Risk & Reward - Theo's POV
Theo glanced back at Muriel's cluttered sitting room, the disarray of the Order's hastily gathered forces filtering through the narrow hallways. Everyone was still reeling, barely holding it together in the wake of the devastating losses, after the death of Ron, Neville and Hannah, every small loss seemed to be that much closer to breaking the lot of them. He could hear snippets of whispered conversations—Fred and George murmuring softly to Molly, Tonks and Lupin standing protectively by the door, faces pale and drawn. It was chaos, but there was no time for mourning or hesitating. They were out of time, out of options.
If there was ever a moment to make his move, it was now.
Without a word, Theo slipped quietly out the back, careful to avoid the watchful eyes of Kingsley and Bill, who were stationed near the entrance. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, took a deep breath, and Disapparated, feeling the familiar, suffocating squeeze of apparition before he landed soundlessly in a secluded alley in Diagon Alley.
His first stop was Blaise.
Blaise Zabini's flat was as immaculate as ever, a sharp contrast to the man himself. Blaise reclined lazily on a plush leather couch, his dark eyes cool and calculating as he took in Theo's presence. There was no sign of surprise—Blaise never showed his hand that easily—but his eyebrows lifted a fraction when Theo stepped into the room.
"Well, well," Blaise drawled, setting down his wine glass with a soft clink. "If it isn't the ever-elusive Theodore Nott. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Theo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Blaise's nonchalance was a carefully crafted façade, but Theo knew him well enough to see the keen interest simmering beneath it. This was a man who weighed his choices meticulously, who would sell out his own mother if the price was right—or keep your secrets forever, if the gain was greater. It made him dangerous. It also made him the perfect ally.
"Information," Theo said quietly, stepping further into the room. "And an opportunity."
Blaise's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Go on."
"We both know where this war is heading," Theo began, his voice steady. "Voldemort is tightening his grip. The Order is barely hanging on. But there's a way to turn the tide. I'm putting together a network—a group of us, on the inside, who can feed information to the Order. Tip the scales in our favor."
Blaise regarded him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You want me to play double agent," he murmured. "Risk my neck for Potter and his band of merry rebels."
"Yes," Theo said simply. "But it's more than that. This is about survival, Blaise. If Voldemort wins, there won't be any room for people like us. People who question. People who aren't fanatically loyal." He paused, letting the words sink in. "But if the Order wins, and we're the ones who help them—if we're the ones who tip the balance—it's a whole new world. One where we're not just surviving. One where we're thriving."
Blaise's eyes flickered, something shifting in his gaze. He sat back slowly, his lips curving into a thoughtful smile.
"Ambitious," he murmured. "I like it. But you know me, Theo. I don't pick sides unless there's something in it for me."
"There is," Theo said firmly. "If we pull this off, you'll have leverage with both sides. You'll have your pick of positions—power, influence. Whatever you want."
Blaise considered this for a long, tense moment. Then he shrugged, a slow, languid movement.
"I'm in," he said softly. "But if I get so much as a whiff of trouble, I'm out. Understand?"
Theo nodded, relief flooding through him. One down.
"Understood," he murmured. "Now, there's more work to do. Are you coming?"
Blaise arched an eyebrow, but a faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Lead the way, Nott."
Draco Malfoy's manor was cold and unwelcoming, its grandeur marred by an air of lingering dread. Theo found him in the library, pacing restlessly, his face pale and drawn. Draco turned sharply at the sound of Theo's arrival, his wand half-raised before recognition flickered in his eyes.
"Theo?" he breathed, lowering his wand. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Theo shot back. "I heard you'd been trying to keep your head down. Nice to see you've succeeded."
Draco scowled, but there was no real heat behind it. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed and wary.
"What do you want?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It's not safe here, Theo. If—if he finds out—"
"That's why I'm here," Theo interrupted quietly. "I'm putting together a team. People who can work from the inside. Tip the balance in our favor."
Draco stared at him, his expression a mix of disbelief and something else—something desperate.
"You want me to spy for the Order?" he hissed. "Are you mad?"
"Maybe," Theo said softly. "But this is our chance, Draco. Our only chance. If Voldemort wins, you know what happens. He'll destroy everything. But if the Order wins, and we're the ones who help them—"
Draco's jaw clenched. He turned away, his shoulders stiff, hands trembling slightly.
"I—I can't," he whispered. "I—what if—"
"It's Hermione, isn't it?" Theo murmured, his gaze softening. Draco froze, his breath hitching.
Draco's head jerked up, his eyes wide with shock and fear. "Don't—don't you dare—"
"I'm not judging you, Malfoy," Theo said quietly. "But you know as well as I do that she's not safe. Not if Voldemort wins. Not ever. If you want to keep her alive, if you want to protect her, this is the only way."
Draco's face crumpled, the mask of arrogance and cold detachment shattering in an instant. For a moment, he looked utterly lost.
"Do you really think… this could work?" he whispered.
"I do," Theo said softly. "But I need your help. I need you, Draco."
There was a long, agonizing pause. Then, slowly, Draco nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Alright," he whispered. "I'm in."
The Greengrass sisters were more difficult to convince. Astoria's face remained impassive as Theo laid out his plan, her icy blue eyes narrowing slightly. Daphne, on the other hand, looked intrigued, her lips curving into a thoughtful smile.
"You want us to flirt our way into the Death Eaters' secrets," Daphne murmured, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. "How… droll."
"I want you to do whatever it takes," Theo corrected. "You're well-connected. People trust you. If anyone can get information out of them, it's you."
Astoria's gaze sharpened. "And what do we get in return?"
"Protection," Theo said simply. "If the Order wins, you'll be safe. You'll have influence. And you won't have to live in fear."
Daphne exchanged a long look with her sister. Then she turned back to Theo, her smile widening.
"All right, darling," she purred. "You've got yourself a deal."
Pansy Parkinson was the last. She looked up sharply when Theo entered her flat, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Parkinson," he greeted her, keeping his voice low. "I need a favor."
Her eyes flickered. Then, slowly, she arched an eyebrow.
"What kind of favor?" she murmured.
"The kind that involves risking everything," Theo said softly. "But if we pull it off… you'll be a hero. You'll be safe."
There was a long silence. Then Pansy smiled—a small, bitter smile.
"Fine," she whispered. "But if you get me killed, I'm haunting you, Nott."
By the time Theo returned to Muriel's house, the sky was tinged with the first light of dawn. He stepped inside quietly, his heart pounding.
They had a chance now.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
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1 Month Later:
Theo paced back and forth in the cramped, dusty confines of his temporary bedroom at Muriel's house. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, his head pounding with the weight of everything that had happened over the last few weeks. The Order was still trying to regroup, after taking time to mourn the losses of their loved ones and slowly attempting to guess locations to provide relief there had been very little good that had come. There had been no time to truly mourn; every second felt like it was a small funeral. The order was barely keeping balance, and it was now on Theo and his contacts to start tipping the balances in their favor.
But there was something else nagging at Theo—something that kept him on edge even now.
Messages.
it had been a few weeks since his meetings with all of them to discuss them aiding the Order before he had started receiving the notes. Short, terse letters in varying styles, all written in code. Blaise's was elegant and cursive, a little flourish at the end of each line. Pansy's was sharp and slanted, words crammed together in a tight, almost angry scrawl. The Greengrass sisters, in contrast, wrote in neat, pristine script, every letter meticulously shaped as if it were part of a business contract.
And Draco…
Draco's messages were formal, almost stiff, but something about the way he phrased certain things made Theo wonder if his old friend was trying to communicate more than just logistics. There was a tension there, a kind of urgency that had nothing to do with the tactical details he was providing.
Theo sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, staring down at the latest batch of missives spread across the small, rickety table in front of him. Each letter was marked with a different codeword that identified the sender, each one listing places, times, targets.
Raids.
Village attacks.
Death Eater gatherings.
It was all there, laid out in black ink on parchment—the kind of information the Order desperately needed if they wanted to stay one step ahead of Voldemort. But it was also overwhelming. There were too many places, too many targets. Even with the Auror teams, the DA students, and the scattered Order members they had left, there was no way they could cover everything. If they tried, they'd be stretched too thin. If they missed something…
Theo exhaled slowly, pushing down the rising tide of anxiety. They had to be smart about this. Strategic.
Which meant someone needed to coordinate all this information. Someone who knew how to analyze patterns, who understood the Death Eater's methods and could anticipate their next moves. Someone… meticulous.
His gaze drifted to the door, where Hermione had disappeared earlier that morning after another long, tense meeting with Kingsley and McGonagall. She had been a wreck since Ron's death, barely eating or sleeping, throwing herself into every task with a kind of desperate intensity that made Theo's chest tighten uncomfortably whenever he looked at her.
She was grieving, but she was also determined. Focused. More than anyone else here, she was the one person he trusted to make sense of this tangled mess of information.
And maybe… maybe she needed something like this to keep her from falling apart completely.
Decision made, Theo scooped up the stack of letters and headed for the small, makeshift library Muriel had grudgingly allowed them to set up in one of the lesser-used sitting rooms.
Hermione was there, hunched over a pile of books, her hair a wild, untamed mess around her face. She looked up sharply when he entered, her eyes shadowed but alert.
"Theo?" she murmured, blinking in surprise. "What is it?"
"I need you to look at these," he said without preamble, dropping the stack of letters in front of her. "It's… information. From our contacts."
Hermione's brow furrowed as she glanced down at the letters, her gaze flicking over the different scripts and codes. Slowly, she picked up one of the sheets and scanned it, her expression tightening.
"These are… locations?" she whispered, a hint of disbelief in her voice. "Death Eater targets?"
"Exactly," Theo confirmed quietly. "But there's more coming in every day. I can barely keep track of it all, let alone decide where to send people. I need your help, Hermione."
Hermione swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the letter. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and haunted.
biting her lip, staring down at the stack of letters as if they were some kind of dangerous creature that might bite her. she, slowly nodded, a spark of determination flaring in her eyes.
"All right," she murmured. "I'll do it."
"Good," Theo said softly, relief washing through him. He hesitated, then reached out and placed a small, folded letter on top of the pile. "There's one more thing."
Hermione blinked, glancing at the folded parchment. "What's this?"
"It's… from Draco," Theo said carefully, watching her reaction. Her eyes widened, a flicker of something complicated passing over her face. "I think it would be best if you handled him directly."
"Draco?" she whispered, her voice tight. "Why?"
"He likes you," Theo said bluntly, ignoring the way Hermione's face flushed a deep, mortified red. "And you know it. It's the best leverage we have right now. If anyone can keep him talking, keep him engaged, it's you."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but then she stopped, her gaze dropping back to the letter. Slowly, she reached out and picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly.
"He… he mentioned the village attacks, didn't he?" she murmured softly. "He… wants to help."
"Yes," Theo confirmed, his voice low. "And we need him. But we need to be careful, Hermione. You have to keep him on our side, without letting him get too close. Can you do that?"
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Then she nodded, her jaw set.
"I can," she whispered fiercely. "For Ron. For all of them."
Theo exhaled slowly, relief and something else—something bittersweet—curling in his chest.
"Good," he murmured. "Then let's get to work."
Over the next few days, the letters started pouring in faster than ever. Hermione took control, sorting through each one with ruthless efficiency, her quill flying across sheets of parchment as she scribbled notes, connected dots, and marked potential targets on a large, tattered map pinned to the wall.
It was grueling work, but she threw herself into it with a kind of grim determination that made Theo's heart ache. He watched her closely, noting the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She barely slept, barely ate, consumed by the need to make sense of the chaos around them.
But she was good.
Better than good.
Within a week, she had identified several key patterns in the Death Eaters' movements, pinpointing locations that were likely to be targeted next. It was thanks to her that they managed to intercept a raid on a small Muggle village outside of York, saving dozens of lives.
And Draco…
Draco's letters were becoming more frequent, more detailed. Hermione corresponded with him personally, her replies carefully worded, her tone just warm enough to keep him engaged. Theo watched, a strange, uneasy feeling settling in his chest as he saw the way Hermione's gaze lingered on Draco's letters, the way her hands trembled ever so slightly when she opened them.
It was working.
But Theo couldn't shake the nagging sense that they were playing with fire.
And he had a feeling that, sooner or later, someone was going to get burned.