hadn't even noticed his presence. "And the remnants of the Imperius. It will be a long while before his senses are fully regained." A pause, then, "A blessing, really."
"Imperius?" Theo's pulse quickened, recalling Moody's hellish lessons regarding the Unforgiveables. He stared at Snape. "Yours?"
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Of course not."
Theo glared back squarely. "How could you let this—"
"I got him out, didn't I?" Snape snapped. "You cannot appreciate how much work that took, but believe me it was not easy. Be thankful, Mr Nott, that Draco is alive at all."
And through it all, it was as though Draco couldn't hear them. He was right there as they talked about him, but it was like he was just a body. If he couldn't feel Draco's pulse thumping erratically beneath his thumb, he might've thought that was the case.
Alive was, apparently, very subjective.
Theo felt like crying.
As it transpired, Snape had managed to negotiate Draco's way out of the Manor with assurances to the Dark Lord that he would be useful at Hogwarts, with the unique perspective; the eyes and ears of the student-body. In reality, Draco was of no use to anyone. It was weeks before the light came back into his eyes, and that was only the beginning. Once the remnants of the Imperius Curse wore off, sentience returned with a brutality that rendered Draco completely ineffective.
The days were the worst. At least at night Draco had a steady supply of dreamless sleep provided by Snape that curved the inevitable nightmares, but during the day Draco was defenseless from the hell in his head.
Draco didn't talk about what had happened to him at the Manor; he didn't talk at all for the first month, and after that only barely, only ever giving the most minimal responses when pressed. He was impossible to connect with, impossible to comfort, as though there were gates built up inside and locked so tight that no-one could get in or out. And they were all scared to try, to push Draco too hard. Because they could all see it, those who looked closely enough – Draco Malfoy had been broken. He had lost his strength, his fight, and the precious ability to compartmentalize. Theo had seen Draco beaten down before, more than once to the point that Theo had feared he wouldn't bounce back. But he always did. Always.
But not this time.
Whatever they'd done to him, it was finally too much and Draco never quite recovered. He remained withdrawn and reticent; fearful of the world and no longer equipped to deal with it.
Theo tried to cling to the silver linings in the darkened cloud that had surrounded Hogwarts — They were all alive, and they were all together – but all he wanted was to go back to how things had been, and that was looking less and less possible. Even in an ideal world, in an ideal future – whatever that meant – Theo knew he had to come to terms with the fact that Draco was never going to be the same again and, ergo, they were never going to be able to go back to the way that had been.
The realization was hellish.
He tried to suck it in when it first hit, abruptly, in the middle of class. It had filled his throat and his eyes, and choked him until he felt like he was going to faint.
Pansy noticed. Theo remembers the concern in her dark eyes.
"I don't know what to do," he admitted, after she dragged him into a secluded corner of the courtyard, folded her arms across her chest, and demanded his thoughts. "And before you say there's nothing I can do, I know that. I know that." And it came again, bubbling with such violence it dragged a sob from Theo's throat. "I can't do anything." He spread his hands and looked at Pansy – his oldest friend, even before Blaise and Draco. "So what do I do, Pans?"
Her mouth twisted – her version of lip-biting; Pansy-subtle until the end. She was as scared as he was. As they all were. Then she let out a breath and said, "You do what we're all doing. You wait until all this is over."
"And what if it never is?"
"I don't know, Theo."
That was the question. The big, unanswerable question.
And even when the time came, when the miracle of Harry Potter brought the hell of Voldemort crashing to an end and somehow the world was still turning, Theo still didn't know the answer.
Draco disappeared with his parents.
Theo remembers sitting numb in the wreckage of the Great Hall, his head on Blaise's shoulder and Pansy's on his own, and looking through the clamour to where the Malfoys lingered; broken together and out of place. And Draco… Draco especially.
Draco should be with him, with the three of them, they who loved him the most. Not standing there with the fuckers that put that look in his eyes. Theo started moving, his body screaming with exhaustion though anger gave him the burst of energy he needed to stand—
And then Harry Potter was with them, with the Malfoys, and Theo watched him clasp Narcissa's hand, and she was listening to something he was saying, and Draco was listening too, stepping forward to hear, grey eyes widening, and then explosion of grief; a terrible, uncontainable amalgamation of everything leading up to that moment and concluding with Snape.
Theo felt it as though it were his own.
He scrambled up, ignoring the pain, ignoring the others, ignoring everything. The loss and devastation in that room was overwhelming. If they stood any chance at all, Theo thought dizzily, he had to get Draco away from there now. Away from them all, for as long as it took. Because he was certain there was still a chance to recover the light in Draco's eyes. The slimmest slither, but a chance nonetheless. He had to take it
But there were too many people. Harry Potter was still too close, and the crowd surrounding the hero was thick.
By the time Theo managed to claw his way through, the Malfoys were gone.
Draco was gone.
Pansy and Blaise disappeared too. Pansy couldn't stand the thought of going home, to her father and her sisters, back to the life she had always hated and could no longer sanction as normal. Nothing was normal anymore. There was a new heady but fragile sense of freedom. All around, the Wizarding Community scrabbled frantically to make the world a better place; help was stretched thin, and there was none to spare for the offspring of Death Eaters. They had to make it for themselves.
Theo didn't care. He had always been fiercely independent and ready to make his own way in life. His father had died in the final battle, and his grandmother had managed to spirit a little of his wealth away before it was seized by the Ministry. That coupled with the even scanter inheritance left to him by his mother felt like a fortune in Theo's pocket. He thought about taking it and following Blaise and Pansy, wherever they had disappeared to in Continental Europe, but the thought of going alone, going without Draco, held him back.
At the very least, he had to know once and for all if there was anything left to salvage between them.
Malfoy Manor was desecrated and abandoned.
Theo stood in the Entrance Hall and stared around the foyer which had once seemed so grand, so intimidating. There was no shine left. No life. Only the persistent reek of death. Everything that could be broken had been broken.
Theo's legs carried him through the halls, taking the old familiar routes that they had taken as children, past torn curtains and burnt carpets, cringing portraits and bodies in the drawing room. Goblins. House-elves. Humans. Blood on the walls.
His stomach turned. Theo fell to his knees and vomited, fingers clawing at burnt carpet.
Where are you?
He half lay at Draco's desk, bile burning his throat, and scratched the words onto parchment. There were still owls, somehow, even if there was nothing else, and Theia recognized him with a soft, affectionate hoot.
Theo didn't necessarily expect a response. It felt like before, as though Draco had been captured and held in a whole nother plane of existence, out of reach and out of bounds, only this time there was no Snape to bridge the gap. He had been lucky to get him back once, but Theo knew that luck was not infinite.
Nevertheless, as Theo tried and failed to gather the energy to move and leave, Theia returned. The note in her beak was the one she had left with, but as Theo uncurled it, Draco's delicate script – as sparse as his own – told him, Shell Cottage, Cornwall. And, I miss you.
I'm coming.
Theo had never earned his Apparition License, but he knew the theory and didn't care enough to worry about the risks. Splinching was a small price to pay to get to the South-West quickly.
He landed hard on his hand and knees on the shore of the sea, whole plus a mouthful of sand; sharp dune grass cutting into his palms. Wincing, Theo got to his feet and spat hard, then squinted into the sunlight, praying he was in the right place.
There was nothing but sand and sea and sun – North, South, East or West – and Theo had no idea which way to try his luck. Then a shimmer to the East, little more than light dancing across the dunes, and Draco was there.
A smile wavered on Draco's lips as he approached, as though his mouth had forgotten how to make the shape. "I didn't think you'd come," he said. "I didn't think you'd be able to find me."
I will always find you.
"I was starting to think the same," Theo replied, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "I was starting to think you'd given me a false address."
Draco made a breathy sound, a piece of a laugh. "The cottage has strong wards. It was, ah… It was raided, a few months back. My aunt is cautious."
"Aunt?" The only aunt Theo was aware of was the infamous Bellatrix, and he had seen her demise himself, at the hands of the Weasley mother. It seemed unlikely that her home would be here, and even less likely that the Narcissa and Draco would seek sanctuary there.
"Mother's second sister," said Draco. "She was disowned. For marrying a muggle."
Theo whistled. "Crap."
"It's be an… It's been interesting," said Draco with a jerky nod. "The reunion. My uncle and cousin, and her husband – you remember Lupin from third year? – they were all killed. All dead. Death Eaters. There's just a child left. A baby. Her and Teddy—" He laughed suddenly, crying at the same time; tears spilling apparently unnoticed down Draco's face. "They call him Teddy, but his full name is Theodore." Draco dropped his head. "It felt like a sign. I-I've been trying to write to you for a while."
Theo bit his lip. He had seen Draco cry, more times than he could possibly count, but it was always privately, always ashamedly; crying was weakness, and showing it was a punishable offense. That such an ingrained reflex could be broken was only proof that nothing was ever going to be the same.
"I went looking for you at the Manor," Theo told him. "I'm glad you weren't there."
"It isn't home anymore. I-I believe Father went back, before the Aurors came. But we… Mother didn't—" Draco took a deep, ragged breath. "Depending what happens, with Father's trial, she wants to go back. She says it's as much hers as it is his. As much mine. She says it's ours by right, and she'll be damned if she lets him ruin that too. But I know she's scared. I-I mean, he's been gone for weeks already, and she talks about going back, but she keeps stalling. I'm glad. I don't want to go."
"So don't."
Draco stared at him. "What?"
"Don't go," Theo repeated, heart hammering. He wanted to grab Draco's hands and press his lips to them, and promise him a new and better life. He kept his own in his pockets. "Look, Pansy and Blaise are already gone. There's nothing good here for us anymore. I plan to join them. I have enough money to get by for a few months. For us both. Draco, come with me. Don't tell anyone, not even your mother, and let's just go now. Let's get away from here. Even if it's just for a while. Let's go to France, or Italy, or anywhere, just—"
But Draco was looking at him so hopelessly that Theo's heart knew the answer before he heard it.
"Draco, please—"
"I can't."
"Of course you can." He did grab Draco's hands then; all waxy skin and sharp knuckles, and nerves that spasmed in a fearful reflex. Theo hung on, even when tears sprung again into Draco's eyes and he felt the flinch. "Come with me. Be with me. We're finally free. A-and, okay, if you don't want to go, that's fine too. I'll stay. I don't care. I don't care where I am, as long as… as long as…" But as Draco shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, the sentence petered away into nothing. "Why?" was all Theo could manage in the end.
"Because you deserve so much more than anything I can give you."
"That's bullshit!"
"No, Theo, it isn't. Please listen to me. I couldn't stand it, if we… if we tried to be what we were, and I disappointed you, because I know I would, but I know you'd never say anything. You'd pretend that everything was fine. You'd lie. You'd lie to me. And it would kill me, Theo. I cannot be what you want. I cannot be who I was when… when you said…"
"I love you."
Draco pulled his hands gently free. "I promise, if I could ever love anyone, it would be you."
"Bullshit, Malfoy."
Every and throat burning, Theo turned sharply away before he could see the look on Draco's face, wondering where the fuck he was and how the hell he was going to get away when there was no way he was in any state to Apparate.
"Stay my friend, Theo."
He wheeled back on Draco with a snarl. "Why the fuck do you think I wouldn't?"
Draco smiled the smile that Theo came to recognize so well over the next few years; small and flickering with perpetual apology. "I don't."
Theo pushed a furious hand through his hair. "Fuck…"
"Go with Pansy and Blaise," Draco insisted. "Write to me. I'll write back. It'll be just like it used to be."
"Promise."
"I promise."
"And you'll… what? Go back to the Manor?"
"I can't just leave Mother."
Anger ground Theo's teeth. He had no affection for Narcissa Malfoy. "She's as culpable as your fucking father, Draco."
Draco's gaze dropped. "I know you think that."
"I don't think that, I know that."
"I can't just leave her to sort it all out on her own. If Father— If the trial goes as expected, responsibility will fall to me."
"Responsibility for what?"
Draco frowned as though Theo were being deliberately obtuse. "For everything," he said. "For the Malfoy name, the legacy, everything that entails."
"To hell with the Malfoy name," Theo snapped. "You don't owe them anything."
Draco drew back and in on himself as though Theo had raised his hand to him. "It's all that I know," he whispered. "It's all that I am."
"You can't really believe that, Draco."
"I honestly don't know what I believe at the moment," said Draco with a shaky laugh. "It's hard enough to think. I'm in no position to make big decisions. O-Or big changes."
"So you're just going to take the easy route?" It was hard not to be angry. Impossible. "You're just going to give up on all those plans? What happened to becoming a Healer? Or a teacher? You worked so hard—"
Draco folded in on himself. "I told you," he muttered, not meeting Theo's eye, "I'm not that person anymore. I can't just be someone else. And besides, a Death Eater Healer? A Death Eater teacher? Anything I thought I wanted to be, it's over. I am a Malfoy. That's it."
"You're an idiot," Theo returned. "That's it."
But Draco would only smile and shrug and say, "Don't worry about me."
A sentiment repeated on loop in so many voices over the next few years that Theo wanted to scream every time someone opened their mouth in his direction.
Draco is a grownup.
It isn't your job.
He isn't your responsibility.
You need to live your own life, Theo.
Nothing you do will make him love you.
And, dear Merlin, had he tried.
"The best way to get over someone is to sleep with someone else," Blaise told him sagely whilst Pansy nodded her agreement, both of them sick to tears of Theo's persistent and growing sullenness during their blessed Eighth Year. The breakup was made worse by Draco's absence, strange just being the three of them again after being four for so long. It felt wrong that they were having one more year of carelessness, one more chance to be children just a little while longer, whilst Draco was trying to scrounge together some semblance of adult-life. It was bizarre.
They kept their promise, though, and wrote regularly every other day, sometimes more. It always hurt, but the pain was alleviated by the certainty that their friendship had in no way suffered. Theo wrote about Hogwarts, doing his best to give Draco the experience he was missing out on, whilst Draco told him about the renovations to the Manor, trying to find his place in the new world and ending up in his father's old Ministry office doing something that Theo couldn't understand no matter how carefully he read Draco's description. Whatever it was, Theo got the impression it was terribly boring.
Their lives were suddenly so different, so separate, it made the Draco-shaped hole in Theo's heart impossible to close. He tried to patch it up with Blaise's theory, and sometimes it worked temporarily, but it had never been about sex with Draco. It had never even been a consideration, though they'd never explicitly had that conversation. Theo could pretend that this was better, that he could have the kind of relationship that he'd never have with Draco, but it was a shallow pretense that was never quite convincing.
"Your heart isn't in it," Blaise told him one night in the darkness, a thin curl of smoke winding its way around them. "That's your problem."
"And yours is?"
Blaise shrugged, taking a drag of the cigarette then offering it to Theo. "At least it's not with someone else. You need to let go."
If I could love anyone, it would be you.
He would never admit it out-loud, he would never even admit it consciously to himself, but there still felt like hope, like he was waiting for the inevitable letter from Draco saying that he'd changed his mind. It felt like it had to be just a matter of time. If it wasn't meant to be, he wouldn't be feeling like this, it wouldn't be so persistent, it would be different. Even when they were together, it still felt so easy – just as it had always done – as though nothing had changed between them.
Except everything.
"You're going to drive yourself insane," said Pansy. "For your own sake, Theo—"
"But I love him."
Her mouth twisted. Love – romantic love – was a nightmarish concept to Pansy. She had been a big supporter of them in the beginning, but now that love was doing nothing more than hurt her friend, she had no time for it.
He had no-one else to talk to. Usually he went straight to Draco with his problems, but how could he ask Draco to talk about this when it had been so long, and he felt like a fool for still feeling this way? As far as Draco was concerned, it was all over and done with, and left behind in the Cornish sand. All Theo could do was swallow it down and be the best friend he could be, loving Draco from a safe, untouchable distance.
They only ever acknowledged what they used to be once, in the Autumn after they had all left Hogwarts for good.
Theo was living reluctantly at his grandmother's, and it was there he received a frantic note in Draco's familiar handwriting.
I need to see you.
Theo had hesitated over the it. Even though things were easy in their friendship and their correspondence constant, this felt different, and Blaise and Pansy had been vocal in their warnings to 'not get sucked back in'; already concerned with how willing Theo was to drop everything and run when Draco called.
But he couldn't ignore it.
They met in the Leaky Cauldron, at what would eventually become their regular table. Draco's shoulders were slumped, and his face flushed with panic.
"I-I had to tell you first," he said, the words as shaky as your hands. "I needed you to hear it from me."
In the course of less than a second, Theo managed to conclude that Draco was dying, Draco was moving to Australia, Draco was being sent to Azkaban—
The reality was just as dire.
"I'm getting married."
Theo swallowed.
It shouldn't've been a surprise. It certainly shouldn't've been a shock.
Of course Draco would get married to some nice pure-blooded girl, and together they would continue the Malfoy line, and the shitty circle of life would go on and on and on.
Theo's hands trembled around his glass. "Who?"
"Daphne Greengrass's younger sister. Astoria. She's just finished Hogwarts."
Theo was dimly aware of the sisters. They were nothing remarkable, barley memorable at all.
"Your mother's idea?"
Draco nodded numbly. He hadn't looked at Theo since they'd sat down.
"When?"
"Spring. April. Quickly without raising suspicion." A chapped bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. "I-I think Mother is afraid I'm going to run. She wants it done before I get the chance."
Do it, Theo wanted to say. Run. But he knew it would do more harm than good. Draco had already decided that this was his destiny. Marriage was part of that. As miserable as the impending reality actually made him.
Theo digested it slowly, taking his time to decide how he felt. When he looked up again, Draco watched him searchingly, almost nervously, as though expecting an explosion.
Theo didn't feel like exploding. He just felt tired.
"So that's it."
"That's it," Draco echoed. Then, "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too. Shit." His head suddenly throbbed. Theo ground a hand against his forehead. "Shit, Draco. That's big. Marriage… That's big."
Draco nodded, swallowing visibly; hands twisting in his lap.
"And, I guess, kids—"
The table juddered and Draco made a strangled, "Mmm," sound.
This is your own damn fault, Theo almost said. If you'd come with me, if you'd stayed with me…
Instead, said, "It's going to be okay."
"You really think so?"
Theo nodded, swallowing the lie with a gulp of beer.
"Why?" Draco asked.
Theo kept drinking for a long moment, then he set down his glass and reached across the table, hand palm up. "Because I'll be with you. Whatever you need, whatever you want, I'll be right there. I always have been and I always will be. Nothing has changed, Draco."
The absurdity of the statement – because, of course, everything had changed – almost had Theo bursting into laughter. It was true though, as far as Theo was concerned, nothing had changed. He was right back to being fourteen and being in love on his own.
And Draco's expression – the one of startled pleasure, all at once terribly grateful and completely baffled that someone would offer such affection to him – was identical to the one in the snow outside the Yule Ball, and he gripped Theo's hand hard.
Nothing has changed.
Theo runs his fingers through his hair, staring down at words that don't make sense through his tired eyes. The sun is already rising, sending a flush across the tops of the houses outside his window. Morning. And another day of waiting.
Behind him, Blaise sighs in a rustle of sheets. He will sleep in past noon and leave Theo by two. The thought of being alone is unbearable. Maybe he'll seek out Pansy. She is pragmatic and sensible, and won't hesitate to remind him that he's an idiot. Theo knows he won't though. He knows he'll remain at his desk, pretending to try to work, all the while waiting for something that's less and less likely to come.
He doesn't need Pansy to tell him he's an idiot. Theo knows it for himself.
A/N: I AM SO SORRY! This had originally intended to be a short framing scene for the actual chapter but YA KNOW Theo decided to overtake, and made me spend two weeks listening to his story. Apologize for the long wait and any disappointment in the niche-ness of this chapter. My Draco/Theo heart does feel indulged though, so *shrug*. Thank you so much for all comments on the last chapter 3 Let me know what you think!