Chapter 16 - I know
"How have you been?" Theo asks Draco sometime in mid-January, dropping into the seat across from him in the library.
"Unbelievably shitty."
"Hey! Me too!" Theo says, laughing as he pulls out his textbook. "Are you doing the Potions homework?"
"What else would I be doing while my life falls apart?" Draco confirms.
They do the Potions homework.
Theo gets lost in it for a while, the ingredients and measurements and incantations. It's easier to puzzle over the complexities of aconite and the transmutation of water into wine than it is to consider the ethics of letter sending and the understanding of himself as a parentless person.
When that's done, it's easier to focus on Draco than himself.
"So," Theo says casually after he finishes his final question. "You've been in a miserable mood ever since you got back from holidays. Any particular reason for that?"
Draco sighs and casts a silencing charm around their table. Theo leans in expectantly, ready for the news.
"No," Draco says dismissively. "No reason."
"Ah yes, super convincing. The silencing charm really sells it."
Draco shrugs. "It's just the usual."
"Meaning what? More problems with... that houseguest of yours?"
Draco smiles wryly. "Something like that."
Theo watches as Draco snaps his textbook shut and begins gathering his things. Typical. He's never been known to be particularly forthcoming, but this is evasive, even for Draco.
"And?" Theo presses. "That's it?"
"No."
"Would you care to elaborate on that?"
"Not especially," Draco snarls. "It's not something you need to concern yourself with."
"Fine," Theo says. "But have you talked to someone else about it at least? Pansy?"
"Not recently, no," he says, voice clipped. "I can handle it."
Draco doesn't look like he's handling it. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.
"Have you slept lately? Like, at all?" Theo prods.
"Some."
"Fine then," Theo sighs. "Look. I know this is a hard year for you and you're not used to letting people in. It's been a hard year for all of us. I mean, between moving to Gryffindor, and my father, and even Daphne, and just, the war and everything, it's been one of the hardest years of my life. And you know that's saying something."
Draco nods warily. He's not used to Theo being expressive like this. And Theo's not used to being this open with Draco either, not sober, not in the library on a weekday afternoon.
"And like, yeah, it's been objectively awful. And I haven't been doing great a lot of the time. But I'm okay. And I think… a big part of that is that I talk about it more. With Neville, mostly. Letting someone in, it just makes such a big difference." He can hear his voice taking on a dreamy, sappy quality when he talks about Neville, but he can't help it. "You should do the same, Draco. Let someone in. It doesn't have to be me, if you'd rather it be Pansy or someone. But seriously. It will help you sleep."
"This isn't about my feelings, Theo," Draco hisses. "It doesn't fucking matter if I sleep at night. This is bigger than that. And I've already told Pansy too much. I'm not going to burden her with more."
"Fuck's sake," Theo mutters. "Don't make me give another impassioned speech."
"I agree," Draco says with a little half grin. "One was plenty."
"The second one was going to be about you not being a burden," Theo notes calmly. "Just so you're aware. Shall I go on?"
"I think I've got it," Draco remarks, motioning to leave again. "That all?"
Theo considers, putting the end of his quill in his mouth and sucking theatrically, miming serious thought. Draco rolls his eyes.
"Actually, there is one more thing," Theo says, remembering his conversation with Neville by the lake, and what Neville had said about thoughts and action being separate.
Draco raises an eyebrow expectantly.
"He doesn't own you. Whatever happened over the holidays, whatever he did or said or is making you do, he can't tell you what to think."
"And?"
"And what? Come on, I'm giving you my best wisdom here."
Draco huffs. "I'm just wondering what about that I'm supposed to be finding helpful."
"I'm saying, do what you have to do. If he's making you do something, you have to do it and that's not your fault. But he doesn't own you. He can't make you think things. He can't control what else you do."
Draco leans back in his chair, looking impassively at Theo like he's still unsure of the point.
"Just — do what you have to do," Theo repeats. "But otherwise, do whatever the fuck you want."
There doesn't seem to be much left to say, and Theo starts packing his bag. Maybe he got through to him, maybe he didn't. Either way, he doesn't hate being the friend with fewer problems for a change.
"I'm going to do the Defence homework tomorrow afternoon," Draco says softly. "Want to do it together?"
Theo smiles. It's not much, but he's pretty sure this is Draco's way of offering to let him in, just a bit more.
"Yeah. I'll be here."
Since her conversation with Pansy, Hermione has taken to avoiding Malfoy at all costs. She has also taken to correcting herself whenever she thinks of him as "Draco" instead of "Malfoy", to minimal success.
She can't think what else to do.
There's a part of her that knows she should go to Dumbledore immediately. That she should turn Malfoy in, stop him, do something and know that she did the right thing. That she opposed the killing of an innocent person and stood up to Voldemort's agenda.
That said, if she turned him in, Draco would go straight to Azkaban. If the Ministry is willing to scapegoat Stan Shunpike and show up to bother Harry personally on Christmas, they won't hesitate to throw away the key on Malfoy, just to make it look like they're doing something.
And that would be the best case scenario. The other is that Voldemort gets to him first and kills him for his failure, presumably after a lengthy period of torture. And his parents would die, too.
Maybe they deserve it. Draco is attempting murder, after all. He came incredibly close to killing Katie Bell. And Lucius Malfoy nearly killed Ginny and Harry with that diary, and did who-knows-what during the first war. He'd be no great loss to the world. Mrs. Malfoy hasn't done anything that Hermione knows of, but she's certainly supported it.
Would their lives be a fair trade for saving Dumbledore's?
She doesn't know. Pansy has made her stance clear, and Hermione desperately wants to talk about it with someone else, but there is no one else. If she told Harry or Ron… well, they'd be in Dumbledore's office before she even got the words out.
Maybe that should be a signal. Harry is, if nothing else, impeccably moral.
Hermione may not be.
For now, she's taking comfort in the fact that whatever plan Malfoy's concocting, it's taking him a while.
So, she's avoiding him until she makes up her mind. If she lets herself be around him too much, she'll end up having sympathy for him –– or kissing him. Either way, it will cloud her judgement.
For some infuriating reason, Draco has taken to spending an inordinate amount of time in the library lately. Which means Hermione has taken to doing her homework on the floor in the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room, and roping Harry and Ron into sitting with her.
"Remind me again why can't we sit somewhere with tables?" Ron asks one afternoon. "And chairs?"
"I'm just not in the mood for the library," Hermione says vaguely.
Ron narrows his gaze. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?"
"I fancied a change," she shrugs "And since I'm not allowed in your common room, this is the next best thing. I'm perfectly comfortable," she lies, as her back gives a little twinge on the stone floor.
She spends a few minutes trying to concentrate on her Transfiguration essay, then sets it aside, leaning back against the wall.
"Tell me again what Dumbledore said last night, Harry?"
"About the memory?"
"Yes — it had been tampered with?"
"Yeah. It was Slughorn's memory of Tom Riddle asking him about something called a horcrux," Harry says as if by rote. "Then the memory went all weird and fuzzy and Slughorn refused to tell him. Dumbledore thinks that Slughorn's covering up what he actually told him and that I need to persuade Slughorn to give me the real memory."
"Hm," Hermione says. "And he didn't say why it was important?"
"No, just that it was."
"Odd," she says. "Well, how are you going to get the memory?"
"I dunno," Harry shrugs. "I'll just ask after class and see, I suppose."
"Alright," Hermione says doubtfully. Just another thing on the ever-growing list of problems with no solutions.
And gosh, it would really be unimaginably awful if Dumbledore were to die before Harry got the memory. They would never know what it meant, despite its apparent grave importance.
Hermione feels a rush of frustration with Dumbledore. For goodness' sake, even if his life wasn't under threat from murder, the man isn't exactly young. Is it wise to keep so much to himself? If he were to die tomorrow — of any cause — he would take nearly all the secrets and plans for winning the war with him to the grave. If the information he has for Harry is so important, why not get it out as fast as possible — just in case?
"What is a horcrux, anyway?" Ron asks. "Do you know, Hermione?"
"No, I don't." She shakes her head gently, brow furrowed. "I'll go to the library later and see if I can find out."
"Or we could go right now?" Ron prompts innocently.
"I need to finish this Transfiguration essay first," Hermione declares, wincing slightly as she adjusts her position on the stone floor and prepares to get back to work.
At the bottom of Theo's trunk, there is a box. Inside that box, there are five things.
The first two things are photographs. One of his mother on her seventeenth birthday. One of him and his parents when he was a baby, the three of them smiling and waving at the camera. A happy little family.
The third thing is Draco's front tooth. When they were seven, Theo lost his front tooth and Draco made fun of the gap. Theo was so mad that he magically made Draco's tooth fall out too by accident. Then they got so excited about matching that they traded teeth as keepsakes.
The fourth thing is a friendship bracelet Daphne made for him when they were twelve, braided by hand with colourful string.
The fifth thing, new this year, is the drawing of the orchid Neville made for him on the day of their first kiss.
Theo pulls out the box early on the morning of his birthday, January 23, before the sun is even up. He wants to see the picture of his mother, now that he's officially the same age she was when it was taken.
She's pretty, blond and hazel-eyed. She looks like someone he could be friends with, like she would be fun to have around. Theo can't see much of himself in her. Maybe a bit around the chin, a little around the forehead? He looks so much more like his father.
He sifts through the other items, examining them one by one, then tucking them back into the box. He holds onto the photo of his mother a little longer.
He sits back, propped against his pillows, curtains half open to let the rising morning light in.
Sometime a little later, though still pretty early, Neville wakes and pads across the room, his bare feet soft against the wooden floor.
"Happy birthday," he whispers, leaning in to press a warm, lingering kiss to Theo's lips. "Is that your mum?" he asks, pointing to the picture he still holds in his hand.
"Yeah," Theo says. "How did you know?"
"She looks just like you," Neville remarks and Theo's heart jumps into his throat. "She's pretty."
"Oh," Theo says, swallowing down the lump of intense, irrational gratitude for Neville seeing something he's never been able to, and conjuring a joke. "Are you saying I'm pretty?"
"Maybe," Neville grins, biting his lip innocently.
"Get in here," Theo orders with a laugh, taking his hand and helping him onto the bed. He shuts the curtains and casts a silencing charm.
Theo puts the photo of his mother back in the box and tosses it to the end of the bed. Enough of that for now.
He lies on his side and Neville lies facing him, their legs tangling together as they kiss. Theo runs a hand through his hair, over his back, down his side, his hands skimming the soft fabric of yet another pair of obscure herbology pyjamas.
Theo slips an eager hand between their bodies, brushing against Neville's stomach, and slowly dipping lower. Neville shudders at the touch, then groans and inches slightly away.
"Hold on," he murmurs, even as he kisses Theo fiercely and clutches at his thigh. "I'm supposed to give you your present."
"This isn't my present?" Theo asks. He grins, not letting up his teasing touches. "Because I'd be super okay with it if this was my present."
"Umm," Neville says, eyes closed, sinking into the feeling for one final moment. "I — er — um — right. Right. No, you get an actual present." He sits up.
Theo pouts.
"Later," Neville promises with a smile, digging for his wand in the mussed bed sheets. He finds it, and poking his head through the curtains, summons a small gold-wrapped package from his nightstand. "Everyone else is still asleep," he reports. "Here." He passes the package to Theo with his eyes cast down, suddenly shy.
Theo takes the package and, sliding a finger gently under the spello-tape, pulls back the paper to reveal a small box from Oswald's Magical Watches and Fine Jewels, a shop in Hogsmeade. "Neville… this is too much."
"It's not an expensive one," Neville explains hurriedly. "I just — I know it's supposed to come from your family, but considering… I just — I wanted to make sure you got one."
Theo opens the lid to reveal an elegant silver watch. It shines, beautiful in its simplicity. He lifts it from the box and holds it in his palm. He can just make out the faint sound of its ticking hands.
"I'm sorry it's so plain."
"No, it's beautiful. I love it so much," Theo says, his voice cracking with emotion. He never thought he'd get a watch for his seventeenth birthday. "Please don't apologise for giving me the most beautiful, generous gift ever. I love it."
He places the watch on his wrist and struggles to do up the strap. Neville helps him, strong hands shaking.
"Is it really okay?" he asks.
"It's perfect. I love it," Theo enthuses, kissing him firmly, a hand on the side of his face. "I love it. And I — I love you."
Theo thumbs away a tear that's escaped from Neville's eye and brings their lips back together, softly and slowly, pouring his whole heart into the kiss.
Because Neville has his whole heart. The best and worst parts of himself, the warm beds and cold lakeshores, the Halloween tapestries and Christmas hospitals.
You're supposed to get a watch from your family on your seventeenth birthday. And Theo didn't, not officially. But someday, he thinks, he'd like to make Neville his family.
"I love you, too," Neville whispers.
Theo smiles widely and pulls him close. They sink slowly onto the bed, getting back to what they were doing before. The two of them stay there most of the morning and Theo gets the feeling he's going to enjoy adulthood.
Hermione decides to brave the library a few days later. It's a bleak, grey afternoon, and the whole castle is dreary. The library is lit by floating, everburning candles, giving the impression that it's much later in the day than it really is.
She doesn't know where to start in her search for horcruxes, seeing as she doesn't even know what branch of magic it's from. So she starts where she often starts — a dictionary of magical terminology and a general spellbook.
She finds the books she needs and brings them to a table, setting herself up near a window to try to catch a bit of the meagre outdoor light.
She doesn't get even a minute of peace or productivity.
"Granger," Malfoy says evenly, dropping into the seat across from her. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"I've been here," she says, "where I always am."
"Now that's just untrue," Malfoy counters. "I've been in the library every day this week and I haven't seen you even once. This is essentially your home, isn't it?"
"I study other places sometimes," she says neutrally, looking back at her book, not to read, but to signal that she doesn't want to talk.
"So that's how it is," he says, voice flat and harsh. "You're going to keep avoiding me."
"I've been busy."
"This is January, Granger. There are no exams, hardly any tests or essays. You're not busy with class. Are you busy with something else or are you lying to me?" he asks bluntly.
"Fine," she snaps. "I've had a lot on my mind, then. Do you prefer if I put it that way?"
"Not especially," he says. "But that's a start. What's been on your mind?"
"Do you really expect me to tell you?" she asks skeptically.
Draco chuckles begrudgingly. "Fair enough. I suppose you got my letter over the holidays?"
"I got your three word note, if that's what you mean."
"I see, so you were unimpressed with my letter writing skills, is that it?" he asks. "I should have guessed you would prefer something wordier, I do know how you love to read."
Hermione feels the edges of her mouth twist up in spite of herself. "Do you have a point, Malfoy? Because I am actually busy at the moment, so —"
"Yes, I have a point," he says, standing up as if to leave. "Come to the restricted section in five minutes and I'll tell you what it is."
She gapes stupidly after him. The audacity of just assuming she'll follow! There cannot be a more arrogant person alive anywhere.
Obviously, she'll follow.
She is — reluctantly — able to admit that about herself. What she'll say, what she'll allow to happen… she wishes she could be as certain about that.
She hasn't been alone with Draco since before the holidays.
Since before she found out he's plotting to kill the headmaster.
Talking to him just now felt like it did a month ago –– confrontational and antagonistic, but in a way that sends her stomach aflutter. It's hard to reconcile the smart-mouthed, arrogant, annoying, thoughtful, kissable boy who sent her a note over the Christmas holidays and can set her on fire with a touch of his hand, with the cold-blooded killer she's been building up in her mind over the past few weeks.
Maybe Pansy's right. Maybe he has no choice and all the talk of wanting to do it is just bluster to make himself seem dangerous and cool.
Maybe she's about to get murdered in the back of the library. Not that that seems likely, but well –– she just doesn't know anymore.
After what feels like five minutes Hermione stands and makes her way to the discrete shelves at the back of the library. She leaves her books on the table as a reminder to come back and finish her research. The research is to help Harry and there's no excuse for losing sight of that.
"Well? What do you need to say, Draco?" Damn. She kicks herself internally for using his first name, having the sense that it means she already lost whatever fight they're about to have.
He grins crookedly."Well, Hermione," he says. "There are several things I'd like to say, but first, there's something I'd like to do."
He steps into her space then, backing her against the shelves of books. When his mouth connects with hers, hot and open and urgent, she responds instinctually, throwing her arms around his neck. She stretches up to meet him, arching her back as he grips firmly around her hips.
"Tell me you haven't dreamt of this," he whispers, his lips moving from her mouth to the spot below her ear and dragging along her neck. "You and me, at the back of the library?"
The breathy moan that escapes her lips is answer enough.
Of course she has. Kissing someone — or more — hidden away from prying eyes behind piles of books? Yes, she's imagined it. She's imagined it featuring Draco, specifically.
One of his hands moves from her hip to her thigh, his fingers toying at the edge of her skirt.
She steps quickly sideways, pulling achingly away from his touch.
"I didn't come here to do this," she says quietly. "Tell me what you wanted to say."
He doesn't move away from her, keeping her trapped against the shelf and lost in his grey eyes. Though he at least relocates his hands to the more appropriate position of the shelf behind her.
"You're smart to stay away from me," he whispers. "This can only end badly."
She nods. "I know."
"I really don't want you to stay away from me."
She nods again. "I know that too."
"Over Christmas I —" He sighs, defeated. "He's staying at my house, Hermione. He has my mother. I have to do what he's asking me to do. I have no choice."
She chews on her lip as he talks. This is an admission –– not of the whole thing, but of a piece. It's getting far too close to the thing at the centre of it all. Her heart starts to race even faster, her breath catching in nervous anticipation of what he might say next.
"But Theo said something the other day. He said, basically, that I shouldn't let him control me more than I have to. That other than the thing I have to do, I should do whatever I want." She can feel his breath when he talks. "I want you. Stop avoiding me. Whatever you're scared of, we can work it out."
She doesn't know what to say. She has no next move. There's no plan here.
"I know you want to know what my task is," he continues gently, his expression open and more vulnerable than she's ever seen him. "But please don't keep asking. I promise it's better that you don't know."
"But I do know," she blurts at a whisper.
He jerks away from her.
"What do you know?" he asks slowly.
"I know what your task is."
"Fuck."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Would love to know what you think!