AN: If you find any random numbers or strings of nonsensical letters that I missed, that is courtesy of my Maine coon cat, Jet Stream. He doesn't sit on keyboards per se, but he will dash across them like a maniac.
Theodore Nott fell asleep on a book.
Draco isn't surprised, not really. This is Theodore Nott, the boy who would rather read than play quidditch. Although, he does have a good reason for avoiding broomsticks with his fear of flying. Even so, Theo never chooses to play gobstones or any of the other wizarding games instead of quidditch. He always chooses to read first and foremost. Well, besides exploring the grounds for strange magic. He did choose to do that before reading. You can't explore the grounds at night though, so of course Theo picked to read as soon as Draco took his eyes off of him.
"It's fine if you read, Theo. That's just what you do. But you can't fall asleep on Father's books." Draco says, his arms crossed very authoritatively over the journal Theodore was just laying on.
Theo isn't looking at Draco. Instead, he's picking at the stitches of the vine-patterned quilt he's sitting on. Pink brushes his cheeks in embarrassment as Theo stares resolutely down at the frozen vines beneath him. Those vines haven't moved at all since Theo startled awake this morning to the sound of Draco's very stern voice.
Maybe the cold in Theo's magic broke their enchantment, maybe not. That's not really as important as the mark on Theo's cheek from where the book's edge pressed against it all night. That mark is already fading the longer they sit here talking, but if they have to go to breakfast before the evidence is gone, Father's going to know Theo fell asleep on a book. He didn't bring his own after all, so one from the Malfoy's library is all that he could fall asleep on.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to." Theo mumbles, his fingers picking at the quilt. The line on his cheek fades faster, its darker red fading into the pink still plaguing Theo's face. As Draco keeps staring, the sleeping mark disappears completely like it was never there at all.
It's like Pansy Parkinson's bruises. She takes a tumble off a broom and her bruises go from dark to pale green to gone within minutes. Draco…he's lucky if he doesn't wake up with any painful signs of his tumbles the next morning.
He can feel magic that Pansy can't, so he's not jealous. Not one bit. It'd just be nice not to spend days wincing every time he bumps into something.
"It's good you're sorry. Just don't do it again and it'll be fine." Draco says, keeping a firm grip on the book against his chest. There is still a half hour before breakfast. Theo might try to get his hands on its poor pages again. It's Draco's duty to make sure it doesn't get roughed up anymore.
A soft knock echoes from the bedroom door just before it opens and Mother steps through. Her hair is already done up with the thick blonde strands flowing like swept-back rivers among the rest of her black hair. Mother's hair is darker than yesterday, the black strands far thicker.
Draco's used to Mother's hair color shifting with the seasons, glowing nearly as brightly blonde as Father's when summer comes before the dark shades flow more prominently through winter. Despite the time of year, the colors had flowed to a bright, shocking blonde the day they heard Theo's mother had died.
Draco had actually seen it happen, the uncontrolled shift so stark and sudden as the autumn black that had been growing through Mother's hair completely disappeared under a wave of light.
Now, the colors of the season are back. Sometime in the night while everyone slept, the magic in Mother's hair settled back to normal.
"Good morning, Mother," Draco smiles brightly, "your hair's very pretty this today." It's always pretty, but the autumn colors are Draco's favorite mix.
Mother is still for just a moment before she smiles back, her hand resting lightly on the bedroom door.
"Thank you, Draco," she answers before her eyes flicker to Theo, "I apologize for interrupting you boys, but Lucius has some business with the Ministry that he needs to attend to this morning, so we'll be having breakfast early."
"You have a few minutes to get ready, but please hurry, I'm not sure how long your father has before he leaves." Mother doesn't look once to the book in Draco's grip as she steps back out of the room as quickly as she came in. The smile remains on her face until the closing door hides her from sight.
Breakfast is incredibly short. Father doesn't even take the time to read the morning Prophet and regale them all with the latest blunders of the Ministry before the meal comes to a close. As amusing as those stories are, they'll be able to explore the Manor sooner while Father's busy with the Ministry. Maybe they'll even be able to take a try for the cellars since Father will be away. At least, that's what Draco thought before Mother announced her intentions.
"It's been a while since I've been over there," Mother admits as she walks with Draco and Theo alongside her, "so, I'd like to come with you today. The hawthorns always seemed so mysterious, it'd be nice to see them again."
Dobby doesn't want them going by the hawthorns and the shadows that lurk under them. But he can't even jump out and yell at them not to go with Mother here. She's almost as creative as Father in deciding punishments for disobedient house elves.
The morning sun shines with the same brightness on the cool stones of the path leading them from the entrance as the grin lightening up Draco's face.
"That sounds wonderful, Mother! We'll be able to explore the woods together." When Draco tries to meet Theo's eyes after those words, the other boy keeps glancing at and away from Mother instead, almost as if she's too bright to keep looking at.
When Mother stops walking and outstretches her hands to both boys, Theo flinches looking up at her with wide eyes. Mother stands silently for a heartbeat before she sighs slowly.
"We'll be apparating there. If that's alright with you, Theodore," hesitation slows Mother's next words, "unless apparating makes you too nauseous, then we can fly instea-"
"No!" Theo says quickly. "Apparating's fine. I find it fine. You're okay with apparating too, right Draco."
No, apparating is like being dragged through a tube, so Draco is very much not fine with it. But…
"I'm okay with it," Draco says imperiously because he's not afraid of apparating like some are afraid of flying. It just makes him wish he skipped breakfast is all.
"Alright then," Mother says as each of them grab one of her hands.
The world spins, shrinking down until Draco's stumbles on the grassy field before the hawthorn trees. Breakfast desperately wants to come up. But it doesn't, so Draco takes in a few deep breaths before looking up to a world that no longer spins.
Mother watches Draco with concern while on her other side Theo just stares out towards the trees. His eyes are wider than Draco's ever seen them, the pupils blown out until the blue is nearly swallowed by black. Theo's mouth parts in shock as he stares at the trees that should appear the same as yesterday.
But maybe they don't, maybe Theodore's seeing something new.
The world swims, like it did during the apparation. But slower, so much slower. It's almost like watching a river flow through the air, but fainter and faded, like if Theodore blinks then the trees would no longer be warping like they're submerged underwater. And they do look like they're underwater except for the red. Not there but there, a ripple and a dark, red vein appearing in the air for a moment, or stretching over a tree trunk before slipping out of sight leaving nothing behind except for a whisper.
No, whispers, the sight before him looks like whispers. One of the whispers stretches past Theodore's ears until he swears there might be words that he can see, vanishing in front of him even as he refuses to blink, refuses to move.
The sight before him disappears within the space between heartbeats. Theodore didn't blink, but it's still gone, leaving nothing but the hawthorns guarding the shadows as they go back to sleep.
Theo's own breath sinks through his throat, dragging along a taste of smoke that vanishes just as quickly as the rippling red did. The cool air remains free of haze as Theodore looks around. There's no sign of any fire, nothing to indicate where the smoke came from nor why it vanished.
Smoke doesn't vanish. It lingers in the throat for awhile regardless of whether it's the strange, spicy odor of floo flames or the earthy burn of oak in the fireplace. Theodore tries to catch the scent of it again. However, no matter how deeply he breathes in, there's nothing but the smell of wet grass drying in the morning sun.
"Theodore, are you all right?" Draco's mother looks down at Theo as he jolts. Concern deepens her frown and she leans towards him, her hand almost on his shoulder.
"I'm fine," Theo steps away because she can't touch him, "I thought I smelled smoke but there isn't any…"
Both Malfoys are staring at him, Draco just about bursting to ask Theo what he saw while Narcissa looks lost. She doesn't know what to do with Theo. She doesn't know that she can't touch his shoulder. And why can't she?
The answer skips over a space in Theo's head like fingers over a crack in the ground. Draco's mother just can't. Theodore doesn't need an answer as to why. Just like he doesn't need to know why he saw a vision of a man yesterday that looked like his dead uncle.
"Smoke?" Losing the battle to stay silent, Draco prances over to Theo, looking as excited as yesterday when they caught a shadow.
"We should check the woods, Mother. What if there's a fire and the forest is in danger?" Draco's excitement raises his voice far too high. His hand grabs onto Theo's, pulling him along in the direction of the trees.
Theo can feel it, the moment the grittiness of his magic slips through his hand and seeps under the skin of Draco's palm. The other boy always calls it cold, so Theo's surprised he doesn't flinch at the contact but instead tugs Theo along faster.
It's fine that Draco's holding his hand even though maybe it shouldn't be. But Theodore doesn't want to let go as his gritty magic settles in, mingling with the warmth of Draco's palm.