Theo Nott lost people.
There was a moment in time when that would have upset him but at this point, it was nothing more than fact.
Theo lost people and he knew it. Accepted it. It was well documented, written across his body in scars that told stories he wished he could forget.
He glanced at the scar on his ankle.
The first person he lost was his little sister. The precocious, sarcastic five-year-old Adara Nott. It was an accident; he had taken his eyes off her for just a second when she fell. One minute she was laughing and giggling, perched on the tree branch beside him — the next she was silent on the ground, her neck twisted at an inhuman angle. Theo had thrown himself out of the tree after her and cut his ankle, deep enough to scar, on the way down.
Next was the scar on his arm.
His mother, writhing under his father's wand until the life drained out of her while an eight-year-old Theo watched. And screamed. Until his father turned that same wand on him and he was left with another permanent reminder etched in his skin of his inability to save the people he loved.
Then the scar on his stomach.
His father, the spiteful bastard he was, never expected Theo to fight back. The first time Thoros Nott cursed his only son and heir was the day he murdered his wife, and it only got worse from there. The Death Eater took pride in repeatedly cursing Theo within an inch of his life. Nott Sr. got in one last curse before his son struck him down where he stood.
And the scar on his shoulder.
Pansy, dying at the hand of a monster that had been aiming for him. Only one swipe of its claws across his shoulder before his life-long best friend, the only one who knew his secret, was getting ripped apart by a werewolf in the Battle of Hogwarts.
Theo made the decision after Pansy's death that, one way or the other, he would tell Draco how he felt.
Theo assumed he would lose him too. He'd wondered what kind of scar that would leave.
But Draco surprised him. Draco loved him too. Draco stayed.
The time following their mutual confessions was difficult, with nights full of memories of pain and spellfire and domineering fathers. But the days were full of loving moments and soft kisses and surprise blowjobs in the shared kitchen of their Diagon Alley flat.
They were just so happy, a feeling neither of them were intimately familiar with, which helped the darkness within them recede.
Theo was brought out of his reverie by Draco squeezing his hand.
He glanced over at the blond with a soft smile, still finding it hard to believe that they were here. Theo knew he wouldn't have survived the two years since the final battle without Draco.
Sometimes, in moments like these, as they walked down Diagon Alley hand in hand, Theo wondered if he was really asleep and this had all been a dream. He never thought he deserved a life like this, a love so powerful he struggled to articulate it on his best days.
"Stop overthinking, love."
Theo smiled ruefully. Draco knew his facial expressions better than anyone. The blond wizard could read Theo's thoughts with a single glance, occlumency barriers be damned.
"Sometimes it feels like I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop." He avoided eye contact, not wanting his fiancé to see how damaged he was.
Draco's expression softened and he leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of Theo's head.
"You're not going to lose me, Theo. I love you."
The Avada came out of nowhere.
One minute Draco was holding his hand and making declarations of love and looking down at him with molten silver eyes so full of love it made Theo's chest feel tight. He was vibrant; beautiful and alive in every way.
The next, he was gone. Lost. His grey eyes, lifeless. Limp on the pavement, nothing more than a shell of the boy Theo had loved for the last fifteen years.
He was frozen, numb to the horror and grief that would undeniably wreak havoc on his body and mind soon. All he could think was — no, not him, I can't lose him, Draco promised he wouldn't leave, I can't live without him.
He didn't move, couldn't register the screams that filled the Alley as angry vigilantes bore down on two of the last remaining Death Eaters that walked free. It didn't matter that Theo didn't wear the Mark or that Draco had been acquitted by the full Wizengamot, with two-thirds of the Golden Trio on his side.
Theo and Draco had tainted blood. Death Eater blood.
Like some sort of cosmic justice. It was ironic, really, the way that it came back to blood.
The sectumsempra sank into his skin and it felt like coming home.
All Theo could do was sigh in relief. Finally. He wouldn't be left behind.
Theo Nott lost people but maybe, in death, he could find them once more.
