Chapter 18

August 1, 1995

Nott Manor

Lying on his bed in his darkened room with the window coverings pulled tight so that the daylight couldn't breach them, Theo felt like he was being swallowed by the darkness.

Theodore Nott knew that his childhood home was something out of a nightmare. The gothic structure would have been perfect for the setting of one of the novels that he liked to read. Living in such a place was another matter. The house was full of cursed objects and warded rooms that were deadly to anyone not bearing Nott blood and littered with booby traps that contained rather nasty and sometimes potentially lethal jinxes.

He would love to set fiendfyre loose inside of it and watch the blackened stone and dark artefacts burn to ash in one final act of contrition for his sin of being born into such a family.

The house was silent now and had been ever since that fateful day that his father had slain his mother. Her bloodsoaked dress still haunted his memory. The total disregard in which his father had slit her throat still haunted him.

He knew that he hadn't been meant to see that. Thoros had been displeased with his bookish heir and wanted to sire another to replace him - which Theo knew meant to kill him after another son was born. Upon hearing that, Theo's mother forbade her husband access to her bed. Needless to say, Thoros didn't take that well. His mother's cold blooded murder, his father's lack of care about people knowing surprised Theo not in the least, but the fact that his father hadn't immediately rushed out and gotten a new young Pureblood bride was a bit of a shock. Theo knew he was in talks with multiple families, but that they all wanted their daughters to finish Hogwarts first.

Theo heard a lot of "In my day, if a Pureblood girl got a good marriage offer right out of school, she came to the marriage bed. I'm Lord Nott, not some stripling." Theo had never been so grateful for changing social values. He also hoped that he would never have to call Pansy or Daphne mum. He didn't think that he could force the word past his tongue and that would be assured to cause one of his frequent beatings.

Theo's chest and back were covered in scars from his father's hand and whips. He was a disappointing heir. Too bookish, not inclined to the Dark Arts, never violent, always calm. It infuriated his father to no end.

So today, on the anniversary of Theo's birth, Lord Nott was nowhere to be found. It was the best birthday gift that Theo could have hoped for, honestly. Theo had spent the morning reading his secreted muggle books. He was reading his favourite Sherlock Holmes book, The Hound of the Baskervilles, for the hundredth time when Pippa, his house elf, appeared with a crack.

"Happy birthday, Master Theo, you is having a guest." The little elf was filthy and wearing a threadbare pillowcase and Theo hated it. He wished he could free her, the scars on his body were reflected on hers as well. Nothing escaped Thoros Nott unscathed.

"Who is it?" Theo asked, tucking his book under his pillow carefully as the edition was nearly one hundred years old.

"Master Draco, sir."

"Ah, that's fine then. I'll go to the sitting room, bring him up, and then go make us some refreshments, please."

Theo threw on a jumper, but otherwise was not dressed as would befit a wizard of his station according to his father. Theo would like to incinerate his father with fiendfyre every bit as much as the Manor itself.

Theo ventured to his personal sitting room, which was all black and grey like every room in the Manor, but he had charmed the couch and settee a deep Slytherin green so his father couldn't have cause to complain. House pride and all that.

Draco entered, floating a tray with a small chocolate cake next to him that he placed on the small table in front of the settee and smiled broadly at his soulmate and closest friend.

"Draco, you didn't have to do that!"

"Theo, my elves baked it for you, I literally just levitated the tray. It's nothing big, I know how you hate it when your birthday is made to be something big."

Theo actually did not hate it at all, he secretly wanted a huge party like Draco had often had had when they were younger, with everyone of their acquaintance in attendance, piles of gifts, and a huge cake, but that didn't seem to be in the cards for Theodore Nott especially with a father like Thoros. He'd probably Avada the party entertainment before the cake cutting.

Instead of sharing his secret longing and envy, Theo simply smiled. "How well you know me," he laughed.

Pippa appeared with tea and additional treats and cut the cake for the boys in delight.

"Oh a cake! A cake for Master Theo! Such a lovely cake!"

"Pippa, you may have a piece if you like, but I would like some time alone with Draco for my birthday." Pippa nodded and scooped up a small piece, shoved the entire thing in her mouth, and apparated away.

"How is your day going, really?" Draco asked.

"I read one of my favourite books and sipped tea in bed, and now one of the two pieces of my soul is here," Theo replied.

"But?"

"I miss Hermione. I wish she could be here too, although there are probably some anti-Muggleborn wards that would incinerate her on the front step." Theo tried to laugh as though he was kidding, but Draco reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Don't," Draco whispered, "Everything doesn't have to be a joke. This is awful. The whole bloody thing. I miss her too. Summer is going to be a thousand years long before we can see her again."

"I sent her a note last week after my father left to do whatever nefarious deeds he's been up to lately. It was a challenge to do it without any of the elves seeing. They'd have to tell him if he asked and he's only going to believe I am owling you so often before he gets suspicious."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I missed her, that I hoped she was well. That I was rereading my collection of Sherlock Holmes again and shared some of my favourite quotes and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle facts. I asked that she write down a list of any stories that she enjoyed over the summer, so that we could discuss them when we saw each other again. I wish that she could write back to us and that I wasn't just sending a message out into the ether and hoping that she receives it." Theo sighed, dramatically.

"I sent her an owl as well. I pressed one of the roses from my mother's garden between the pages and copied her some French poetry."

"Only poetry?" Theo raised an eyebrow.

"I may have added a line or two about the honey colour of her eyes and the impossible softness of her curls and how I dream of kissing her again."

"You are such a romantic, Draco Malfoy," Theo laughed, "Why don't I ever get French poetry about the softness of my curls?"

"I could compose something about your eyes being blue like the sea and your curls being destined to be tangled in my fingers, if you like?"

"It is my birthday after all and isn't the birthday boy owed gifts?"

"A gift is something that I do have, aside from the possibility of bad French poetry dripping from my tongue." Draco revealed a small black box.

Theo opened it and found silver and carved crystal cufflinks. The sparkling green crystals set into each end had been carved into tiny snakes swallowing their tails. Theo looked up at Draco and then down at the cufflinks again and then up at Draco.

"Jewellery?" Theo exhaled, raggedly. His face was warm, his palms clammy.

"Are we not serious enough about each other to warrant it?" Draco raised an eyebrow at his erstwhile boyfriend.

"Yeah, yeah, we are. It's just…,"Theo trailed off, "a surprise. I can't wear these in front of my father."

"Then don't. Save them for the next formal ball at school or even when we are grown men who don't have to answer to them anymore. Wear them the day we marry Hermione. Or just keep them in your pocket and touch them while you think of me. Whatever you fancy, Theo."

Clenching the small box in his fist, Theo leaned forward and kissed Draco. Their lips parted, their breaths mingling. The boys' fingers laced into each other's hair.

Their kisses distracted them from their worries about Hermione.

Is she alright? Is she happy? Has she forgotten all about them?

Being unable to have back and forth communication was a huge vexation to both of the young wizards. Their kisses were desperate and sloppy. Chasing the pleasure that they could find together: lips, tongues, and lightly nipping teeth.

The small chocolate cake sat forgotten on the table.

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