Chapter 10 - Alcoves are nice
About a week before Halloween, the fog begins to lift.
Not literally, the outside world is still disgustingly cold and damp, but the inside of Theo's head is a bit clearer. A bit lighter.
He walks down to breakfast with Neville, Thomas, and Finnegan. The latter two and Theo are starting to get along okay, in a politely civil sort of way. They're not quite on a first name basis. Someday, maybe.
"What do you guys do for Halloween in Gryffindor?" Theo asks, sitting down at the table in the Great Hall and pouring himself some pumpkin juice. He offers the jug around when he's finished.
"After the ball, you mean?" Neville asks.
"Party in the common room, o' course," Finnegan says around a mouthful of toast. "I dunno if it'll be any good this year — Fred and George always managed to get a hold of firewhisky somehow, but with them gone… might just be butterbeer this year."
"Aw, mate! I didn't think of that!" Thomas jumps in, in apparent distress. "I should've thought about it before Hogsmeade and got Gin to ask her brothers how they did it!"
Finnegan and Thomas continue plotting out ways of procuring alcohol for Halloween — a novel problem for Theo, as the Slytherins never seem to have trouble supplying their parties with all manner of drinks and potions.
The post owls arrive, and Theo glances idly upward, though he's not expecting anything.
But there it is. In amongst the owls, a jet-black raven.
Theo crosses his fingers under the table, desperate for it not to be heading for him.
He closes his eyes for half a beat, and when he opens them, the raven is there, its massive hooked beak just inches from his cereal. Its beady black eyes stare into his soul. It doesn't blink or turn away, even as it raises its leg, offering him a letter.
The table falls silent. Everyone knows Azkaban is the only place in Britain that still uses ravens to send letters.
Theo snatches the letter as quick as he can and the bird flies away, gone as swiftly as it arrived. The only evidence that it was ever there at all is the scroll written in his father's hand.
Theo unfurls it slowly, with bated breath. The writing is shakier than he remembers, but still pointy and harsh.
Theodore,
I write to you from my prison cell, the punishment for my devotion to the Dark Lord and our efforts to make a better world. I risked my freedom, my position in society, and my very soul for the cause and I did all of it for you. All of it. So that you could live in the world with the privileges that befit your birthright as a pureblood member of our ancient family. A true Nott, my son and heir.
Imagine my disappointment when I got news from the school that my only son had sullied our family name and wasted my sacrifice. My son, ripped from the Great House of Salazar Slytherin and replaced with a MUDBLOOD. You cannot imagine my shame. You do not wish to imagine my rage.
News travels slowly to me here, but I needed you to know, as soon as possible, the extent of my displeasure. We shall discuss the terms of your inheritance upon my release.
Signed,
Theodore Nott II
Theo reads the letter, just once, and crumples it in his fist.
The Great Hall is suddenly too hot and his vision blurs around the edges. The sight of his cereal in front of him makes Theo want to be sick.
He stands abruptly, jostling the table so much that his untouched goblet of pumpkin juice topples over and drenches a platter of sausages.
Alarmed voices drift after him, asking if he's alright, as he strides swiftly to the bathroom off the Entrance Hall.
He throws up, once. Spends a single minute kneeling on the bathroom floor. Then he rinses his mouth, wipes his face, and brushes his teeth with a conjured toothbrush.
Good as new. Or he would be, if his vision wasn't still so blurry.
He only realises what the problem is once he leaves the bathroom and sinks to the floor in a nearby alcove. He's crying, his eyes so full of tears he can't see straight.
He fights back against the tears, reining them in, gripping on to them with all his might. Not letting them go. His father always hated to see him cry.
Theo sniffs madly and heaves in a breath. He keeps his head down in a vain attempt to avoid being seen by passersby, until a pair of shoes enters his line of sight.
"I brought you your bag," Neville says, and Theo's bag drops into his line of sight as well.
Neville clamours awkwardly to the floor and waits quietly for Theo to speak.
"I'm fine," Theo chokes. "I'll be okay."
"I know," Neville says. "I want to sit here anyway, if that's okay."
Theo nods. Neville pulls out a spare piece of parchment and begins sketching a flower.
"I'm sorry. I'm fine, really," Theo says when he can breathe again.
"Okay," Neville says. He finishes shading the final petal on the flower and puts his quill back in his bag. "There. A Habenaria rhodochelia. It's a type of orchid." He slides the parchment over to Theo.
"That's pretty," he says. "Why didn't I know you could draw?"
"Only plants," Neville shrugs.
They're both quiet for another moment. Theo fiddles with the edge of his sleeve and stares at Neville's flower.
"It's just…" he starts. "My father, he found out about Gryffindor. And he says — and I don't care about the money, but he says — look, just read it." He pulls the crumpled letter out of his pocket and thrusts it at Neville.
"Theo… I don't have to, it's okay…" Neville's voice takes on the soothing tone that Theo remembers from their earliest interactions and he holds the parchment loosely, not quite taking it, not quite giving it back.
"No, I want you to. I can't — I don't want to have to explain it."
Neville reads the letter. When he's done, he folds it up in neat quarters and hands it back to Theo.
He scoots closer on the floor and lays a tentative hand on Theo's knee. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.
"Yeah," Theo says. There's not much else to say. "I think I'll skip the quidditch match. I want to sit here a little longer."
"Okay," Neville says. "We can sit."
Theo places his hand on top of Neville's where it rests on his knee and squeezes. He can't express what he wants to say to him. There's nothing about Neville that he deserves, but he's immensely grateful he found him.
"Do you want me to talk?" Neville asks. "If you don't want to, I mean."
"Sure."
Neville tells Theo about orchids. How there are over 8000 species that muggles know about and another 200 magical species that can only be pollinated by fairies. How the one Neville drew, the Habenaria rhodochelia, is one of the hardest to grow in captivity. In the wild, it grows in monsoon season. It thrives when it rains and goes dormant when the soil is too dry. The hardest part, Neville says, is knowing when to let it go and trusting that it will come back when its time is right.
"How do you know when the time is right?" Theo asks.
"You just have to feel it," Neville says simply.
Theo looks at him. His hair has gotten all rumpled from his enthusiasm for orchids. Theo brushes a golden strand off his face and tucks it back in place. Neville stills.
"How did you get to be so perfect?" Theo murmurs, his hand hovering by Neville's ear.
"I'm not," Neville mumbles, his eyes flicking up to meet Theo's gaze.
"You are to me."
Theo drinks in the view of Neville's face – his warm, honeyed eyes and lets his gaze drop to his lips. He looks back up, meeting his eyes again: a question.
Neville leans forward, just a bit: an answer.
When their lips touch it feels familiar, like coming home. Which is odd, because he doesn't think he's ever felt that before. Home.
Neville's mouth is soft, but his hand is steady and strong against Theo's waist, not pulling him closer or pushing him away, just holding on. Theo cradles the side of Neville's face in his palm, his perfect, beautiful face.
"Hi," he says inanely when they finally pull apart, their faces still nose-to-nose.
"Hi," Neville replies, through the widest, shiniest grin Theo has ever seen.
And then something in Neville's bag starts… whirring? Ringing?
"Sorry," Neville laughs. "That's Luna. We have these coins, well Hermione made them originally, for the DA, but Luna added sounds to ours. So I know when she sends a message."
Only like half of those words make sense to Theo, but Neville sounds so lovely when he laughs that he doesn't care.
Neville pulls out what looks like a galleon. It goes silent as soon as it touches his skin. He squints, reading the small lettering around the edge.
"She's wondering why I'm not at the game."
Theo smiles. "You should go."
"Oh," Neville says, face dropping. "Um, yeah, I'm sorry, I —"
"Not like that!" Theo rushes out. He kisses him again, quickly, to emphasize the point. "I just mean you should have fun today, it stopped raining I think."
He gestures to the window across the hall where, indeed, the sun appears to be peeking out.
"And I think I need a bit of time alone, if that's alright. Come find me after the game, though?" he continues.
"Yeah, sounds good." Neville says. "Oh, and here — this is for you."
He hands Theo the drawing of the orchid and beams.
Then he trails a finger over the back of Theo's hand and stands up. He's practically skipping as he leaves, throwing Theo one last grin over his shoulder.
Gryffindor wins the match.
Theo, therefore, gets to experience his first Gryffindor party. Despite the lack of accoutrements he'd expect at a similar gathering in Slytherin, the Gryffindors are at least seven times as rowdy.
It looks fun.
Theo finds a spot against the wall and takes it in, the colours, the cheering, the singing, the mountains of sweets. He snags a handful of crisps, but otherwise stays out of the way.
He hasn't seen Neville yet. He's not… worried, exactly. But he does think he'll feel better when he sees him, then he'll know he's not mad that he kissed him, or that he asked him to go, or that he realised at some point in the afternoon that he is actually far too good for Theo.
Which he is. Theo's not nearly good enough for Neville, with his fucked-up family and his dubious morals and general cowardice and apathy. Compared to Neville, who's brave and kind and heroic and so good at listening and knows so much about plants. Who gardens.
Theo's pretty sure only good people garden. It's like a law, or something.
He came close to failing herbology fourth year and has always found plants achingly boring. Unless, of course, it's Neville talking about them.
While he waits for him, he enters a bit of a spiral. Neville likes plants, so he's good. Theo thinks plants are dull, therefore he's not good enough. It's a completely nonsensical way to look at it, but it fits with the general pattern of things.
Not good enough at being a Slytherin. Not good enough at being a Gryffindor. Not good enough at being a son. Not good. Not enough.
Just as Theo's approaching the bottom of his spiral, a flash of golden hair slips through the portrait hole. Neville spots Theo immediately and a slow smile warms over his face. Theo's chest soars.
"Hi," Neville grins shyly, passing Theo one of two bottles of butterbeer he picked up on his way over. "Enjoying the party?"
"I am now," Theo says, taking a long sip of his drink. "How was the game?"
"It was good. Harry was brilliant as always, and Ron made some really lucky saves."
"I'm not sure where my loyalties are supposed to lie when it comes to quidditch," Theo muses. But then he shrugs. "I don't know if I'm that bothered, though. I get butterbeer this way, so that's a plus."
In the centre of the room, there's a notable commotion and some general gasping. Upon inspection, it seems to be resulting from Weasley sucking on Lavender Brown's face. It's not a pleasant sight.
And at the same time, he's a little jealous. He would rather like to snog Neville's face off in front of their whole house, for everyone to see.
He's fairly certain Neville would hate that. Also, he's not sure that the room would react positively. For multiple reasons. But gosh, they'd be a darn sight better to look at than Weasley slobbering all over the poor girl's face.
"That's new," Neville comments impassively.
"Not shy, are they?" Theo remarks with distaste.
"Not exactly," Neville chuckles. "It's rather public for a first kiss, isn't it? Not at all ideal."
"Interesting," Theo smirks. "And what would you consider ideal?"
Neville blushes. "Alcoves are nice," he says, continuing to stare straight ahead.
"I think so, too," Theo says sincerely, brushing the back of his hand lightly against Neville's.
Neville takes another sip of his butterbeer, then sets the bottle down on a nearby side table, the bottle rocking a little in place. His hands are shaking.
"Um," he says. "Could we go somewhere? To talk, I mean."
They find an empty classroom not far from Gryffindor tower and slink inside, closing the door behind them. There's enough moonlight streaming in from the windows that they don't need to turn on any lights.
Theo sits backwards on a desk in the front row and Neville takes the one behind it, facing him. He's wringing his hands.
"Neville," Theo asks. "Is something wrong?"
Neville looks down, focusing his attention somewhere in the vicinity of Theo's left shoe. "Um, so, about this morning… I was surprised, I mean, not that surprised, I wondered — hoped — but still, it felt sudden and you'd just got that letter and… Do you think — did you kiss me as a way of getting back at your father?"
The way Neville's face is crumbly, like he's waiting for a blow that would knock him over, makes Theo want to take a bludger to the head in shame for ever having left Neville in doubt.
"No," he says emphatically. "No. I was upset about him and emotional, I guess, which maybe made it easier to take the leap? But no, Neville. I've wanted to do that for ages."
"Really?"
"All year, if I'm honest."
"Oh," Neville says.
Theo reaches for his hand and holds it between both of his.
"It's just hard," Neville continues, "to get my head around. That you could… like me like that."
"Well," Theo says. "I do like you. A lot."
He climbs between the desks and settles himself next to Neville. There's not a lot of space, they're very close together. Theo doesn't mind at all.
"Can I kiss you again?" he whispers.
Neville nods and Theo leans in with a smile.
The kiss is tentative, exploratory. Where this morning was all pent-up emotion and heightened longing, tonight is slow and purposeful. Theo is, if anything, more nervous. He doesn't want to mess this up.
He runs his hand through the soft hair at the back of Neville's head and lets himself sink deeper into the kiss. Neville's hand wanders to Theo's lower back and fists the material of his robe, drawing him closer.
"Careful," Theo breathes when he manages to pull his lips away from Neville's for half a second. "We'll fall off the desk."
Neville laughs lightly. "It would be worth it."
"Yeah," Theo says, pressing a kiss to the edge of Neville's jaw. "It would."
He finds his lips again, thinking that although someday he wants to kiss him everywhere — his jaw, his neck, his whole body — there will be time for that. He just wants to taste his soft mouth, and revel in the warm satisfaction of finally.
The door to the classroom clangs open and they jump apart swiftly, though perhaps not very subtly. The newcomers, Weasley and Brown, are far too wrapped up in each other to notice.
Theo coughs loudly, inching slightly away from Neville as he does so.
"Oh, sorry!" Brown giggles. "Come on Won, I mean Ron" — she giggles harder — "let's find somewhere else."
When the door shuts again, Theo and Neville dissolve into laughter.
"Do you think they knew?" Neville wonders aloud.
"Nah," Theo says. "Totally oblivious, those two."
He leans back toward Neville, intent on carrying on after the rude interruption, then stops abruptly. He can hardly think, he's so drunk on him.
"Should we talk about that, actually?" he asks. "Like, whether people can know? Or," he pauses, backtracking, "I guess, if there is something to know?
"Oh. Right." Neville sits up with determination, like he's putting distance between him and Theo so he can focus. "I think there's something to know - or I want there to be, I think, if you do," he says tentatively, eyes cast down again. "But maybe not just yet? For other people, I mean. What do you think?"
"Yeah," Theo ventures. "We don't have to tell anyone right away. But I –"
He's not sure of the protocol here. Is he supposed to ask him on a date? Ask him to be his boyfriend? How is he supposed to communicate that he wants to keep making out with Neville in alcoves and empty classrooms on an indefinite basis? And also, like romance and stuff? Or something.
"I like you a lot," is what he manages to come up with. "And I, er, want to see where this goes?"
"Yeah," Neville says, sounding relieved. "Me too."
He finds Theo's hand where it rests on the desk and traces patterns over the back of it with his fingers. Even that tiny bit of contact sends a shiver down Theo's spine.
Theo flips his hand over and wraps it around Neville's, then pulls him back towards him. "Why did we stop, again?"
"No idea," Neville says, and kisses him through his wide smile.
