The little creek in the painting across the room murmurs under the shade of the watercolor trees. Theodore's sandy brown hair blocks a bit of the image from Draco's sight, but he can make out enough of the trees' green canopy to know that the scene captured within is of summer. The murmur of its water accompanies the stuffy breathes coming from the head resting against Draco's shoulder.
It took a while for the other boy's sobs to weaken to soft sniffles, but Draco's hug seems to have done what it's supposed to do. Theodore Nott has finally stopped crying.
Now, the boys sit side by side on the bed, Theo's weight leaning into Draco's side. The subdued sounds lay softly upon the room as Draco stays very, very quiet. His chest feels oddly hollow, like all the words he was going to say when he first entered the room have been drained out of him. Something should be said. As a proper guest, Draco should be ready with conversation at any moment. But nothing comes to mind while Theodore's head rests heavily on his shoulder.
Maybe, it's better not to speak after all, especially since the last time Draco did, Theodore had broken into tears.
Two clacks down the hall jerk Draco's attention up. The third clack snapping into familiarity as the silver-headed cane strikes down upon the floor again. Father comes charging past the same portraits that Draco did. His scowl easy to see even from the great distance between them. Most times, Draco would be cringing back. It never goes well when Father has that look on his face. Instead, relief rushes out in a gasp at the sight of the woman by Father's side.
"Mother!"
Theodore flinches at the noise, his blue eyes meeting Draco's, who realizes his mistake too late to do anything but stare in startled horror. Theodore had calmed down enough that he might have drifted off into a doze if Draco hadn't spoken. Now, Theodore stiffens against Draco's side when he looks to the open door.
The other boy shrinks. A half-whimper threading out of Theodore's mouth causes Draco to look once more at his parents and the old man who trails along his father's other side. Mother's frown of concern is the least scary sight in the entire world, so it must be the glinting grey eyes and tight scowl of Father that's terrified Theodore so much.
"It's fine," Draco says, with only a small wobble at the end, "Father's mad at me, not you. I was supposed to stay downstairs."
As if in response comes Father's hiss of "Draco Abraxas Malfoy, just what do you think you're doing?"
Father's white-blond hair gleams as harshly as his eyes as he comes to a stop just past the door. Mother quickly steps beside him, her gaze briefly on her husband before turning to Draco.
"Lucius, wait." Her clear voice is calm in contrast to Father's.
The old man, Mr. Nott, hesitates at the door. His hand rests upon the handle as he scrutinizes the brass knob. He glances at Draco only for the sea-green of his eyes to flicker back down to the doorknob.
Theodore's silent and rigid against him.
Father looks about ready to drag Draco away just like the very few other times that he's disobeyed his parents at a social gathering, but Mother moves forward, leaning down to the height of the boys before smiling softly at the two of them.
"Hello Theo, is Draco keeping you company?" Her warm voice relaxes the stiffness in Draco's shoulders. Except, Theodore's still rigid against him. Theo even ignores Mother, staring right past her shoulder and at old Mr. Nott who ignores him in turn. Instead, the old man looks directly at Draco again with a quirk of white-streaked eyebrows.
Mother's smile fades as she follows Theodore's gaze over her shoulder. Even Father turns to look at Mr. Nott, his scowl waning as he stares at the older wizard.
The quiet gurgle of the stream crawls through the room.
"Impressive," Mr. Nott says in a gravelly voice as he glances once again at the door, "it would have taken at least an Alohomora to bypass that lock."
"Pardon?" Father says in confusion.
Draco swallows, pinpricks crawling along his back because now his parents are going to figure out that he broke into Theodore's bedroom.
"The locking charm," Mr. Nott continues, "the one on this door wasn't that sophisticated, admittedly; but, it would have taken a decent spell to undo it." Mr. Nott smiles, a soft upturn that's barely visible on his lips. "Well, it'd be more accurate to say that this charm was shredded. Your boy has quite a bit of magic to him, doesn't he?"
Mother straightens, turning to face Mr. Nott completely. She almost blocks the old man entirely from view when she settles into place. But Draco can't lean around her to see better without Theo's weight unbalancing him.
"Yes, he does." Mother says in that curtailed politeness she greets strangers with and not family friends like the Notts.
The scowl on Father's face deepens again. "Shredded…my apologizes for the boy. He knows better than to trapeze around someone's home, destroying important spellwork."
Draco expects Father's gaze to cut to him like it always does when he's being indirectly scolded. But it stays solely on Mr. Nott instead.
"Oh, no, I'm not upset that he did. Honestly, it seems that his presence helped my dear Theo recover better than some privacy has." Mr. Nott gestures somewhere, but Draco can't quite catch just to where past the black cloth of his mother's arm.
"I just meant to note how impressive his 'accidental' magic was; although, I'm certain you fully intended to break that lock, didn't you, young man?" The one visible sea-green eye of Mr. Nott's meets Draco's gaze past Mother.
"Um, yes sir." Draco admits slowly. Maybe if Mr. Nott's pleased, then Father's anger will wane just a bit. "I just thought that Theo should have some company." Draco stops just barely from saying for what. The less he reminds Theo why he needs company, the less likely the other boy is to break down again.
The old man's smile fades at that, like Draco said something wrong when he was just agreeing with what Mr. Nott said earlier. He even looks away from Draco, the color of that sea-green eye dulling as Mr. Nott focuses on his son.
"Ah, yes, it's probably best for you not to be alone now, isn't it." Mr. Nott says too flatly for it to sound like a question.
Theodore doesn't say anything, just sits there tightly pressed into Draco's side. His eyes, a sharp blue, are wide as his trembles travel through Draco's trapped arm.
There's something wrong. The pressure in Draco's ears builds as Theodore's magic quivers through the air. Neither Mother or Father seems to sense it, nor do they see the ripples that wrinkle into existence at the edges of Draco's vision. But Mr. Nott steps back. The dullness of his eyes alighting with a flash of panic before sinking back into a blank sea-green.
The old man has backed clear out of the room before he speaks. "Lucius, would you mind finishing our discussions from earlier? The children seem to be getting along well despite your concerns."
Father doesn't respond until after he's glanced towards Mother, some undercurrent passing between their gazes.
"Of course, Cantankerus." Father follows Mr. Nott, who's turns in one smooth motion, out of the room. The door, untouched by either of wizard, closes after them.
Mother stands still for one single moment before she turns back to Draco and Theodore. Just like before she leans down to their height, but this time the smile fails to emerge.
"Theodore, are you alright?" Mother asks, her eyes softening from the sharp grey they were seconds ago.
The magic quivering in the air draws in, slipping right past Draco who shudders as it settles into wherever magic resides in a wizard when he isn't using it. Theo almost feels cold against Draco, except he's as warm as he's been for the entire time they've been sitting next to each other.
It's the magic, it feels different from Theo somehow. Like how some of the harsher warded locks at home almost seethe with searing hot magic when the doorknobs themselves are ice-cold.
Draco hates it when this happens. It's not like the magic really has a temperature. It just feels like his skin should be scalding against those doors, or that he should be shivering now from the brief coldness that sinks back into Theo's skin. But he doesn't, his body isn't reacting at all to the phantom sensations that are there.
"No," Theo says, his voice rough and small. The ripples from his magic vanish entirely from view as the boy stops permeating cold.
"I feel sick, and Father isn't alright." The rigidness in Theodore's body loosens although he's still leaning far too heavily against Draco's side for him to move without sending the other boy toppling.
"He seemed fine to me," Draco cuts in because if Theodore's been in his room all day, he hasn't seen Mr. Nott as much as Draco has. "He's been conversing normally and walking around perfectly fine as well. If he was ill before, he's not now."
If Theodore was ill, maybe his father was ill too at some point. It makes sense, sicknesses do tend to spread like that.
Theodore looks away from Mother. With how close they are, the blue of his large eyes could swallow Draco up.
"He wasn't sick." Theodore states and then says nothing else as he tucks his head back against Draco's shoulder. With just the view of Theodore's hair, the air untangles in Draco's throat and it's much easier to breathe.
"Theodore," Mother says, "would you like to stay with us for a few days? Just while your father settles things at home."
That…of course he wouldn't like to stay for a few days. Even Vincent and Greg have made comments about how displeased Theodore appears at every playdate and gathering. Given the choice, Draco's certain that Theodore would pick hiding in the Nott private library rather than spend a single hour at Malfoy Manor.
When Theodore nods, all Draco can do is stare as the world shifts.
Father agrees. Not that Theodore even sees him before he walks through the Floo Network with Draco by his side. But he knows Father agreed because why else would he be passing through the tickling green flames of the fireplace and into the parlor of Malfoy Manor with the strange grey eyes of all three Malfoy's on him and the grand portrait of Abraxas Malfoy glaring down at them all.
It's almost supper, yet he isn't hungry. Not at all. He just wants to lie down in one of the guest rooms, curtains drawn open as he watches the light fade with sunset. Somehow though, he ends up in Draco's bedroom of all places, sitting on a bed conjured just for him as a pale, blonde boy stares right at him until Theodore turns over.
He doesn't pull the covers over his head, the darkness underneath the blankets wouldn't help at all. It'd just sharpen the visions in front of his open eyes into images solider than faded fragments.
Overlaid on the wallpaper, Theodore can see the vials in front of him. A clear, cool liquid sits in the thin vial that a hand reaches past. Blue veins rise out of wrinkled skin as the thin fingers wrap around the first of the potions. The warmth seeping through the squat vial sinks into Theodore's palm even as he clutches the cool sheets beneath him. The cheerfully yellow liquid slowly bubbles as it slides towards Theodore, slithering down his throat and clogging his breath no matter how much he swallows.
He presses his hand tight against his mouth as a giddiness rises up, trying to gulp down the misery that's engulfed him for days. But Theodore doesn't want to feel happy, he doesn't want to sing or even hum under his breath like the phantom bubbling liquid sloshing in his empty stomach urges him to do.
Mother died. He doesn't want to laugh. He'd rather cry than ever laugh again.
The clear potion slides down next. A calm settling through his body as the peppermint flavor whispers at the back of his throat until the urge to sing and to cry slips away into sleep.