AN: Thank you all for your patience. I'm sorry it took so long to crank this out. Special thanks to Guest and pgoodrichboggs for the reviews!

Chapter 9

The days following passed unremarkably enough. A morning routine established for both Theodore, and Draco each: Rising early, preparing and dressing themselves, and joining the Gresham family in the informal smaller dining hall. This was followed by a day worth of hard riding with Tyt'o and Hermione overseeing their growing skill on the back on their family's horses. Their fumbling uneasiness was giving way smoothly to confidence astride the back of a moving animal, which the Gresham siblings found pleasing. The evenings found them fatigued, and drooping as they washed, dressed and fell into their beds each night. Their bellies were sated with a meal, and muscles wailing silently as they closed their eyes.

That morning when Theodore and Draco joined the Gresham table for morning meal, there was a single additional chair that sat without an occupant at the table. Though they did not hesitate in settling themselves in to the table to the comfortable pick-and-choose style the Greshams had introduced them to, Draco glanced to the spare seat and then to Tyt'o, and Loren without commenting.

As the normal pace of their mornings came to a close, and no one had brought up the topic of the vacant chair. Loren Gresham

"Warlock Black arrived quite late last night," Loren advised to the four students. "I suspect he will be just a little later in rising after his long ride." Ursa nodded in agreement.

"Riding the lands to the mountains is a chore, certainly." She commented, and then after a thought, added. "Theodore, Draco; have you yet to write your families?" Ursa had carefully crafted the mention of 'family' as opposed to mentioning a specific maternal parent. Though not willing entirely to admit it aloud yet, she had begun to feel the stirrings of affection for young Theodore within her, and realized that the inquiry could be quite callous toward him.

The question took the two entirely off-guard. It hadn't been suggested, but the notion of passing letters home hadn't occurred to them either. Given that they were essentially bound to the House of Gresham until such a time they could leave. Presumably with the precious commodities they were here to conquer in tow. Neither of them spoke a moment, not having conferred with the other on the matter.

"No, my Lady," Draco offered. "We have not yet written to our families." Ursa smiled congenially to him and sipped delicately on a steaming brew in a thick clay-fired cup.

"As you await the days instruction after the rousing of Warlock Black, prithee, write to your families of your safety here at House Gresham and allay their concerns for your wellness." She gestured to her husband. "My Lord will see to it they be ridden by Eachan to the borders and sent by owl."

The two young men nodded their consent to Ursa. As they settled farther into their new pattern, Draco allowed his mind to travel back to the home he had traveled from to come to this foreign and rival House. Its cold and aristocratic interior was adorned with far more flourish and lush decorations than that of the Greshams; it showcased their wealth and status as a successful lineage and Lordly class. Here, however, in these Morvan Mountains, with this competing family, he noted no such finery nor frivolity. There was a simplicity to the decorative items he saw, and a far greater homeliness within the walls where they resided.

A pleasant laughter interrupted his train of thought as he broke from the dungeons of his mind, noting that the Gresham's continued to share in lively, friendly conversation. Though neither he, nor Theodore participated by adding any input to them, they were still present for the pleasantries being exchanged. Lady Gresham's beautiful face was alight as she listened, and engaged in commentary and conversation. Her lovely features were mirrored in her daughter, Hermione, whose animation was both alien and magnetizing to Draco at the same time.

Sampling his own drink politely, his light eyes darted from the daughter to her brother, comparing their features in turn. They were so closely matched in eye and skin, though in hair and build they were unique from the other. There were few Houses within The Unified that had a more than their sole heir, and thus very sparse comparisons that he could call upon. He had no siblings himself, though he wondered in that moment if there had ever been any consideration for more children.

Draco thought back to his mother, alone save but for their House elves and House staff. There was no one else that resided there with her to provide any sort of buffer between her and his father. Father, Draco winced. His sire's propensity for cruelty was well-known. From a young age, Draco had often heard, and witnessed on a few occasions, his mother returning to her rooms with silent tears leaking across her perfect pale cheeks. Her blond hair eschew and beautiful dresses rumpled or torn in places. He was always careful that he never alerted her that he saw her in such a state. The state of her disarray gave her great shame to be used in such a way. As he had grown towards manhood, and understood more of what happened behind the doors of a man and wife, he found a building confliction within him in his admirations for his father; while he was loyal to his House to the very core of his being, as well as his family, he found the perpetual misuse of his beautiful mother to be distasteful.

While his mother, a reserved and poised woman, was nothing like the Lady Gresham whom he observed quietly, she was still the only source of warmth that Draco had ever known.

Breaking from his thoughts of his home and family, he found it necessary to give a favorable expression to the table, and he smiled slightly.

By the closing of the meal, the newly arrived instructor had still not joined the gathering. It was still early morning and the chill of the night still hung in the air outside. Tyt'o looked to Loren as the participants began to transition to their next activities following their companionable morn meal. "Should we take Nott and Malfoy to the libraries while we are in wait of Warlock Black?" His mother chimed in, with a motherly, but musical tone.

"Given names, Tyt'o". Her tone was not to admonish, but to remind. He nodded to his mother in respect, but in his copper eyes, his sister noted his silent dissent. Ursa either chose to ignore this, or did not see it from where she sat.

"Draco and Theodore, then." He clarified.

"Could we perchance ride the lower reaches, father?" Hermione queried. Loren shook his head in the negative for his daughter and Hermione slumped in her chair slightly, disappointed. Loren fought a smile on his lips at his daughter's slight petulance at being denied. He knew she felt a pull within her where the very core of her magic emanated from, as all the Gresham's did, to follow the trails into the mountains in pursuit of their Dragons. It was a tug of war he had been playing with her since she was able to safely traverse the steps and walkways through the large House, and down to where the two Dragons would roost.

On more than one occasion, Loren and Ursa had woken to find their children's nursery devoid of one tiny little girl whom they had laid to sleep the night before. The first time it had happened, there was a widespread panic through the entire House, which resulted in a House-wide search which included every staff member and family member. Tyt'o, not knowing where his sister had gone, was bereft at her loss. Wailing and crying in Ursa's arms as she carried him through the keep and through the bailey outside.

It was a horse boy who had brought news of Hermione's whereabouts to her parents, and the relieved Loren and Ursa had fled in urgency to the lower buttresses of their fortress-like home to find that their two Dragons had come down from their mountain nests and taken roost there overnight. Their long bodies barely contained in the alcove entry to the lower catacombs along the side of the stone foundation. The sound of the Dragon pairs joined humming grew louder as they approached. Goldoduur had lifted his great golden head at the coming of his distressed rider, and revealed the form of Loren's young daughter lounged in contentment within his scaled claws.

Goldoduur had chuckled mightily and returned her to the arms of her father with no explanation. Truly there was no safer place than within the lair where the Dragons lay. Imri and Goldoduur had swaddled Hermione with their bodies and warmed their surroundings by stoking their breath without bringing fire. With murmured words of thanks and affection to their Dragons, Hermione had been woken and brought back within the Keep again.

It was often following that first episode that Hermione began tugging her brother Tyt'o along with her when she felt the unnamed urge within her tiny body to seek out the Dragons at night. Any morning that Loren and Ursa could not find their children, they immediately sought the sleeping refuge in which their Dragons had rested, and each morning they were plucked from the warm embrace of the scaled Dragons, the pair would snake their heads low to the ground where their riders reclaimed their children, and would hum deep within their throats to the young Gresham heirs.

The habit had continued well through their childhoods, though as they two advanced in maturity, both Loren and Ursa schooled them further in the lessons of decorum and propriety: Sneaking out of the castle Keep to lay and sleep with Dragons in the bowels of the castle foundation was not something that would be permissible as they grew older. Much to the disgruntlement of their two children.

When the Dragons had begun to prepare for their nesting, they had begun spending more and more time away from the valley where the Gresham House resided peacefully within the Morvan Mountains, as they flew progressively more and more, and hunted with greater veracity than they ever had. It had been many years since there had been a successful hatching, and the first for Goldoduur and Imri as a mated pair, that Loren had secluded himself away for several weeks as he poured over literature to guide him on the habits of a soon-to-mate pair of Dragons. It seemed that even he was without expertise in the matter, to some extent.

Not long following, the Dragons hid themselves away completely to prepare for their eggs. After so many years in close contact with them, The family had felt a profound emptiness where the presence of Dragons should have been.

For the first weeks, Hermione had found herself listless in her lessons, and despondent as she rode her horses. Tyt'o, trying to maintain the picture of stoicism as he approached his ascension into manhood, clothed his features in a mask of impassiveness. Though for all his newfound manliness, he struggled with maintaining his indifference. Behind closed doors guarded, be spelled with silence, he wept each night.

Hermione had joined him with her own sorrows, away from the disapproving opinions of their parents. Their childish rivalries and postulating pushed aside, they would embrace the other as they openly mourned at the loss they felt.

And though Tyt'o and Hermione would never know it, as their own bonds pulled at them desperately, the ones that resided within their mother and father pounded mercilessly within the tenements of Loren and Ursa. For nights that seemed without end, they clung to each other and wept as they grieved the separation from their longtime protectors.

Those months had been dark for the family members of Gresham House, ones that none of them wished to return to.

Loren smiled to his daughter, and shook his head negatively. As the last vestiges of summer approached, and the warmth of summer faded away to yield the harvests as they approached Mabon, the Dragons would become more ruthless and savage to encroachments into the mountains. It was no longer fully safe to travel on horseback past the lower reaches. And though Hermione sought permission for those lower lands, he knew that the call within her would lead her into the paths toward the upper mountains peaks. He would not risk the safety of any of the young ones in agreeing to any adventures such as that.

Hermione sighed, and Tyt'o nudged her encouragingly with a smile. Loren understood her disappointment, but pressed onward. "Perhaps we shall see how our guests fare in a few rounds of friendly dueling." He suggested. Hermione couldn't broker an argument on that one; dueling was an activity she knew she held more privilege in where female offspring were concerned. She gave her father an agreeable expression. "What say you, gentleman? Feel you prepared for a light bit of exertion this morning?"

Theodore beamed without considering a more veiled response. He loved dueling, and he nodded emphatically. From where she sat, Ursa smiled lightly at his enthusiasm. Like a young boy cutting his teeth over his first sweets. Draco thought to himself, purposefully holding back his own enthusiasm, giving as little as he needed to away. It had occurred to him, as he had played many of his interactions with the Greshams at later points his mind, that he needed to exert greater control over the omissions of curiosity, and any inklings he had that leaned him in the direction of any wonderment.

He was not here to wonder. He was here with a purpose. Separated from his lands, his home, his mother, and the life he had so carefully cultivated for himself; this was not a place where he was to make friends. His father's harsh frown lingered behind his eyes in his mind; his pale browns furrowed over his light eyes in displeasure and his aristocratic features bent inward in his intensity. Draco tried, for as long as he could remember in his life, to keep that expression from appearing upon his father's face. It filled him with dread. Draco was to succeed in this task, there was no room for failures.

His own mentally punctuated statements had caused his palms beneath the table to grow warm, and moisten somewhat with sweat. He quickly wiped them clean on the legs of his breeches, and decided then that, in amiability, he would continue to ingratiate himself to the Household and the family.

"I find dueling delightful, My Lord." He said, with such cordiality, that even Theodore turned to look at him. The smile he bore did not reach his eyes.

"Then it is settled," Loren stood from the table, and he extended his elbow out as he waited for his wife to lay claim to it with her hand. "My love, mind you to chaperon our children and wards?" Ursa smiled and nodded for her husband.

"Gladly, my Lord." Her eyes darted to their two charges, wishing she could bear additional witness to the silent exchange that was happening at her families table. Hermione and Tyt'o did not seem to have picked up on it, and Loren gave no indication he did either. As they approached the doorway she called back to them. "Prithee write swiftly to your Houses and join us in the bailey?"

Leaving them behind, Hermione trotted out of the hall herself, followed by Tyt'o. His longer legs worked less arduously in traversing the distance, while hers moved swiftly to maintain her pace. She practically skipped as they walked together, and Tyt'o laughed at his slightly-younger sister.

"Calm thyself, little wren." He admonished, and she swatted at his firm upper arm and scoffed.

"Calm, TYSELF, you somber and misfortunate knave!" She shot back and kept up her reverie.

"KNAVE?!" A look of incredulity marring his well-balanced facial features. "Why you miniature tyrant!" He grabbed at her side covered by her heavy woven vest, and she shrieked as she tried to dart away. Her brother held her wrist as they maintained their break-neck pace and she tried to elbow him back.

"Unhand me, you fiend!" she belted out with a laugh, and her brother joined her. The two had completely forgotten themselves in their familiar play, unaware that they had been followed out by their guests. Both Theodore and Draco, for their distance behind, could hear them perfectly.

"Oh, how I do beg my sisters pardon," Tyt'o mocked as he continued on, Hermione shoving him from behind now, trying to distance herself from the fingertips he had kept pinching her sides with. "Though I do believe that you behave in a manner quite unfitting for a lady of the House." Hermione managed to scoff and snort right at the same time.

"You take that nonsense about being a Lady and shove it straight up your proprietary arse, you ludicrous giant!" and she shoved again, with force. Hermione hated it when her brother mocked her unwillingness to act lady-like. She was fully educated with the tutelage afforded for a young woman of a House of good standing. She simply bucked the requirement to behave or dress as one whenever possible.

From behind the already-dueling duo, their guests had paused at the grand stairs to watch them continue their haranguing of the other before they returned to their rooms to produce the requested letters to their family.

Mildly appalled at the lack of manners the two displayed, Draco and Theodore watched as the bodies and voices of the Gresham pair faded further and further away.

"Oaf-"

"Diminutive bully."

"Noxious cox-comb!"

"Only you would turn an insult into advanced vocabulary lesson, oh height-impaired lady-fair!"

"How dare you call me a lady, you smug clown!"

"Oh, so I'm a clown now? Graduated from 'oaf', have I?"

"You are a nincompoop, is what you are."

"I thought that you cared so for my person, dear sister. Your words cut me to the bone. Do you see? I bleed. I bleed all over my finery with your words of admonishment. They are knives that cut me."

"Oh, great Gods above and below, my presence is beset with this bumbling fucking ox."

"Such language! From a lady no less! Whatever would our mother say to your lack of couth, I wonder?!" The tone of mock drama was laid on rather thick, and the corner of Draco's mouth fought against his control to turn up at their corners in hearing Hermione's obvious frustration with having been unable to ruffle her brothers' feathers in their verbal spar as it had devolved into little more than childish name-calling.

Draco and Theodore said nothing as the final noises finally faded, and they looked at each other. "Funny how they speak so brashly when they think they're alone." Theodore commented. Draco huffed theatrically and turned up his nose.

"That is a pair of course and graceless barbarians, by definition." At that statement the blond headed up to his rooms, and as he'd turned away, the smile he'd fought back crept up at the corners of his mouth as Draco replayed the tones of Hermione's voice in his mind.

…..

Dear Father,

Theodore read back the script on the parchment and contemplated his salutation. His dark hair was in his eyes again, and he swept it away with the hand he held his quill in. The ink dripped once on the parchment and Theodore sighed, ripping the blemished section off cleanly. He dipped his quill again and comported himself once more to write to his father. My Lord Father, Theodore wrote out.

He paused again considering that there was a likelihood that the letter would be read before sending, and he sighed. The idea of telling his father about horseback riding lessons seemed so plebian, he wasn't sure it was something he ought to write.

He tried to steel his focus more keenly, and began again. The Lady Ursa Gresham has bade me write you to inform you of my intact arrival to the House of Gresham. He sighed and set his chin on his left fist as he continued.

Young Malfoy and I have been afforded the comforts and privileges of young lords of House, as is fitting for a guest. We have begun our lessons with the heirs of House Gresham, and are eager to add further knowledge and experiences to our education.

Theodore hesitated over his last sentence. Was it wise to mention the Gresham children to his father? He remembered the conversation he'd had with his father shortly before his departure, where he'd been cautioned to monitor Lady Ursa, and any interest she'd displayed in him. In retrospect, he thought that her interest seemed particularly warm, but casual. As though there weren't any ulterior motive at all, more of a friendly interest. He felt torn as to what he could write and give away versus what he should allude to.

I hope this letter finds you in good health and cheer, and I shall write again before Samhain. Your son, Theodore.

Theodore signed his letter and mulled his closure over in his mind. 'Your son', he reminded himself. Not, 'with love', 'affectionately', 'warmly', even, he mused. The dark haired young man felt something in his chest pull towards the base of his throat and his eyes grew damper for a brief moment. He drew in a sharp breath and straightened his back, pushing back the unwelcome emotion that had dared to enter his heart. He considered at least that Draco would have signed the very same lack of sentiment to his own father. Draco offered no evidence, but Theodore assumed that he had been raised the exact same as he had; completely lacking in any real relationship with his father.

But he'd had a mother, at least. Theodore was unashamed in his own mind, playing scenes of Draco as a child being held in warm arms when he woke to nightmares late at night, or fell while climbing and had skinned his knees. His own comforts had been far more limited to the presences of hired help, none of which had been of a heart to show the young Nott heir any sort of affection. The memories left him with an emptiness inside that felt like his stomach was dying. Cramping up, and contracting his throat until he felt like he couldn't breathe until rivulets of water fell from his eyes.

He was losing control. Theodore wiped at his face hurriedly, and scoffed at his foolishness. Jealous over Draco Malfoy and his gods-damned frail mother. If his father saw him now… He grit his teeth and felt a surge of unbridled rage tear through him. Theodore swung his arm over the expanse of writing surface, his paper and ink flying across the room.

His breaths came quickly as he watched the Ink splatters across the wooden floors. "Fuck." He said simply. "FUCK." He looked at the mess he'd wrought in his impertinence, and lack of control on his emotions. His jealousy over something so petty, and stupid. Theodore shook his head at himself.

"Brilliant move, you fool." He admonished himself. He bent to pick up the letter to his father; mostly unstained with the ink he'd flung in his tantrum. It didn't matter the condition of the letter, he imagined. His father didn't care that he was here, that he was away from his own House, in the care of enemies to his father's allegiances. Thoros Nott had sent him here because he was a tool. A means for power, and nothing more.

It filled him with more than rage. It filled him with something that burned him from within. Something with no name, and no description, but he could feel it roil within him.

He rolled up the paper, and composed his person as best he could before he left his bedroom. He took deep breaths to stabilize himself as he stepped out into the passageway where Draco sat, blond hair falling over his own eyes, and letter in his pale fingers. He settled his face into an impassive mask to address his companion as they left to find the Greshams once again.