Songs - Disfigured by Rag'n'Bone Man, Fighter Girl by Mason Jennings, and All In My Head (feat. grandson) by Whetan

Chapter Thirteen: Nott-ing Hill

"I can't believe you still live here," Draco said, shaking his head as he walked through the entryway of a Manor that he'd spent countless days in as a child. "How has this place not killed you yet?" he asked, eyeing a particularly morbid faded mural on the wall that had clearly been particularly resistant to removal.

Theo snorted. "Ingenuity and spunk," he supplied, eliciting an audible groan from Draco. "Despite my dear old dad's attempts to fortify this humble abode against intruders, including, I might add, his only child and heir," he said, placing a hand dramatically on his chest, "I seem to have been gifted with an inordinate amount of lives."

"I always thought you'd burn this place down once it was yours," Draco admitted, turning to face his old friend. "But I have to admit, I like what you've done with the place." He paused, taking a moment to look around him. "You've managed to take the dark and dreary down at least two notches."

"Oh please," Theo exclaimed. "This place might as well be on the fucking sun compared to what it used to be."

Draco chuckled, his voice echoing down the hallway. "It's definitely a lot more cheerful without the not-so-welcoming Wall of Nott," he said pointing to the empty wall across from the front door which had once contained the portraits of Theo's maniacal ancestors, all of whom, he'd been told, had met gruesome, bloody ends.

"Ahh, yes," Theo replied, turning his head toward the wall. "I must admit, the house is eerily quiet without the incessant ravings of Great-Great-Great Uncle Adger, but a man can only take so much screeching before he snaps and sets the entire wall on fire."

"Glad to see you're finally sticking it to the old man," Draco said, his eyes traveling down the long hallway in front him.

Per Hermione's advice (because she was, he grudgingly admitted, always right), Draco had reached out to Theo shortly after their not-so-wonderful encounter at the banquet, hoping he'd get the chance to apologize for his behavior. Theo, bless his overly cheerful soul, hadn't even forced Draco to wait long for a reply and within an hour of Draco's first letter had invited his friend to his ancestral home the following weekend.

Draco hadn't been inside Nott Manor since before the height of the war, but from what he could see, Theo had done quite a bit of work to make the once barely livable place actually fit for human habitation. Most of the paintings that once hung along the entryway had, thankfully for anyone who found themselves walking inside these days, been removed, and for the first time in what had to be decades, actual sunlight was making it through the windows from outside. If he didn't know any better, he might have even considered wandering the halls alone.

"What on earth did you do with all his… things?" Draco inquired, referring to the immense number of dark artifacts that used to fill the house.

"The death traps? Most of them are buried in the backyard," Theo explained, motioning for Draco to follow him into the house. "Careful what you touch, though," he continued, looking over his shoulder as he led Draco into the study at the end of the hall. "I found a couple cursed books in one of the spare bedrooms last week. One of them nearly sawed my arm right off."

"Lovely," Draco mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The study was almost exactly as he remembered it, albeit with a few new additions. The walls were still covered in a colorful array of books, many, no doubt, still unsafe for actual reading, but it seemed at least the ones closer to ground had been dusted and sorted. In the middle of the room, Theo had replaced his father's dark, mahogany desk with one of his own, and in front of the fireplace, which used to be empty, sat two large, comfortable-looking brown leather chairs. The curtains to the windows had been pulled back, exposing tall floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked the large garden behind the house and allowing soft light to spill into the room.

"Drink?" Theo asked as he picked up a bottle of firewhiskey from a small bar table near the door.

"It's 11 am," Draco replied, lifting an eyebrow as Theo removed the cork.

"And?" Theo countered, pouring himself a glass. "Since when is the time of a day a legitimate reason to turn down a drink?" he asked, lifting his glass to his lips and glancing over at Draco.

"Since literally always," Draco said, smirking. "But fine, I'll indulge."

"Good answer," Theo said as he placed his glass back on the table and filled a second. "I have to admit," he began, handing the glass to Draco, "kind of surprised you agreed to come over." He paused, grabbing his glass and taking a sip. "I didn't really expect to see you out and about again anytime soon."

Draco took a sip from his glass and sighed. "Well, I was a bit of a dick at the banquet," he said, sitting in one of the leather chairs. "Should probably apologize."

"A bit of a dick?" Theo taunted, slumping into the chair next to Draco. "And probably apologize?" he asked, feigning confusion. "Did you really just come here to non-apologize to me?"

"I am sorry," Draco amended quickly, pausing to take another drink. "Being a loner for the better part of the last decade has really chipped away at my ability to handle myself in social situations."

"We can't all be perfect," Theo smirked as he folded one leg over the other, resting his ankle on top of his knee. "To be fair," he added, the hand holding his glass dangling over the side of the chair, "I didn't exactly make it easy on you. You know I can't resist a good goading."

"And I should have seen that coming from a mile away," Draco replied, a chuckle escaping from deep within his throat. "Other than whatever it is you're trying to do with your hair, which by the way, is horrid," Draco stopped, gesturing at the top of Theo's head with the outstretched finger of the hand holding his glass, "you haven't changed a bit."

"My hair is magnificent, and you know it." Theo paused, flipping his hair obnoxiously. "And in regards to my beguiling personality, what were you expecting?" he shrugged. "We can't all be everyone's favorite reformed bad boy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

"Maybe because you are," Theo offered, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Can't say I wouldn't trade all this–" he gestured to the room around him "–for even a fraction of respect you managed to collect for yourself in Wizarding society since you returned from whatever it was you were doing after the war."

"I didn't ask for anyone's respect," Draco said, his voice low. "I certainly haven't done anything to deserve it."

"Haven't you?" Theo asked, leaning forward in his chair. "You could have happily returned home, swimming around in your inheritance, and no one would have batted an eye, but you became an Auror instead, and from what I can tell, told your father to go fuck himself. I think that's pretty damn commendable."

"You make it sound as if my choices were equally tantalizing," Draco responded, running a hand through his hair. "I did a lot of fucked up shit after taking the mark, including, and this isn't even the worst of it, doing nothing while my now-girlfriend was tortured in front of me," he admitted sadly. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I simply went back to my old life."

Theo, seeing the pain in Draco's eyes, remained quiet, giving his friend a chance to talk through whatever was eating him up inside.

"I knew it was stupid to take the mark. I knew it wouldn't end well," Draco continued, "But I did it anyways, and it fucking broke me." He paused, taking another sip from his glass in an attempt to hide his discomfort. "I'll be paying for that mistake for the rest of my life," he finished sadly.

"It could have been me too," Theo said quietly. "Voldemort wanted me to take the mark before he got you."

"But you didn't," Draco affirmed. "You were smart enough to find a way out of it," he continued, staring at the remaining golden liquid as he tipped the glass slightly in his hand, "and I was dumb enough to think what I was doing was right."

"Voldemort was going to put that mark on you whether you wanted it or not," Theo replied, watching as Draco quickly – much too quickly – finished off his glass. "Your darling father made sure of that."

"Doesn't change what I did for that psychopath," Draco muttered angrily.

Theo stood up, grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey, and quickly refilled Draco's glass.

"Listen," Theo began, falling back into his chair and setting the open bottle on the table next to him, "I know you're damaged and all, but you're going to have to snap out of it." He stopped, taking a moment to consider what he wanted to say next. "You've done a lot of good for this world since the war. Maybe it's time to forgive yourself and move on."

"You sound like Potter," Draco groaned. "The two of you and your goddamn forgiveness speeches."

"First of all, how dare you?" Theo quipped, waving his hand holding his glass in the air. "Second of all, and I cannot fucking believe I'm saying this, if Saint Potter is telling you to move on, then you definitely should be moving the fuck on."

Draco threw his head back against the chair. "God, he would love you," he said after a moment.

"I am very lovable," Theo retorted, nodding his head slightly. "But me and Potter? Really?" he asked rhetorically, waving his glass in the air. "He's not really my type."

"I'm glad that's settled," Draco mumbled.

"I'd definitely take the man out for a drink though," Theo continued, ignoring Draco's comment. "Who knows, maybe I could convince him to leave his wife for me."

"For fuck's sake," Draco said, shaking his head until it fell into his hand. "What is wrong with you?"

"Hey, you started it," Theo replied simply, finishing his own drink. "And in case you haven't noticed," he paused, placing his empty glass on the table next to him. "Jokes are how I deal with this little shit-hole I call life."

"Maybe it's you we should be psychoanalyzing then," Draco proposed, lifting his head from his hands. "At least my brooding personality warns people that I'm damaged goods."

"Trust me," Theo said, his face suddenly serious. "You don't want to know what goes on inside my head."

"Theo," Draco started, setting his glass down. "I may not be the best person to tell you this considering I can't stop moping around about my own fucked up life, but this facade of yours is dangerous." He paused, half-expecting Theo to interrupt with another joke. "You'll end up like me if you don't talk about it."

Theo was quiet for a moment, his fingers tapping against the top of his knees. "Do you ever wish you could just go back in time and do things differently?" he asked suddenly, unable to meet Draco's eyes.

"You do know who you're talking to, right?" Draco began, looking over at his friend, surprised at his sudden openness. "And yes, all the goddamn time."

"I should have fought. I should have tried to kill him," Theo said quietly. "Fuck, I should have just done something. Anything."

"We all should have," Draco sighed, grimacing as images of the final battle flooded his mind. Most of their housemates had either, like him, ended up on the wrong side of the war, swayed by family traditions and ridiculous prejudices, or, like Theo, had chosen to do nothing at all despite knowing what was happening was wrong. It wasn't exactly a shining moment for any of them, and it certainly hadn't done them any favors in a post-war world. And in Theo's case, it appeared his decision to do nothing was still eating him up inside.

"Snape was a better Slytherin than all of us," Draco noted after a moment.

"Bloody bastard," Theo muttered, "deceived everyone until the bitter end."

Suddenly, Draco and Theo were laughing, releasing the pent up tension between them.

As Theo caught his breath, he poured himself another glass of firewhiskey. "To the sneakiest motherfucker to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts," he proclaimed, raising his glass in the air.

Draco grabbed his own glass and lifted it toward Theo's. "To Snape," he agreed.

In unison, the two men took a sip from the glasses, pausing to observe a moment of silence for their old Head of House.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here for you," Draco said, finally breaking the silence.

"Can't really blame you for that," Theo remarked. "I always understood why you left, even if I didn't like it."

"Still, I should have reached out when I got back," Draco admitted, leaning back in his chair. "You were my best friend. I shouldn't have let my inability to deal with my guilt get in the way of that."

Theo waved a hand in the air. "Ancient history," he said flippantly. "You're here now."

"I'm here now," Draco repeated, letting his head fall back against the chair.

He had been worried Theo would be hostile; after all, what kind of person would leave his oldest friend without saying goodbye and return without even a simple hello, but it appeared Theo had no issues with picking up where they had left off. Another thing I most definitely do not deserve, Draco thought as he sat there quietly pondering their friendship.

"So Granger, huh?" Theo prompted after a few moments, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "How, and I mean this in the most endearing way, the fuck did that happen?"

"Honestly?" Draco began, lifting his head to look at him. "I have no absolutely no idea. It seems I've deceived her into thinking I'm a decent bloke."

"You? Decent?" Theo said, cocking his head with amusement.

Draco smiled weakly. "That's exactly my point."

"Don't tell me you don't think you deserve her either?" Theo groaned, catching the slight grimace on Draco's face.

"I definitely don't," Draco asserted. "She's way too good for me."

"Well, you're definitely not wrong about that. She's as pure as they come, and you're… well, you're you," Theo said, grinning.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Draco retorted, pausing to push a strand of hair out of his eyes. "I've never been so afraid of fucking something up before," he confessed. "She's– she's incredible, and I'm– I really don't fucking deserve her."

Theo chuckled, but quickly quieted when he noticed the tormented look on Draco's face. "Oh shit, you're serious," he said, his eyes wide. "Well, call the papers: Draco Malfoy's in love." He paused, catching the twitch at the corner of Draco's mouth as he spoke. "And he hasn't even told her yet," he surmised.

"I haven't said the words out loud, no," Draco confirmed, nervously brushing his fingers through his hair, "but I'm running out of reasons not to tell her."

"Then what's the hold up?" Theo asked, genuinely curious. "Unless your guilt has also robbed you of your fondness for grand gestures, I assume you already have a whole thing planned for when you finally tell her."

"I'm just trying to give her time. Her last serious relationship was–" Draco stopped. While Hermione had been open with him about her relationship with Ron, it really wasn't his place to tell anyone else, and he needed to be careful what he said. "It wasn't great."

"What with the Weasel?" Theo guessed. "I'm not all that surprised there. He was always the dullest of the Gryffindor royalty."

"Dull doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of what's wrong with him," Draco muttered, barely loud enough for Theo to hear.

"Good to see your feelings for him haven't changed," Theo remarked happily. "I was afraid you'd gone totally soft."

Theo's comment shouldn't have bothered him, and on any other day, about any other person it wouldn't have, but the implication that he could possibly be friendly with the man who had hurt Hermione, who had taken advantage of her and nearly beaten her, made him sick to his stomach.

"The git abused her," Draco blurted out before he could stop himself, his fists balled in anger as Hermione's memories flashed through his mind.

Theo's mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before he spoke again. "Well, I definitely did not see that coming," he said finally. "I hope you punched him in the–"

"I shouldn't have told you that," Draco interrupted, quickly realizing what he'd done. "She doesn't want anyone to know."

Theo nodded slowly in understanding. "I won't say anything," he promised, "but Salazar, I never pegged Weasley as a violent kind of guy."

"He's an alcoholic," Draco supplied. "Not that it excuses his behavior, but at least it explains it." He paused, taking a deep breath and pushing the air quickly out of his lungs

"Does Pansy know?" Theo asked, his voice serious again.

"Probably not all of the details," Draco replied sighing, thinking back to what Hermione had told him after her talk with Ron, "but they met while they were both in some sort of rehab program. She's definitely smart enough to have pieced together most of the story on her own."

"Well," Theo began, pausing to rub his temples with his hand. "Fuck," he finished, unsure of what else to say.

Draco inhaled deeply. "That about sums it up," he agreed.

"So, you and Hermione are both a little damaged," Theo offered, attempting to lighten the mood. "Seems like a match made in heaven to me."

"What like you and Potter?" Draco retorted, happy for an opening to change the subject. Just thinking about what Ron did to Hermione made his blood boil, but talking about it, even with Theo, was enough to drive him mad. It was better that he nudge the conversation in a different direction, because if he let the rage simmer for long enough, he would undoubtedly end up doing something he'd later regret. And Theo would probably just cheer him on from the sidelines.

"Speaking of Potter," Theo said, unperturbed by Draco's eagerness to talk about something else, "is the Chosen One still hell bent on saving the world?"

"Something like that," Draco mumbled in response, swallowing the rest of his drink. "He's really not so bad," he added. "Definitely, no worse than you."

"So everyone keeps telling me," Theo said with a smirk. "Still can't believe you two are the best of friends now."

Draco laughed. "You and me both," he said. "If it weren't for Potter, I'd probably still be hiding away somewhere miserable or, worse, living here with you," he added, waving his empty glass in the air.

Truthfully, Draco owed a hell of a lot to Harry. He had dragged him out of hiding and given him a job that would have otherwise been unattainable for someone with his particular background. He had befriended him at a time when so many others were unwilling to do so. And, most importantly, he had brought Draco and Hermione together, albeit unknowingly, and for that alone Draco knew he'd never be able to repay him.

"Sounds like I could use a little Potter in my life," Theo quipped. "Think he still has it in him to turn around the fortunes of another big bad Slytherin?"

"You don't need Harry for that," Draco replied. "I promise you, if the world is willing to forgive the former Death Eater who tried to kill Dumbledore, they're more than capable of forgiving you."

"Well, short of becoming an Auror and risking my life to chase after idiotic wizards who want to become the next Voldemort, which by the way, I am abhorrently opposed to, I'm not entirely sure that's possible," Theo said. "But if you were to, I don't know, tell the Prophet how amazing I am–"

"Oh please." Draco interrupted before Theo could elaborate. "That's not how it works and you know it," he said, the buzz from the alcohol finally reaching his head.

"Says the man who's been busy charming the pants off of every reporter in Wizarding Britain the past few days," Theo countered before swallowing the last of his own drink.

Draco almost took the bait, almost, but swallowed his words and forced a laugh out instead.

He always was too damn perceptive.

"Ahh," Theo breathed, "I almost had you there."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco said, feigning confusion.

"Sure you don't," Theo responded, placing his empty glass on the table beside him. "Just because it's been ten years since we've spoken doesn't mean I don't know when you're trying to hide something."

"I'm not hiding anything," Draco lied, running his fingers along his chin. "Hermione and I are–"

"Clearly being forced to talk to the press," Theo inserted.

"Theo," Draco warned.

"Draco," Theo replied.

For fuck's sake, Draco thought, rolling his eyes.

"Fine," Theo yielded, realizing he had gleaned all of the information he was going to get out of Draco on the matter – at least for the moment. "You're still a horrible liar," he grumbled.

"Says absolutely no one," Draco rebutted.

"Keep telling yourself that, mate," Theo said, chuckling.

"Now this," Draco began, his finger pointing directly at Theo, "is exactly why people find you unpalatable."

"Are you telling me that I lack the proper social skills to function in society?" Theo asked, placing a hand over his heart.

"Among other things," Draco replied, smirking.

"Well then, I'm fucked," Theo announced, standing up from his chair. "I guess I'll have to find a way to seduce Potter after all."

Muttering a few words to make herself invisible, a woman, clothed in a dark brown, hooded robe, crept away from the large, dark house toward the edge of the large property. She moved quickly, her wand raised and her eyes darting around nervously as if she expected an attack at any second. When she reached the end of the drive, she ducked under a row of overgrown hedges and let out a sigh of relief.

"Don't tell me you've lost your taste for these sorts of things," came a voice from behind her.

The woman jumped, her foot snapping a small branch on the ground underneath her, but she released her spell when a familiar figure emerged from the shadows.

"It's been years since you've let me out of the house," she replied in jest, dropping the hood from her head. "Thought it was better to act with an overabundance of caution rather than to get caught and earn another few decades in isolation."

The man smiled. She had always been his favorite for a reason.

"Well," he said, tilting his head as he spoke, "discover anything useful?"

"They really are in love," the woman told him, rolling her eyes. "Oh, the misery."

The man chuckled. "I guess the papers do get it right every once in a while," he replied, twirling one of her dark curls around his finger. "Anything else?"

"The other one – the one with the glasses – he could be a problem," she added nervously.

"Unfortunate," the man said, moving his hand to his chin. "But not entirely surprising. He'll be dealt with like anyone else that gets in our way."

"He's the most famous wizard in Britain," the woman said, slightly puzzled by the man's response. "We'll draw far too much attention to ourselves if we go after him."

"No matter what we do, we'll be drawing attention to ourselves," the man replied sadly.

It was far too late for any kind of caution. What needed to be done would be done. And quickly.

"There has to be another way," the woman replied.

The man shook his head. "The time for under the radar has long since passed," he told her. "The child was well hidden," he continued, a touch of anger in his voice. "I didn't recognize what was happening until it was–" he stopped abruptly, catching himself before he revealed too much. There were some things that were far too important for anyone to know, even her. "I have been complacent for too long," he said finally.

"Let me handle it," the woman insisted, reaching out for his hand. "I'm already in place. It would be easy–"

The sound of a door closing rang out across the drive, and the woman quickly quieted as a tall, blond figure exited the house. They were far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear him if they whispered, but neither of the companions wanted to to risk it. Instead, still hidden behind the hedges, they silently watched as the man strolled down the drive past the home's wards and Disapparated away.

"No," the man said finally, turning back toward his companion. "The order's been given."

"Can we trust him?" the woman prompted. "The one you found to do the job?"

The man scoffed. "Trust him?" he began. "Don't be ridiculous – of course we can't trust him. His connection to blondie is more than problematic, but we can't afford to wait any longer. He's all we've got."

The woman bowed her head in understanding. She hadn't liked involving someone else in their plan – it had been just the two of them for as long as she could remember – but he had been adamant that they use someone else for the heavy lifting. At least initially.

"I can feel the megin failing," the man continued, turning back to look through the overgrown hedges. "If we don't do anything to stop the process, it will no longer be mine to control."

"How long?" the woman asked. "How long do you have?"

The man frowned. "A month or two before the effect on my magic is noticeable. A few more before the loss is completely irreversible," he replied, pausing to inhale deeply. "That is, if I'm not already too late."

"And if you are?"

The man was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning the sky as if he were looking for something, before replying. "I've survived this once before," he reminded his companion. "I did what was necessary then, and I will do what I have to now."

"But–"

"Even weakened, I'm still stronger than anyone we might face," the man said, interrupting.

"They're not just anyone," the woman said. "I've heard what they've done, what they can do. The dark wizard they defeated may have been an idiot, but they most certainly are not."

"Do you doubt me?" the man replied angrily, fighting to keep his voice low. "I know who they are. I know who they've fought."

The woman, realizing her mistake, quickly cast her eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"The megin is still mine to wield," the man continued, his eyes swirling with fury as he looked down at the woman. "And as long as it is, I am still more powerful than any of them."

The woman was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "What do you need me to do?"

"Reporters can be so meddlesome," the man said, not quite answering her question. He paused, pulling the hood back over the woman's head. "Let's not waste your bright and shiny new position," he clarified, swiping a thumb across her cheek. "If the other one fails, we're going to have to do this ourselves, and I'm going to need all the information you can get."

The woman nodded and turned to walk away.

"Oh, and Misty," the man called before she disappeared, "do try not to disappoint me. You know what happened to the last one that did."

The woman swallowed heavily. She didn't need a reminder; the image of what had befallen her predecessor was still engraved in her mind.

"I will get you the information you need," she croaked before hurrying away.

The man watched as his companion disappeared, sighing a breath of relief when he was finally alone. It had been nearly thirty years since his power had been threatened quite like this, and in those years, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have to fight to maintain control. But not anymore.

He moved his fingers in front of his face, flexing them to ease the near constant prickling he had first felt a few weeks ago. The sensation had been dull at first, enough for him to dismiss it as something other than what it really was, but there was no ignoring it now. His ancestors would have celebrated this moment; tradition would have required that they spend the days praising it and the nights drinking to it. But those old buffoons were all dead now, and for good reason.

It's mine.

Angrily, he closed his hand into a fist, his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand until he felt the hot beads of blood trickling down his hand. At some point, somehow, he had lost control, and since he had never been one for tradition, he was going to do whatever it took to get it back.

a/n: Still blown away that so many of you are enjoying this! After next week, I will likely need to slow down my postings to once a week (I know, I know), but I will not be abandoning this story.

The etymology of megin is a bit of a spoiler (although I can't keep any of you from googling it), but its definition is not.

megin ~ rare or supernatural strength, power, ability