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hackthis_archiveDedication: This is the very last piece of the Thousandth Man-verse. I want to thank everyone who’s read the series and everyone who has commented (individual thanks can be found at the end of the story). It’s been such a pleasure to hear from you all, and I’ve appreciated your support immensely. This is dedicated to you.
Harry Potter:
The Thousandth Man
...For They Shall Inherit the Earth
Part I
It was time to leave.
This was not how Theodore had planned to deal with the onslaught of the war, but there was a time to stand and fight and a time to stay alive; he could fight another day, not that he was the fighting sort, but this wasn't the time to be pedantic.
The stones underneath his feet were cold and unyielding as he crept along the corridor looking for the Gryffindor dormitory, and he spared a thought for the house shoes he’d left by the side of his bed in his haste.
He’d done well to remember his cloak and the edible portkeys his father had given him, but he’d forgotten his shoes, which was simply intolerable. Who forgot their blasted shoes when they were making a nighttime getaway before the fighting began? Theodore cursed and then stubbed his toe when he was shushed by a portrait he'd bumped into.
He would have to procure some proper footwear at some point, hopefully sooner rather than later. He wondered, quite randomly, whether or not he had left some at his family’s summer home in Nice.
He hadn’t actually been to the family home in several years, since his father had begun allowing his Aunt Narcissa to have free reign over Theodore’s holidays. She preferred more exotic locales like Madagascar and the hanging gardens of Babylon.
Somewhere outside Hogwarts, several owls hooted, and Theodore inhaled sharply. He had no misgivings about where those owls were going or what they would be delivering. The Zabini family owl had already paid Blaise a visit; and Francois was followed in very short order by the Nott family owl, but by then Theodore was awake and Blaise was making his last minute arrangements to leave.
Being the children of Death Eaters helped somewhat when it came to planning ahead, and while Theodore was sorry about what’d he’d done to the Malfoy family owl, he didn’t have the time to deal with Draco. Draco would survive on his own. Theodore just hoped his aunt would forgive him in time; he'd had enough problems just leaving Blaise to come and get Neville.
Taking Neville along was not debatable to Theodore.
Blaise did not agree.
For some inexplicable reason, Theodore had always thought the war would start on a Wednesday, perhaps during Transfigurations or Divination. He wasn’t terribly certain of the specifics, but he had no intention of sitting about and sorting them out while people were hexed around him, and the entire world fell apart -- because he knew that was what would happen.
Once war was "officially" declared, people would be itching to do all those things they’d restrained themselves – or had been restrained, in the case of a certain overzealous boy with a saviour-complex -- from doing for so long.
Slights would easily justify curses, pointless arguments would become a cause for death. Of course the teachers would attempt to keep control of their lessons and their students; Theodore could see the stern looks and detention abounding, but in the end it would be for naught.
There would be chaos and shouting and easy-target hexes thrown in the halls; people would vanish without so much as a by-your-leave, and the Order would attempt to keep stability, but it would all be in vain. With any luck the tergiversari would be able to avoid all the pandemonium and wait out the war at the Greengrass villa in Tuscany.
Most would leave, some would stay, and the vast majority would die; they would be no great loss. Theodore was not concerned with them. His primary concerns were his sister, his lover, and his best friend -- beyond that, everyone else could rot in the smouldering wreckage.
Except that Theodore had found things to be a bit more complicated where Neville was concerned. Every time Theodore brought up leaving when the war began, Neville insisted that he would be staying to fight, which just made Theodore livid; and clearly he should have paid more attention to where the Gryffindor dormitory was, because he’d some how ended up by the Ravenclaw statue and that wasn’t on at all. He needed a bloody map to move around this place in the dark.
As he backtracked, he thought of Alexandria, and wondered how long it would take for their father to send her to him. He refused to think she wasn’t' alive, and there was no possible way their father would keep her at home with the war starting. Theodore didn't trust her with anyone else; if it came to it, he would get her himself.
His father’s letter had contained one line in Italian: Partire adesso, and nothing more. The line had been scrawled on a pastel drawing of Nott Terrace. Theodore found himself consciously fingering the drawing he’d slipped into the folds of his robe as he took a left instead of a right by the portrait of The Mediwizard and the Knight.
He wondered briefly as to the whereabouts of Filch and Mrs Norris before deciding that Morgana was on his side this evening, and it would be better not to question his luck. If it was indeed luck -- or something else altogether -- he wouldn't probe too deeply At the moment life was difficult enough just trying to sort out where he was going in the dark, and it struck him that for all the work the tergiversari had done on hexes and curses they had never thought of the smaller spells that really could have helped them all – like seeing in the dark.
Slytherins were always much better with the big picture than the small details; the Dark Lord was proof of that. The fact that Theodore had left the Slytherin dorms without shoes only went on to solidify the theory, but in the large scheme of things, he really did have other things on his mind.
He stood very still when he caught sight of a faint glow up ahead. He crept closer, not entirely of his own volition, and his brain processed the image before him long before he began to understand what he was seeing.
“I was wondering when you would show.” Draco’s lazy drawl unceremoniously yanked Theodore into the macabre scene before him.
Theodore’s stomach lept about, and his eye twitched as he tried to adjust to the faint sheen emanating from Draco. He couldn’t comprehend how, or why, Draco would have gotten to the Gryffindor dormitory before him.
More importantly though, Theodore wondered what he was going to do about the hold Draco had on Neville, and the wand that Draco was pointing at Neville’s throat.
Unlike Theodore, Neville didn't seem prepared for a midnight excursion to France. He wore gold-and-maroon striped pyjamas, and his hair was mussed as though he’d just woken up. He had neither wand, cloak nor shoes. Clearly he was not prepared to travel anywhere, which annoyed Theodore greatly as he’d sent his owl to Neville with explicit instructs: We’re leaving.
He would address the annoyance after he stopped worrying that Draco was going to annihilate his boyfriend.
“Don’t worry about him,” Draco said, thumping Neville soundly on the chest. “He’s in a Body Bind; I can’t have him escaping before his time.”
“Draco, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but do you really think it’s a smart idea to kill a Gryffindor, outside their dormitory, at school?”
Draco’s laugh made the hairs on the back of Theodore’s neck stand up. “Who said anything about killing a Gryffindor?”
“Well, you’ve got your wand at his throat,” Theodore said, waving his hand around in what he hoped was a blasé manner. “Were you planning on stealing his voice or something else?"
“You must think you’re terribly witty and clever,” Draco hissed, pushing the wand that much further into Neville’s throat. “Did you really think I didn’t know you were up to something, Theodore? Did you really think I was so stupid?”
Neville was mouthing something, but Theodore couldn’t make it out, and the last thing he needed was Neville distracting him from an unhinged Malfoy; he’d seen Lucius when he was on a tear.
“You’ve been toying with me for months, thinking you could lead me about like a house pet, and all the while you’ve been fanning about with this.” Neville made a grunting noise as Draco pushed his wand a little harder, and Theodore took a step forward.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The sing-song tone of Draco’s voice made Theodore's palms sweat, and he froze, sparing a thought for his wand, which was tucked away with the letter from his father.
“Draco, this is all very engaging, but don’t you think you’ve played enough for one evening?”
“Do not condescend to me,” Draco snapped. “You’ve been buggering a Gryffindor, and you stunned my mother’s owl. Do you have any idea what will become of you when I take you to the Dark Lord? I'm sure he would be more than willing to trade you for my father. Well, perhaps not you alone, but you, plus this poor excuse for a captive might be enough.”
Theodore opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead Neville’s raspy tone filled the void. “You wouldn’t dare, Malfoy.”
“You don't know what I would and wouldn’t do, Longbottom.” Draco’s mouth was very close to Neville’s ear when he spoke, and Theodore could see Neville's body suppress a shudder.
Draco radiated a preternatural light, as though he'd taken some sort of potion, or cast a spell upon himself. The idea that Draco knew something that Theodore didn't left him extremely vexed, and backpedaling to come up with a new plan to fit the scenario.
Draco’s eyes were extraordinarily bright and sharp with unpredictability, and Theodore’s mind whirred about trying to find a way to sort this out. He could easily get his wand out before Draco could hex him, but he couldn’t save Neville unless he could get Draco to point the wand at him. It was an incredibly risky and stupid plan, Blaise would – Theodore's breath caught in his throat.
Draco had been sound asleep when Theodore had left Blaise packing, with strict instructions to swallow his portkey the moment he was done, but if Draco hadn’t been asleep at all…
Blaise.
“Where’s Blaise?” Theodore snapped, his voice louder and harder than he’d meant.
“You don’t ask the questions here.” Draco’s smile was all sharp, white teeth. “I do.”
The fear Theodore felt, the worry and anxiety were all flattened in the wake of his anger and dread. “Don’t toy with me, Draco,” he said taking another step forward. “Where. Is. Blaise?”
“It’s you who’ve been toying with me,” Draco shot back. “And stay where you are. You don’t know what I could do to him.”
Several portraits shushed them, and Theodore wondered what it took to get a bit of assistance from these infernal idiots. If they had been near the Slytherin dorms at least one portrait would have been crying out for bloodshed and heads on pikes.
Theodore spared another glance at Neville, whose eyes were enormous. He didn’t seem terribly afraid of the wand at his throat, but he was still mouthing something and that worried Theodore all the more.
“If you’ve harmed Blaise in anyway,” he began, “you will be sorrier than you'll ever know.”
“I’m holding your Gryffindor at wandpoint, and you’re worried about Blaise; this is very touching.” Draco spoke very softly. “Clearly you have loyalty issues, Theodore; perhaps it will help you to know that you don’t have to decide anymore.”
Theodore could just make out the bead of sweat on Neville’s brow, and he would swear that his heart stopped at Draco’s words. “You didn’t,” he began, his voice unsteady and tremulous. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Who says I wouldn’t?” Draco's tone was impossible casual and calm, as though they were discussing the weather. “More importantly, how would you know? Aren’t you the one who told me that I didn’t know what you liked? Well, then, how would you know what I like?”
Theodore’s eyes widened as Draco licked a stripe along the shell of Neville’s ear. “For all you know,” Draco said, “I may fancy Gryffindors.”
Neville made a noise of disgust, but all Theodore could see now was green. His brain couldn’t begin to process the idea of Blaise being gone; it was not something he was equipped to comprehend, and now this – this perversion of the only thing he held dear was just too much.
Later on he would think it all happened in slow motion, that it took years to pass: the shouting coming from somewhere below him, the idea that Blaise was gone permeating everything, the look on Neville’s face as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco’s chest.
Draco’s mouth formed the first ‘a’ and his own formed the last, and then he was dead.
They were both dead.
Everyone was dead, and Theodore was alone.
And then he woke up.
Part II
It always rained in the spring in Scotland.
After six years, Theodore had become well-acquainted with the Hogwarts seasons. In autumn it was cold, and in the winter it snowed. On occasion it also snowed in the spring, but mainly, it just rained. A lot. It was what was expected of a Scottish spring. The damp got into your bones and your ears, and you couldn't hear properly for months on end. There were new flowers and trips to Hogsmeade and all sorts of stuff that Theodore took for granted, because it was the way of things. He didn't have to pay attention.
Except that according to the solstice calendar it was spring, and almost the end of term, and the weather should have been rain. Or snow. Or some form of precipitation to remind everyone that Hogwarts was extraordinarily far from Platform 9 ¾ in London, but there was none to be seen.
It hadn't rained in fifty-seven days, and judging by the cloudless sky on the fifty-eighth day, it didn't appear as though things were going to change in a hurry either.
It wasn't that Theodore was averse to the nice weather, but it was unnatural, and that was unsettling. It made Theodore tense. Neville was distracted; Queenie was snappish; and Potter was more skittish than normal. Even Blaise seemed overwrought.
The professors outdid themselves pretending everything was normal when they clearly felt otherwise; the only person who didn't seem to notice or care was Draco, which made Theodore even more wary.
With the lack of rain, everything seemed dry and airless. The humidity deficiency should have been comfortable, but it just made Theodore's skin feel dry and itchy, and more than once, Blaise had to kick him in Potions to remind him not to scratch.
In Herbology, Professor Sprout taught them a Mister Misting Charm that only required a glass of water, and during his free hours Theodore helped Neville casting tiny Misting Charms on the various flowers and shrubs in the greenhouses. Only once did he cast the charm on Neville just to see him with a wet tee shirt. It was horribly gratuitous and wrong, which was obviously why Theodore did it.
Not all magic had to be used entirely for its practical applications, and Theodore felt it was a good use of his time.
For the most part Theodore's schedule was rather well established: breakfast, lessons, lunch, lessons, visit Neville in the greenhouses, dinner, study, meet with the tergiversari and then bed.
At some point Theodore had made Neville and the tergiversari a part of his daily schedule, but he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact date. He took great pains to make things appear as natural as possible and deflect attention away from himself.
He didn't announce his whereabouts, but if someone was looking for him, then generally he could be found, though only Blaise and Neville could always find him, which suited Theodore fine. The best place to hide was in plain sight, and if Draco saw him at least five times a day there was no way he could accuse Theodore of not being around. Not that Draco ever said anything to that effect, but Theodore's dreams had him on edge. He could feel Draco watching him, and so he watched Draco, except for when he knew Draco was attending Quidditch practice.
Those were the times when Theodore would take the long route around the castle, past the pitch and the Quidditch sheds and the lake until he reached the greenhouses. The grass appeared as lush and verdant as ever, but it crunched under his feet. He would walk slowly enough not to be seen hurrying, but quickly enough not to be thought dawdling.
Invariably he would stop at the crest of the hill before the greenhouses and gaze into the distance. For all the blue, cloudless sky above the school, it always appeared gray in the further off, and Theodore wondered if the weather issue was, in fact, an issue or a power struggle that everyone was pretending wasn't occurring at all. He wasn't certain if the sky was being controlled by the Dark Lord or Dumbledore – or Potter, and then he thought no more of it.
It was all bollocks.
It didn't concern him.
Wizards controlling the weather, dreams about those closest to him dying, only foolish people would talk about such things. Theodore was not foolish; he had no desire to end up in St Mungo's. He had no desire to add to the tension that was seeping into every porous surface and body available; and he wasn't going to tell Blaise about the dreams he had. They were just dreams and only as powerful as he gave them credit to be; his mother had always told him that when he couldn't sleep.
Theodore had been somewhat of a nervous sleeper when he was younger, the slightest creak or cough would keep him awake for hours. Of course, he never mentioned this to his parents, because admitting weakness was foolhardy. Notts never displayed weakness, but his mother always seemed to know when he was awake, and would appear in his doorway, dark hair cascading over the pale nightdresses she wore. She would offer him an amused smile, and she would say she was just passing by and thought he might be awake.
He never told her about his dreams; she never asked; instead she would tell him stories of her brothers and how they always drove away her bad dreams with stories and activities and various entertainments they devised for her.
His mother didn't hold with Divination. She said she was too practical to believe in such a thing, and Theodore never believed, but his recent dreams were so vivid that upon waking he felt as though he could still touch them.
But they were just dreams, that was all, and there was no reason to trouble Blaise unnecessarily. There was no reason to give his worries a life of their own. Theodore wasn't an alarmist Gryffindor; that was what he had Neville for.
So rather than speaking his mind, Theodore made his way to Greenhouse Six, where apparently, he was expected to assist in repotting a series of Lily-Livered Lilies.
The door to the greenhouse creaked open, and Theodore glanced around briefly for Neville as he removed his lightweight cloak, pocketed his wand, and set his robe with his rucksack. The lack of rain and blue skies were worrisome for lots of reasons, but they made dressing in the morning much easier.
Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, Theodore rubbed the back of his neck as he gave the empty greenhouse another glance. "Neville?" he called.
It was entirely possible that he had the wrong greenhouse; he'd been paying more attention to snogging good-bye yesterday than where he was supposed to go the next day, but he was fairly certain he'd heard six. Unless he'd heard sex -- but he was always hearing that; he was a teenage boy.
The plants rustled as he walked up one row and down another; it was strangely quiet in the greenhouse, almost unnaturally so. Theodore had spent enough time among the plants to know that they were horrible gossipers and talked about the students incessantly, and yet, there was nary a peep. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Neville?" he called again, his voice quiet and low. "Are in you in here?"
There was no reply, and the nerve in Theodore's temple quivered. If something had happened to Neville --
There was a creak behind him, and Theodore's heart fell into his shoes. He removed his wand and spun around, the first curse he could think of on his lips…
Only to wind up with a face full of mist.
Theodore blinked as Neville smiled beatifically. He could feel water on his face, and his lips, and his hair. It was slowly seeping into the cotton of his shirt, and his body reacted accordingly.
Theodore's wand trembled as Neville's smile slipped from his face slowly. "It was a joke," Neville said quickly. "I wanted to surprise you."
Theodore pocketed his wand and rubbed his hand over his face, gathering moisture. He could feel his nipples hardening against the dampness of his shirt. Neville shifted from one foot to the other.
"You wanted to surprise me," he repeated.
Neville bit his lower lip. "Um, surprise?"
Theodore growled, but the sound died off when he realised that Neville was eyeing him intently, particularly where he was wet. Tilting his head to the side, Theodore licked his bottom lip, and Neville made a noise.
"You're quite adorable when you're upset," Neville said, taking a step closer to Theodore.
Theodore scowled, even as Neville latched onto his shirt and tugged him forward. "I am not adorable," he said hotly. "I can't believe you would insult me by calling me something so benign and girlish as 'adorable'."
"I like adorable," Neville protested, his breath was warm against Theodore's damp skin. "But I could call you something else if you prefer. What do Slytherins like being called besides 'Master'?"
The scowl slipped from Theodore's face. "Master?" he parroted, tilting his head upwards as Neville gazed at him expectantly. "What sort of games have your lot being playing in that tower anyway?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville said against Theodore's mouth.
Theodore twitched as Neville's calloused hands slipped underneath his shirt. "I take it that this is the part where you seduce me, right?" The muscles in his stomach contracted as Neville's hands brushed against his bare skin.
Neville licked a stripe along the side of Theodore's neck. "There's no fooling a Slytherin, is there?"
Theodore made a derisory noise. "Of course not."
*
It didn't rain on the fifty-ninth day, but there was something about the day that made Theodore uneasy. His skin still felt dry, despite the numerous moisturizer charms Blaise had from Mason and the lotion he had appropriated from Queenie.
It was as though Theodore were being leeched dry, but he couldn't sort out from where. And even as he struggled to present the Nott variation of blasé, he but could feel himself being watched.
It wasn't a sensation he was particularly well acquainted with as he tended to be the observer rather than observed, but he would never let it be said that a Nott could not perform under pressure. It would never do to be visibly unsettled, so he carried on with his note taking, focussing his attention on Professor Flitwick and the circle, swish and tap of the Pollywog Charm, which was supposed to trap sound in a bubble.
He did his best to avert his eyes away from the back of the room where Neville sat, flanked by Granger and Finnegan, but it wasn't particularly easy. He could feel the steady sureness of Neville's gaze on his shoulders and his neck, and for a few seconds on his groin. The idea alone was rather scandalous, but Neville had proven himself in possession of a rather voracious libido, which Theodore was more than willing to satisfy. It was the sort of thing Theodore could have happily spent a great deal of time considering, but those weren't the eyes causing him concern.
He could also feel Blaise watching him, and if Legilimancy had been something people were born with then Blaise would've been a terrific threat to the entire wizarding population. As it stood, Theodore would know the weight of those eyes anywhere, and it would be such a simple thing for him to turn around and frown or even to reach back and tap Blaise's desk with his wand and turn it into something else. Perhaps a sabretooth tiger or an end table. Just something to let Blaise know that he was aware of him, that Theodore had not forgotten his existence. Theodore, however, was not feeling terribly playful today as there were other eyes on him, gray eyes, sharp and piercing, and they were much more attentive than they'd been in quite some time.
It was almost as though they'd been awakened, and that -- that was not good.
No, Draco being aware was never a good thing.
*
The sun was shining through the windows as Theodore followed Blaise to lunch, and during the meal, when Draco made a point of engaging him in conversation, Theodore actually replied. For the most part though, Theodore ate quietly, stealing only the most occasional glances in the direction of the Gryffindor table, until Blaise nudged him lightly.
After lunch, Blaise got up wordlessly, and Theodore followed him out the Great Hall and through the foyer to the front door. Care of Magical Creatures wasn't one of Theodore's favorite subjects, but it had great amusement value since Draco never seemed to want to actually listen to anything the – well, Theodore wouldn't have called the giant a professor, but he was the teacher, which caused Draco no end of irritation.
The sky didn't seem as blue as earlier; in fact, it was slightly green, which was just absurd. Nevertheless, Theodore froze on the front steps, clutching his books tightly. The door creaked shut behind him, but he refused to move.
There was something off, and he could feel it, which was absolutely ridiculous. He wasn't a seer or diviner. He held no truck with premonitions and the like. Obviously lunch hadn't agreed with him.
He shook his head when Blaise spoke. "No, it's nothing," he said, dismissively.
Blaise's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press the matter. "Well then, don't you think we should be getting on?"
Theodore nodded, took another step and stopped. He'd been wrong before -- this wasn't something he felt. It was something he could smell.
"Theodore."
Theodore's exposure to the weather was limited to holiday weather and school weather. He wasn't the one who spent all his time with plants; he spent a fair amount of his time with Neville, but it wasn't the same thing. It made no sense that he could smell rain when the sky was as blue as the charmed Every Weather Walls in Alexandria's nursery. He couldn't possibly know it was going to rain, though every fibre in his being said it was, and a little voice said that what he was feeling had absolutely nothing to do with the rain at all.
"Theodore."
Theodore jumped when he felt Blaise's hand on his upper arm. "Theodore, what is it?"
"It's nothing." Theodore shook his head. "I just – it's nothing."
Blaise's hold on his upper arm tightened, and Theodore winced as Blaise pulled him off the path, away from several Ravenclaws bustling out the front doors.
"Do not tell me it's nothing," Blaise hissed. "It hasn't rained all spring; everybody's waiting for the knut to drop; you aren't sleeping well; and this infernal war refuses to start so it can hurry up and be done with."
Theodore opened his mouth to protest Blaise's sleeping accusation, but Blaise whipped out his wand and poked him in the chest. "This is not the time for pointless bravado, Theodore Marcellus, now you tell me what all this nothing is, or I swear to Circe I will hex you into next Tuesday."
Theodore looked down at the wand and back at Blaise. "Is someone a little wand-happy?" he asked.
A smirk ghosted briefly over Blaise's features as he put his wand away and released Theodore's arm. "I'm finding all this waiting rather tiresome," he admitted reluctantly.
Theodore licked his upper lip, and Blaise shook his head. "Don’t try to distract me, Theodore."
"I wasn't trying to distract you," Theodore protested, but Blaise didn't appear convinced; instead, he rolled his eyes.
Theodore sighed. "Something's off."
Blaise frowned. "Could you be a little more explicit?"
"I have this feeling."
"What kind of feeling? Dysentery? Migraine? Premonition?"
Theodore rubbed his forehead, letting his fingers slip into his hair to massage his scalp. The usual twitching in his temple had become a throbbing in his head; he needed a lie-down.
"Devons-nous partir?" Blaise asked very quietly.
Theodore shook his head. "No, c'est pas ça. C'est juste un pressentiment."
It was Blaise's turn to blink this time. He scratched the back of his neck, and when Theodore met his eyes, Blaise looked troubled. His eyes were dark, and he seemed almost nervous, which made something inside Theodore ache. Blaise was the calmest person in his life; Theodore didn't want him to worry.
He needed to smirk, or kiss Blaise, or something to ease the tension. He just needed to pretend that everything was all right for a little bit longer -- except he couldn't.
It wouldn't come.
Blaise gently extracted Theodore's fingers from his hair. "What kind of feeling?"
Theodore opened his mouth to say he didn't know, to say he couldn't explain it. He wouldn't say he was afraid. Slytherins didn't admit to those sort of weaknesses. Slytherins were never afraid—and if they were, they weren’t stupid enough to admit it. "I think it's going to rain," he said
"You mean more than rain don't you?"
Theodore made a noise.
"You mean thunder and lightning and green skies for weeks, don't you? We're talking raining Death Eaters and floods of corpses, is that it?"
"Yes."
Blaise sighed. "Well, at least it will be a change."
*
Theodore slept poorly that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco killing Neville, and him killing Draco, and Draco killing Blaise. Alexandria died on the steps of Nott Terrace, her face twisted in a rictus of pain, and his father died in front of his mother's portrait, his skin shriveled like a fig
He found his Aunt Narcissa dead in her garden, her skin green and bloated with toxins, and the entire Zabini family fell out of the drawing room fireplace into a heap of corpses. Their bodies were twisted and charred, broken oddly and discoloured as though they had all been stuffed in the chimney, alive, and then left there to slowly rot to death.
Everyone was dead in Theodore's dreams again, but they were alive while he was awake, and he spent an inordinate amount of time counting to himself and trying to force his eyelids to stay open.
When he had first started having sleeping problems, he'd thought working harder in the tergiversari would help, but a hex from the book Getting Rid of Unwanted Company and Neighbours, a concussion, and visit to Madam Pomfrey rid him of that notion. He hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep until he was jolted awake by Blaise slipping into bed beside him.
"Go back to sleep," Blaise whispered, setting his own pillow down next to Theodore's. "If it's going to happen, it's going to happen. There's no point in losing sleep over it."
Theodore opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. There was an assortment of things he wanted to say to Blaise. He wanted to talk about Rene and Mason, about Alexandria and his mother. He wanted to talk about Nice and Milan, and all the holidays they'd planned to take. He wanted to talk about Neville. Theodore wanted -- but to say anything would be admitting that he was concerned, and so he said nothing. If Blaise was in his bed, then he was already well aware of Theodore anxiety, and it wasn't necessary to make a matter of it.
There was a part of him that found sleeping with Blaise rather suspect when he was supposed to be with Neville, but Theodore wasn't in the mood to justify his actions to anyone. Even himself.
Instead, he curled around Blaise and went to sleep.
Part III
It rained on the sixtieth day.
The entire castle was alerted to the change in weather by an impossibly loud clap of thunder that shook the castle to its foundations, followed by a series of smaller claps and what sounded like a rain of toads beating against the stones.
Theodore was in the library with Blaise, paying absolutely no attention to what he was reading or what he was supposed to be learning, when the storm started. They very well could've been playing Exploding Snap, naked, in the Slytherin common room for all of Theodore's ability to focus, but it was of some comfort to him that Blaise wasn't paying attention either. He hadn't turned a page in his text for seventeen minutes by Theodore's estimate.
The force of the storm was more than what Theodore was expecting, yet he didn't shout or scream when the room began to shake and the books fell off the shelves, neither did Blaise.
Most people, in fact, laughed nervously before going back to their assignments and talking amongst themselves quietly, as though it went without raining in Scotland in the spring for sixty days all the time.
Theodore, however, closed his book and gently nudged Blaise under the table. He would never remember what he was supposed to be studying or what exactly he was saying to Blaise when the explosion happened; all he would remember was the ceiling falling on the table between them and nearly crushing them both.
There was a giant hole above his head that gave him a new view of the Arithmancy classroom, and to Theodore, there could be no clearer sign that it was time to leave.
Through the shouting and wailing and dust from the sky falling, he reached out and hauled Blaise over the table as though he were the same size as Alexandria.
There was blood smeared on Blaise's hand, and Theodore's fingers hurt where they clutched at Blaise's robes, but couldn't dwell on that now. Truthfully, he didn't want to think about it at all.
The rest of the world could stick around to find out what was happening; Theodore didn't need to ask. He wasn't going to die today. Not there, not in the library.
"We're leaving," he said, pulling Blaise along behind him, and holding him firmly to keep the stumbling over debris to a minimum.
Theodore only took a vague notice of Madam Pince and Hermione Granger running up and down the aisles trying to keep order. It was such a Gryffindor response to the start of war that for a moment he almost paused to laugh, but he could feel Blaise vibrating with tension next to him and thought better of it.
Outside the library it was easier to hear the howling of the wind and the rain battering against the stones of the castle. It was also easier to see the chaos. People were running and screaming as though they hadn't a brain amongst them, which Theodore thought might be a real possibility.
A few prefects and teachers were attempting to keep order; Theodore shook his head as Professor Sinistra tried to placate a group of hysterical first-year Hufflepuffs. That was a losing battle all the way.
Flashes of lightning crept through the slim windows, and Theodore exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding when Blaise's hand slipped into his. "Well, that wasn't so bad," Blaise said. "I'd thought there'd be more -–"
Blaise's words were cut off by another enormous clap of thunder, and Theodore lost his footing when the castle shook underneath them. He nearly bit his tongue off as he fell to his knees, griping Blaise's hand tightly, only to nearly be run down by a bevy of Ravenclaws.
Someone kicked Theodore in the side, and he yanked out his wand to curse the offender, but couldn't make them out in the mess. What he could see, however, was a dark shock of hair that he would have recognized anywhere.
Scrambling to his feet, Theodore dropped Blaise's hand. "I have to get Neville," he said. "Don't go anywhere."
Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Are you absolutely mad? There's no way I'm letting you --"
Theodore didn't have time to argue. "Stay here," he said, shaking off Blaise's attempts to restrain him.
"Theodore Nott! Come back here at once; this isn't your war!"
Blaise's words rang in Theodore's ears as he ran down the corridor to where he'd last seen Neville. It wasn't his war; he was well aware of that, but it wasn't Neville's war either -- despite whatever delusions Potter had him labouring under.
There was another flash of dark hair to Theodore's right, and he cursed the system that disapproved of him having a boyfriend in Gryffindor. Of course the majority of Gryffindors were insufferable dimwits with no sense of preservation, but that aside, this chasing Neville through the halls to get him alone was ridiculous and plebian.
And where on Mordred's earth was Neville going?
"Neville!" Theodore stopped running. He'd just shouted Neville's name, a Gryffindor's name, in school, where anyone could hear. It was one thing to say it in the privacy of the greenhouses, but this was different. More real. Of course this was also wartime, and he was under duress.
Shaking it off, Theodore caught sight of Neville going down another corridor, and ran to catch up with him, calling him name again and again.
There had been so many twists and turns that Theodore had no idea where he was or where Neville was going. Was he going to the greenhouses? Was he trying to find Theodore in the dungeons? This was absurd.
Theodore stopped suddenly. He'd lost Neville. He stood in the hall, disoriented and confused, and when he reached up to rub his forehead, his hand came away wet.
There was blood smeared on the flat of his hand; his own blood. He'd never seen so much of it at one time; apparently the falling ceiling had gotten him after all.
Wiping it on his robes distractedly, he tried to sort out where Neville had got to, and then he heard his name. Neville was leaning out of the doorway to a classroom, and Theodore raced to catch him.
"Where are earth are you going?" he said slowing to a stop and following Neville inside the darkened classroom. "There's nothing down here, the Slytherin dormitory is on the other side of the school."
"I know that." Neville waited until Theodore was through the door before closing it behind them, and Theodore briefly wondered how Neville knew were the dorms were before he pushed the thought aside and grabbed Neville by the robes and snogged him harshly.
The kiss was messy and hard; Theodore could taste blood and licorice when he stepped away. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand absently as Neville leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"Are you all right?" Theodore asked, his hands leaving smears of blood on Neville's robes as Theodore tried to check him over.
"You're getting blood on all over me," Neville snapped, shaking Theodore off. "Stop that."
Theodore stopped –- and the nerve in his temple quavered. "Where were you going? I've been chasing you for ages," he said, wincing slightly as a flash of lightning illuminated the room.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville smirked.
The nerve in Theodore's temple twitched harder, and he took a step back. "Neville?"
Neville withdrew his wand, and Theodore's stomach dropped into his feet. "Please don't refer to me by that odious name," Neville said, flashing Theodore an impossibly white, sharp grin.
"Neville, I don't know what -–"
Theodore's words were drowned out by a throaty laugh he would've recognized anywhere, and then Neville's features began to shift. His round nose began to sharpen, and his hair lightened, growing longer and paler at an alarming rate.
Theodore opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Outside the storm raged, and the room shook as another explosion rocked the castle.
"You betrayed me," Draco said, stepping forward and pointing the wand at Theodore's chest. "You betrayed your family and the Dark Lord and everything we stand for. You're a Slytherin, and you're shagging one of them!"
"You're just sour because Potter didn't want you," Theodore retorted, staggering when Draco backhanded him. His knees were throbbing from where he'd fallen earlier, and he thanked Merlin that he hadn't dragged Blaise into this mess.
"You think your Gryffindor is so great." Draco's tone was all derision. "You could've had me -– you're an idiot."
"I never wanted you," Theodore snapped. "You don't even want you –- or you wouldn't whore yourself out to the entire year."
"You know nothing about class," Draco continued. "You're a disgrace to everything we represent. My father always thought you were weak -- just like your father!"
Theodore's eyes narrowed. "It's you who's the idiot, Draco, and your father is going to rot in Azkaban," he hissed. "You should be thankful."
Draco's seemed to vibrate with rage, and his pale lips formed one reply -- “Crucio!”
The pain happened in a flash –- for some reason Theodore thought it would've happened slower. That he would've had time to think about Neville and Blaise and Alexandria. That he would've be able to count in French or Italian or do something to protect himself. The tergiversari were supposed to help with things like this -– but they had never talked about the pain, and the pain was unlike anything Theodore had ever known.
When he was six, Draco had pushed him off his broom because he sided with Blaise in a pointless row they were having. He fell thirty feet and broke his collarbone, and that hurt.
His mother was still alive at time, her stomach round with pregnancy, and Theodore didn't remember much about the incident beyond his mother's dark waves of hair tickling his nose, and her voice telling him everything would be okay.
But that had been a long time ago, and there was no place to hide from this pain.
No place at all.
All Theodore could feel was the ache and the sting and the agony of his bones being twisted like toffee inside his skin.
Someone was yelling, and it hurt; he hurt, and he wondered, in a flash of sanity, how this curse wasn't known as The Killing Curse.
He very much wanted to die.
The pain he felt went beyond description of any kind. His clothes bound him and scratched at his skin like a thousand knives. His eyelids were too heavy and ached; his toes cramped and seemed to curl backwards unnaturally.
He could feel his skin separating from sinew and muscle; it crawled, grating against everything inside him, and he hoped that it would crawl off. That he could be flayed alive to get rid of all the pain.
Anything to get rid of the pain.
It was like being seared and scalded, like having heat burn him from the inside out, all his extremities were sensitive to the point of tears.
He could've been crying.
He didn't know.
He couldn't tell.
His existence was only horror and pain and ache, and the idea that it would never end. Blaise had once told him that most of life was about anticipation, about waiting for something to happen, but Theodore had never waited for this.
He had never wanted this.
He could feel his ribs cracking in his chest; his back was being rubbed raw against the stones below him, and breathing was like inhaling shards of glass. Randomly, he hoped that Blaise would take care of Neville. He hoped Alexandria would take care of them both; perhaps she would grow up to be like their mother.
There were all sorts of things Theodore thought he should be thinking about his family and his parents, but he kept coming back to Blaise and to Neville and his sister and the pain.
He didn't want this for them.
He hoped they knew that he --
Epilogue
16 June 1996
Dear Oriel --
It's good of you to write; it has been too long since we last spoke, and I miss our regular correspondence greatly. I was extraordinarily pleased to hear of Rene's promotion, and I know that father and mother are beside themselves with pride. This does, however, beg the question of when you will be making your big splash into proper society. With our dear Rene doing so well at making a name for himself, surely the delightful Oriel Beranger Mason Zabini must grace the world with her brilliance sooner rather than later. We could all do with the entertainment.
I mock, yes, it is true, however, I do feel that the world is missing a certain je ne sais quois without you actively contributing to it; and if you tell me again that you're waiting for a fair prince to come and sweep you off to his villa in Rio de Janeiro, something evil may befall you.
Just because I have given up certain things does not mean I don't have access to others.
I will write again soon, give my best to Rene.
Mordred keep you,
Blaise
Blaise put his quill down, read the letter, re-read it, and then picked up his quill again.
p.s. I am doing well, thank you for inquiring. I believe our guests are doing well also. I will send your regards.
Blaise finished the letter, blotted it, folded it and placed a bit of green wax over the closure before sealing the epistle with the Zabini seal. Sighing deeply, he used the snuffer and put out the candle on his desk as he got to his feet.
Making certain the draperies were closed tightly, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him carefully.
He paused outside the door and tapped the letter against his lower lip thoughtfully. Shaking his head, he turned to his left and walked down the hall, making another right before taking the short flight of stairs to the kitchen.
There was mud on the mat by the backdoor, and Blaise wrinkled his nose at the boots made of strange, shiny rubbery material. His eyes roved over the pastoral blue and green paper on the walls of the kitchen as he crossed the slate floor to the fire, and lifting the lid on one of the copper pots on the mantel, he removed an old, dried piece of bacon and replaced the lid quietly.
"Is he awake?" a voice asked softly behind him.
Blaise exhaled, focussing intently on the splintering wood fireplace before him. "I didn't hear you come in," he answered.
He had found dealing with Longbottom very trying in the first days after the war had begun. They had both wanted to take care of Theodore and neither one was willing to simply leave Theodore with the other. Over time, though, Blaise had come to, if not like Neville Longbottom, to at least tolerate him, for the good of Theodore, and later for Alexandria.
"I didn't want to make a lot of noise," Neville said.
"Ah," Blaise said. "How are things?"
Blaise could practically hear Longbottom shrug. "It's war," he said.
"Of course."
"How is he?"
Blaise could feel his lips pursing together. If something had changed, obviously Blaise wouldn't be answering these insipid questions. "He's tired," Blaise said simply as he turned to face Longbottom. "He's very tired."
"Of course."
Blaise watched as Longbottom rubbed at his forehead -- it reminded him very much of Theodore. "Where's Alexandria?"
"She's having a lie-down. Too much excitement from collecting flowers today -- you know she's very excitable that way."
"Don't indulge her too much," Blaise warned, and he was surprised when Longbottom's eyes darkened.
"She's still young, Blaise; I think she could use a little indulgence."
It was on the tip of Blaise's tongue to tell Longbottom that he didn't know what a child of Alexandria's breeding needed, but he stopped himself. He wasn't terribly certain why.
They stood in the kitchen for a long time before Longbottom -- Neville, spoke. "I'm going to go up and sit with him now."
Blaise nodded. "I just need to send this post; have you got anything you want Francois to take?"
Neville shook his head. Blaise nodded again. "All right then," he said.
Blaise watched as Longbottom padded softly up the stairs to Theodore's room, and exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. As much as it pained him to say it, Longbottom was good for Theodore.
The books Blaise had gotten in the first days after fleeing Hogwarts hadn't helped at all with knowing what to do for Theodore's pain, and Longbottom had shown a surprising aptitude for creating something out of the nothingness of the Nott's holiday home outside Nice. Draco would have -- well, Draco would not have been nearly as helpful as Longbottom, but Blaise didn't want to think about that. Or him.
Draco.
For all his faults, Blaise had adored Draco. He was crass and arrogant and headstrong and so bloody-minded it made Blaise's teeth hurt, but he was loyal, and he was always himself.
Blaise loved him almost as much as he loved Theodore.
But he had made his choice the moment he'd opened the door to that cursed classroom and seen Theodore writhing on the floor in agony.
Blaise wasn't the sort who enjoyed pain for the sake of it; he had never found amusement in Draco's sadistic leanings, but he had tolerated them. Cursing Theodore, however, was unforgivable.
No matter what Theodore had done, he hadn't deserved that.
It would've been so much easier to just curse Draco and have done with it, but Draco was nothing if not relentless, and if Blaise had left him alive, Draco would've hunted them forever.
He'd had no choice.
Shaking off morbid thoughts, Blaise left the kitchen and made his way to the front room where the Zabini family owl stood on a pewter owl perch, considering his surroundings with every sharp jerk of his head.
Offering the bacon to the dark, husky owl, Blaise busied himself with tying his letter to Francois' leg. The owl would first take the letter to his mother and then to Mason. All letters were sent to everyone in the family so they could be informed of everyone else's whereabouts. When Blaise had first heard of the idea he'd been sceptical, but it worked well at assuaging fears for his family's safety.
He looked down and grinned when Francois squawked. "I see someone is impatient to be off," Blaise said. "Don't let me keep you."
Francois squawked again before taking off through an open window, and Blaise watched the greenish-gray horizon long after the owl was gone; his last tie to a life that was, for all intents, over.
He knew that eventually, the owl would bring tidings of death and capture, of those lost or just "missing". It was also more than possible that one day the post would stop or they would be found, whether it was by Narcissa or Bellatrix or Lucius didn't matter.
Pointless conjecturing would get them nowhere.
It was enough to be alive –- for now.
-- THE END --
The Soundtrack
Radiohead – Planet Telex
Coldplay – No More Keeping My Feet on the Ground
Snow Patrol – We Can Run Away Now They're All Dead & Gone (thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
northernsky_)
Embrace – Happiness Will Get You in the End
3 Colours Red - Beautiful Day
Turin Brakes – Rain City
Alexi Murdoch - Orange Sky
Bonus: The Charlatans - Forever
Thank You's and Virgin Sacrifices
1. First and foremost. I have to thank my betas:serialkarma, who's been with me every step of the way, and listened to me whinge, like, every *other* step of the way; thank you, sweetie for putting up with my nagging and unrelenting nature. To lalejandra for always trying to stop me from going out with my knickers showing and pointing out 'I do not think that means what you think it means.' Thank you. And to the very fabulous ethrosdemon who is never around except for when I'm threatening to post without her, thank you, from the recesses of my depraved heart. You all make me work and justify and sweat and bleed and sacrifice chickens, and I love you dearly for it.
2. I do believe you're only as inspired as your cast, so, yeah, here's to them.
3. Pretty people help the cause, so does really cracking music. In addition to these songs, I'd like to single out the Final Straw LP by Snow Patrol and Turin Brakes LP 'Ether Song,' which have got scratches from overuse.
4. Thanks tojonem and velutlunas for the lovely art they've made, which just touched me so.
5. I love icons like most people love... um, other stuff. Thank you tojonem , phineasjones, plumsnickety, researchminion and starstillwonderfor the lovely icons they made to urge me on to actually completely this blasted thing.
6. Thank you tofearlessdiva for seeing something more in Don't be Shallow, thereby planting the damn seed that sucked up like two months of my life. Yes, I'm grateful, you just can't tell for the sarcasm.
7. Todorrie6 for her amazing enthusiasm and excitement for every last part of this, thank you thank you thank you. You are such a pleasure to have in this fandom :)
8. To Rudyard Kipling for writing the poem the titular poem: The Thousandth Man
8. To all of you who read this and took a moment to let me know you were enjoying it, THANK YOU.
9. And last, but never ever least, tocirce_tigana who lit my fire by asking the question on everybody's mind: Who the hell is Theodore Nott? Who indeed. Well, I'd like to think I finally know, and I hope to you do too. Thank you, Circe, for laughing and inspiring and icons and shrieking and crying and just being so incredibly enthusiastic about everything. I wish everyone could know what it's like to have someone rooting so much for something they're working on. It makes a whole world of difference.
I hope you've enjoyed reading this, I've certainly enjoyed writing it.
Harry Potter:
The Thousandth Man
Part I
It was time to leave.
This was not how Theodore had planned to deal with the onslaught of the war, but there was a time to stand and fight and a time to stay alive; he could fight another day, not that he was the fighting sort, but this wasn't the time to be pedantic.
The stones underneath his feet were cold and unyielding as he crept along the corridor looking for the Gryffindor dormitory, and he spared a thought for the house shoes he’d left by the side of his bed in his haste.
He’d done well to remember his cloak and the edible portkeys his father had given him, but he’d forgotten his shoes, which was simply intolerable. Who forgot their blasted shoes when they were making a nighttime getaway before the fighting began? Theodore cursed and then stubbed his toe when he was shushed by a portrait he'd bumped into.
He would have to procure some proper footwear at some point, hopefully sooner rather than later. He wondered, quite randomly, whether or not he had left some at his family’s summer home in Nice.
He hadn’t actually been to the family home in several years, since his father had begun allowing his Aunt Narcissa to have free reign over Theodore’s holidays. She preferred more exotic locales like Madagascar and the hanging gardens of Babylon.
Somewhere outside Hogwarts, several owls hooted, and Theodore inhaled sharply. He had no misgivings about where those owls were going or what they would be delivering. The Zabini family owl had already paid Blaise a visit; and Francois was followed in very short order by the Nott family owl, but by then Theodore was awake and Blaise was making his last minute arrangements to leave.
Being the children of Death Eaters helped somewhat when it came to planning ahead, and while Theodore was sorry about what’d he’d done to the Malfoy family owl, he didn’t have the time to deal with Draco. Draco would survive on his own. Theodore just hoped his aunt would forgive him in time; he'd had enough problems just leaving Blaise to come and get Neville.
Taking Neville along was not debatable to Theodore.
Blaise did not agree.
For some inexplicable reason, Theodore had always thought the war would start on a Wednesday, perhaps during Transfigurations or Divination. He wasn’t terribly certain of the specifics, but he had no intention of sitting about and sorting them out while people were hexed around him, and the entire world fell apart -- because he knew that was what would happen.
Once war was "officially" declared, people would be itching to do all those things they’d restrained themselves – or had been restrained, in the case of a certain overzealous boy with a saviour-complex -- from doing for so long.
Slights would easily justify curses, pointless arguments would become a cause for death. Of course the teachers would attempt to keep control of their lessons and their students; Theodore could see the stern looks and detention abounding, but in the end it would be for naught.
There would be chaos and shouting and easy-target hexes thrown in the halls; people would vanish without so much as a by-your-leave, and the Order would attempt to keep stability, but it would all be in vain. With any luck the tergiversari would be able to avoid all the pandemonium and wait out the war at the Greengrass villa in Tuscany.
Most would leave, some would stay, and the vast majority would die; they would be no great loss. Theodore was not concerned with them. His primary concerns were his sister, his lover, and his best friend -- beyond that, everyone else could rot in the smouldering wreckage.
Except that Theodore had found things to be a bit more complicated where Neville was concerned. Every time Theodore brought up leaving when the war began, Neville insisted that he would be staying to fight, which just made Theodore livid; and clearly he should have paid more attention to where the Gryffindor dormitory was, because he’d some how ended up by the Ravenclaw statue and that wasn’t on at all. He needed a bloody map to move around this place in the dark.
As he backtracked, he thought of Alexandria, and wondered how long it would take for their father to send her to him. He refused to think she wasn’t' alive, and there was no possible way their father would keep her at home with the war starting. Theodore didn't trust her with anyone else; if it came to it, he would get her himself.
His father’s letter had contained one line in Italian: Partire adesso, and nothing more. The line had been scrawled on a pastel drawing of Nott Terrace. Theodore found himself consciously fingering the drawing he’d slipped into the folds of his robe as he took a left instead of a right by the portrait of The Mediwizard and the Knight.
He wondered briefly as to the whereabouts of Filch and Mrs Norris before deciding that Morgana was on his side this evening, and it would be better not to question his luck. If it was indeed luck -- or something else altogether -- he wouldn't probe too deeply At the moment life was difficult enough just trying to sort out where he was going in the dark, and it struck him that for all the work the tergiversari had done on hexes and curses they had never thought of the smaller spells that really could have helped them all – like seeing in the dark.
Slytherins were always much better with the big picture than the small details; the Dark Lord was proof of that. The fact that Theodore had left the Slytherin dorms without shoes only went on to solidify the theory, but in the large scheme of things, he really did have other things on his mind.
He stood very still when he caught sight of a faint glow up ahead. He crept closer, not entirely of his own volition, and his brain processed the image before him long before he began to understand what he was seeing.
“I was wondering when you would show.” Draco’s lazy drawl unceremoniously yanked Theodore into the macabre scene before him.
Theodore’s stomach lept about, and his eye twitched as he tried to adjust to the faint sheen emanating from Draco. He couldn’t comprehend how, or why, Draco would have gotten to the Gryffindor dormitory before him.
More importantly though, Theodore wondered what he was going to do about the hold Draco had on Neville, and the wand that Draco was pointing at Neville’s throat.
Unlike Theodore, Neville didn't seem prepared for a midnight excursion to France. He wore gold-and-maroon striped pyjamas, and his hair was mussed as though he’d just woken up. He had neither wand, cloak nor shoes. Clearly he was not prepared to travel anywhere, which annoyed Theodore greatly as he’d sent his owl to Neville with explicit instructs: We’re leaving.
He would address the annoyance after he stopped worrying that Draco was going to annihilate his boyfriend.
“Don’t worry about him,” Draco said, thumping Neville soundly on the chest. “He’s in a Body Bind; I can’t have him escaping before his time.”
“Draco, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but do you really think it’s a smart idea to kill a Gryffindor, outside their dormitory, at school?”
Draco’s laugh made the hairs on the back of Theodore’s neck stand up. “Who said anything about killing a Gryffindor?”
“Well, you’ve got your wand at his throat,” Theodore said, waving his hand around in what he hoped was a blasé manner. “Were you planning on stealing his voice or something else?"
“You must think you’re terribly witty and clever,” Draco hissed, pushing the wand that much further into Neville’s throat. “Did you really think I didn’t know you were up to something, Theodore? Did you really think I was so stupid?”
Neville was mouthing something, but Theodore couldn’t make it out, and the last thing he needed was Neville distracting him from an unhinged Malfoy; he’d seen Lucius when he was on a tear.
“You’ve been toying with me for months, thinking you could lead me about like a house pet, and all the while you’ve been fanning about with this.” Neville made a grunting noise as Draco pushed his wand a little harder, and Theodore took a step forward.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The sing-song tone of Draco’s voice made Theodore's palms sweat, and he froze, sparing a thought for his wand, which was tucked away with the letter from his father.
“Draco, this is all very engaging, but don’t you think you’ve played enough for one evening?”
“Do not condescend to me,” Draco snapped. “You’ve been buggering a Gryffindor, and you stunned my mother’s owl. Do you have any idea what will become of you when I take you to the Dark Lord? I'm sure he would be more than willing to trade you for my father. Well, perhaps not you alone, but you, plus this poor excuse for a captive might be enough.”
Theodore opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead Neville’s raspy tone filled the void. “You wouldn’t dare, Malfoy.”
“You don't know what I would and wouldn’t do, Longbottom.” Draco’s mouth was very close to Neville’s ear when he spoke, and Theodore could see Neville's body suppress a shudder.
Draco radiated a preternatural light, as though he'd taken some sort of potion, or cast a spell upon himself. The idea that Draco knew something that Theodore didn't left him extremely vexed, and backpedaling to come up with a new plan to fit the scenario.
Draco’s eyes were extraordinarily bright and sharp with unpredictability, and Theodore’s mind whirred about trying to find a way to sort this out. He could easily get his wand out before Draco could hex him, but he couldn’t save Neville unless he could get Draco to point the wand at him. It was an incredibly risky and stupid plan, Blaise would – Theodore's breath caught in his throat.
Draco had been sound asleep when Theodore had left Blaise packing, with strict instructions to swallow his portkey the moment he was done, but if Draco hadn’t been asleep at all…
Blaise.
“Where’s Blaise?” Theodore snapped, his voice louder and harder than he’d meant.
“You don’t ask the questions here.” Draco’s smile was all sharp, white teeth. “I do.”
The fear Theodore felt, the worry and anxiety were all flattened in the wake of his anger and dread. “Don’t toy with me, Draco,” he said taking another step forward. “Where. Is. Blaise?”
“It’s you who’ve been toying with me,” Draco shot back. “And stay where you are. You don’t know what I could do to him.”
Several portraits shushed them, and Theodore wondered what it took to get a bit of assistance from these infernal idiots. If they had been near the Slytherin dorms at least one portrait would have been crying out for bloodshed and heads on pikes.
Theodore spared another glance at Neville, whose eyes were enormous. He didn’t seem terribly afraid of the wand at his throat, but he was still mouthing something and that worried Theodore all the more.
“If you’ve harmed Blaise in anyway,” he began, “you will be sorrier than you'll ever know.”
“I’m holding your Gryffindor at wandpoint, and you’re worried about Blaise; this is very touching.” Draco spoke very softly. “Clearly you have loyalty issues, Theodore; perhaps it will help you to know that you don’t have to decide anymore.”
Theodore could just make out the bead of sweat on Neville’s brow, and he would swear that his heart stopped at Draco’s words. “You didn’t,” he began, his voice unsteady and tremulous. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Who says I wouldn’t?” Draco's tone was impossible casual and calm, as though they were discussing the weather. “More importantly, how would you know? Aren’t you the one who told me that I didn’t know what you liked? Well, then, how would you know what I like?”
Theodore’s eyes widened as Draco licked a stripe along the shell of Neville’s ear. “For all you know,” Draco said, “I may fancy Gryffindors.”
Neville made a noise of disgust, but all Theodore could see now was green. His brain couldn’t begin to process the idea of Blaise being gone; it was not something he was equipped to comprehend, and now this – this perversion of the only thing he held dear was just too much.
Later on he would think it all happened in slow motion, that it took years to pass: the shouting coming from somewhere below him, the idea that Blaise was gone permeating everything, the look on Neville’s face as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Draco’s chest.
Draco’s mouth formed the first ‘a’ and his own formed the last, and then he was dead.
They were both dead.
Everyone was dead, and Theodore was alone.
And then he woke up.
Part II
It always rained in the spring in Scotland.
After six years, Theodore had become well-acquainted with the Hogwarts seasons. In autumn it was cold, and in the winter it snowed. On occasion it also snowed in the spring, but mainly, it just rained. A lot. It was what was expected of a Scottish spring. The damp got into your bones and your ears, and you couldn't hear properly for months on end. There were new flowers and trips to Hogsmeade and all sorts of stuff that Theodore took for granted, because it was the way of things. He didn't have to pay attention.
Except that according to the solstice calendar it was spring, and almost the end of term, and the weather should have been rain. Or snow. Or some form of precipitation to remind everyone that Hogwarts was extraordinarily far from Platform 9 ¾ in London, but there was none to be seen.
It hadn't rained in fifty-seven days, and judging by the cloudless sky on the fifty-eighth day, it didn't appear as though things were going to change in a hurry either.
It wasn't that Theodore was averse to the nice weather, but it was unnatural, and that was unsettling. It made Theodore tense. Neville was distracted; Queenie was snappish; and Potter was more skittish than normal. Even Blaise seemed overwrought.
The professors outdid themselves pretending everything was normal when they clearly felt otherwise; the only person who didn't seem to notice or care was Draco, which made Theodore even more wary.
With the lack of rain, everything seemed dry and airless. The humidity deficiency should have been comfortable, but it just made Theodore's skin feel dry and itchy, and more than once, Blaise had to kick him in Potions to remind him not to scratch.
In Herbology, Professor Sprout taught them a Mister Misting Charm that only required a glass of water, and during his free hours Theodore helped Neville casting tiny Misting Charms on the various flowers and shrubs in the greenhouses. Only once did he cast the charm on Neville just to see him with a wet tee shirt. It was horribly gratuitous and wrong, which was obviously why Theodore did it.
Not all magic had to be used entirely for its practical applications, and Theodore felt it was a good use of his time.
For the most part Theodore's schedule was rather well established: breakfast, lessons, lunch, lessons, visit Neville in the greenhouses, dinner, study, meet with the tergiversari and then bed.
At some point Theodore had made Neville and the tergiversari a part of his daily schedule, but he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint the exact date. He took great pains to make things appear as natural as possible and deflect attention away from himself.
He didn't announce his whereabouts, but if someone was looking for him, then generally he could be found, though only Blaise and Neville could always find him, which suited Theodore fine. The best place to hide was in plain sight, and if Draco saw him at least five times a day there was no way he could accuse Theodore of not being around. Not that Draco ever said anything to that effect, but Theodore's dreams had him on edge. He could feel Draco watching him, and so he watched Draco, except for when he knew Draco was attending Quidditch practice.
Those were the times when Theodore would take the long route around the castle, past the pitch and the Quidditch sheds and the lake until he reached the greenhouses. The grass appeared as lush and verdant as ever, but it crunched under his feet. He would walk slowly enough not to be seen hurrying, but quickly enough not to be thought dawdling.
Invariably he would stop at the crest of the hill before the greenhouses and gaze into the distance. For all the blue, cloudless sky above the school, it always appeared gray in the further off, and Theodore wondered if the weather issue was, in fact, an issue or a power struggle that everyone was pretending wasn't occurring at all. He wasn't certain if the sky was being controlled by the Dark Lord or Dumbledore – or Potter, and then he thought no more of it.
It was all bollocks.
It didn't concern him.
Wizards controlling the weather, dreams about those closest to him dying, only foolish people would talk about such things. Theodore was not foolish; he had no desire to end up in St Mungo's. He had no desire to add to the tension that was seeping into every porous surface and body available; and he wasn't going to tell Blaise about the dreams he had. They were just dreams and only as powerful as he gave them credit to be; his mother had always told him that when he couldn't sleep.
Theodore had been somewhat of a nervous sleeper when he was younger, the slightest creak or cough would keep him awake for hours. Of course, he never mentioned this to his parents, because admitting weakness was foolhardy. Notts never displayed weakness, but his mother always seemed to know when he was awake, and would appear in his doorway, dark hair cascading over the pale nightdresses she wore. She would offer him an amused smile, and she would say she was just passing by and thought he might be awake.
He never told her about his dreams; she never asked; instead she would tell him stories of her brothers and how they always drove away her bad dreams with stories and activities and various entertainments they devised for her.
His mother didn't hold with Divination. She said she was too practical to believe in such a thing, and Theodore never believed, but his recent dreams were so vivid that upon waking he felt as though he could still touch them.
But they were just dreams, that was all, and there was no reason to trouble Blaise unnecessarily. There was no reason to give his worries a life of their own. Theodore wasn't an alarmist Gryffindor; that was what he had Neville for.
So rather than speaking his mind, Theodore made his way to Greenhouse Six, where apparently, he was expected to assist in repotting a series of Lily-Livered Lilies.
The door to the greenhouse creaked open, and Theodore glanced around briefly for Neville as he removed his lightweight cloak, pocketed his wand, and set his robe with his rucksack. The lack of rain and blue skies were worrisome for lots of reasons, but they made dressing in the morning much easier.
Smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, Theodore rubbed the back of his neck as he gave the empty greenhouse another glance. "Neville?" he called.
It was entirely possible that he had the wrong greenhouse; he'd been paying more attention to snogging good-bye yesterday than where he was supposed to go the next day, but he was fairly certain he'd heard six. Unless he'd heard sex -- but he was always hearing that; he was a teenage boy.
The plants rustled as he walked up one row and down another; it was strangely quiet in the greenhouse, almost unnaturally so. Theodore had spent enough time among the plants to know that they were horrible gossipers and talked about the students incessantly, and yet, there was nary a peep. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Neville?" he called again, his voice quiet and low. "Are in you in here?"
There was no reply, and the nerve in Theodore's temple quivered. If something had happened to Neville --
There was a creak behind him, and Theodore's heart fell into his shoes. He removed his wand and spun around, the first curse he could think of on his lips…
Only to wind up with a face full of mist.
Theodore blinked as Neville smiled beatifically. He could feel water on his face, and his lips, and his hair. It was slowly seeping into the cotton of his shirt, and his body reacted accordingly.
Theodore's wand trembled as Neville's smile slipped from his face slowly. "It was a joke," Neville said quickly. "I wanted to surprise you."
Theodore pocketed his wand and rubbed his hand over his face, gathering moisture. He could feel his nipples hardening against the dampness of his shirt. Neville shifted from one foot to the other.
"You wanted to surprise me," he repeated.
Neville bit his lower lip. "Um, surprise?"
Theodore growled, but the sound died off when he realised that Neville was eyeing him intently, particularly where he was wet. Tilting his head to the side, Theodore licked his bottom lip, and Neville made a noise.
"You're quite adorable when you're upset," Neville said, taking a step closer to Theodore.
Theodore scowled, even as Neville latched onto his shirt and tugged him forward. "I am not adorable," he said hotly. "I can't believe you would insult me by calling me something so benign and girlish as 'adorable'."
"I like adorable," Neville protested, his breath was warm against Theodore's damp skin. "But I could call you something else if you prefer. What do Slytherins like being called besides 'Master'?"
The scowl slipped from Theodore's face. "Master?" he parroted, tilting his head upwards as Neville gazed at him expectantly. "What sort of games have your lot being playing in that tower anyway?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville said against Theodore's mouth.
Theodore twitched as Neville's calloused hands slipped underneath his shirt. "I take it that this is the part where you seduce me, right?" The muscles in his stomach contracted as Neville's hands brushed against his bare skin.
Neville licked a stripe along the side of Theodore's neck. "There's no fooling a Slytherin, is there?"
Theodore made a derisory noise. "Of course not."
It didn't rain on the fifty-ninth day, but there was something about the day that made Theodore uneasy. His skin still felt dry, despite the numerous moisturizer charms Blaise had from Mason and the lotion he had appropriated from Queenie.
It was as though Theodore were being leeched dry, but he couldn't sort out from where. And even as he struggled to present the Nott variation of blasé, he but could feel himself being watched.
It wasn't a sensation he was particularly well acquainted with as he tended to be the observer rather than observed, but he would never let it be said that a Nott could not perform under pressure. It would never do to be visibly unsettled, so he carried on with his note taking, focussing his attention on Professor Flitwick and the circle, swish and tap of the Pollywog Charm, which was supposed to trap sound in a bubble.
He did his best to avert his eyes away from the back of the room where Neville sat, flanked by Granger and Finnegan, but it wasn't particularly easy. He could feel the steady sureness of Neville's gaze on his shoulders and his neck, and for a few seconds on his groin. The idea alone was rather scandalous, but Neville had proven himself in possession of a rather voracious libido, which Theodore was more than willing to satisfy. It was the sort of thing Theodore could have happily spent a great deal of time considering, but those weren't the eyes causing him concern.
He could also feel Blaise watching him, and if Legilimancy had been something people were born with then Blaise would've been a terrific threat to the entire wizarding population. As it stood, Theodore would know the weight of those eyes anywhere, and it would be such a simple thing for him to turn around and frown or even to reach back and tap Blaise's desk with his wand and turn it into something else. Perhaps a sabretooth tiger or an end table. Just something to let Blaise know that he was aware of him, that Theodore had not forgotten his existence. Theodore, however, was not feeling terribly playful today as there were other eyes on him, gray eyes, sharp and piercing, and they were much more attentive than they'd been in quite some time.
It was almost as though they'd been awakened, and that -- that was not good.
No, Draco being aware was never a good thing.
The sun was shining through the windows as Theodore followed Blaise to lunch, and during the meal, when Draco made a point of engaging him in conversation, Theodore actually replied. For the most part though, Theodore ate quietly, stealing only the most occasional glances in the direction of the Gryffindor table, until Blaise nudged him lightly.
After lunch, Blaise got up wordlessly, and Theodore followed him out the Great Hall and through the foyer to the front door. Care of Magical Creatures wasn't one of Theodore's favorite subjects, but it had great amusement value since Draco never seemed to want to actually listen to anything the – well, Theodore wouldn't have called the giant a professor, but he was the teacher, which caused Draco no end of irritation.
The sky didn't seem as blue as earlier; in fact, it was slightly green, which was just absurd. Nevertheless, Theodore froze on the front steps, clutching his books tightly. The door creaked shut behind him, but he refused to move.
There was something off, and he could feel it, which was absolutely ridiculous. He wasn't a seer or diviner. He held no truck with premonitions and the like. Obviously lunch hadn't agreed with him.
He shook his head when Blaise spoke. "No, it's nothing," he said, dismissively.
Blaise's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press the matter. "Well then, don't you think we should be getting on?"
Theodore nodded, took another step and stopped. He'd been wrong before -- this wasn't something he felt. It was something he could smell.
"Theodore."
Theodore's exposure to the weather was limited to holiday weather and school weather. He wasn't the one who spent all his time with plants; he spent a fair amount of his time with Neville, but it wasn't the same thing. It made no sense that he could smell rain when the sky was as blue as the charmed Every Weather Walls in Alexandria's nursery. He couldn't possibly know it was going to rain, though every fibre in his being said it was, and a little voice said that what he was feeling had absolutely nothing to do with the rain at all.
"Theodore."
Theodore jumped when he felt Blaise's hand on his upper arm. "Theodore, what is it?"
"It's nothing." Theodore shook his head. "I just – it's nothing."
Blaise's hold on his upper arm tightened, and Theodore winced as Blaise pulled him off the path, away from several Ravenclaws bustling out the front doors.
"Do not tell me it's nothing," Blaise hissed. "It hasn't rained all spring; everybody's waiting for the knut to drop; you aren't sleeping well; and this infernal war refuses to start so it can hurry up and be done with."
Theodore opened his mouth to protest Blaise's sleeping accusation, but Blaise whipped out his wand and poked him in the chest. "This is not the time for pointless bravado, Theodore Marcellus, now you tell me what all this nothing is, or I swear to Circe I will hex you into next Tuesday."
Theodore looked down at the wand and back at Blaise. "Is someone a little wand-happy?" he asked.
A smirk ghosted briefly over Blaise's features as he put his wand away and released Theodore's arm. "I'm finding all this waiting rather tiresome," he admitted reluctantly.
Theodore licked his upper lip, and Blaise shook his head. "Don’t try to distract me, Theodore."
"I wasn't trying to distract you," Theodore protested, but Blaise didn't appear convinced; instead, he rolled his eyes.
Theodore sighed. "Something's off."
Blaise frowned. "Could you be a little more explicit?"
"I have this feeling."
"What kind of feeling? Dysentery? Migraine? Premonition?"
Theodore rubbed his forehead, letting his fingers slip into his hair to massage his scalp. The usual twitching in his temple had become a throbbing in his head; he needed a lie-down.
"Devons-nous partir?" Blaise asked very quietly.
Theodore shook his head. "No, c'est pas ça. C'est juste un pressentiment."
It was Blaise's turn to blink this time. He scratched the back of his neck, and when Theodore met his eyes, Blaise looked troubled. His eyes were dark, and he seemed almost nervous, which made something inside Theodore ache. Blaise was the calmest person in his life; Theodore didn't want him to worry.
He needed to smirk, or kiss Blaise, or something to ease the tension. He just needed to pretend that everything was all right for a little bit longer -- except he couldn't.
It wouldn't come.
Blaise gently extracted Theodore's fingers from his hair. "What kind of feeling?"
Theodore opened his mouth to say he didn't know, to say he couldn't explain it. He wouldn't say he was afraid. Slytherins didn't admit to those sort of weaknesses. Slytherins were never afraid—and if they were, they weren’t stupid enough to admit it. "I think it's going to rain," he said
"You mean more than rain don't you?"
Theodore made a noise.
"You mean thunder and lightning and green skies for weeks, don't you? We're talking raining Death Eaters and floods of corpses, is that it?"
"Yes."
Blaise sighed. "Well, at least it will be a change."
Theodore slept poorly that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Draco killing Neville, and him killing Draco, and Draco killing Blaise. Alexandria died on the steps of Nott Terrace, her face twisted in a rictus of pain, and his father died in front of his mother's portrait, his skin shriveled like a fig
He found his Aunt Narcissa dead in her garden, her skin green and bloated with toxins, and the entire Zabini family fell out of the drawing room fireplace into a heap of corpses. Their bodies were twisted and charred, broken oddly and discoloured as though they had all been stuffed in the chimney, alive, and then left there to slowly rot to death.
Everyone was dead in Theodore's dreams again, but they were alive while he was awake, and he spent an inordinate amount of time counting to himself and trying to force his eyelids to stay open.
When he had first started having sleeping problems, he'd thought working harder in the tergiversari would help, but a hex from the book Getting Rid of Unwanted Company and Neighbours, a concussion, and visit to Madam Pomfrey rid him of that notion. He hadn't even realised he'd fallen asleep until he was jolted awake by Blaise slipping into bed beside him.
"Go back to sleep," Blaise whispered, setting his own pillow down next to Theodore's. "If it's going to happen, it's going to happen. There's no point in losing sleep over it."
Theodore opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. There was an assortment of things he wanted to say to Blaise. He wanted to talk about Rene and Mason, about Alexandria and his mother. He wanted to talk about Nice and Milan, and all the holidays they'd planned to take. He wanted to talk about Neville. Theodore wanted -- but to say anything would be admitting that he was concerned, and so he said nothing. If Blaise was in his bed, then he was already well aware of Theodore anxiety, and it wasn't necessary to make a matter of it.
There was a part of him that found sleeping with Blaise rather suspect when he was supposed to be with Neville, but Theodore wasn't in the mood to justify his actions to anyone. Even himself.
Instead, he curled around Blaise and went to sleep.
Part III
It rained on the sixtieth day.
The entire castle was alerted to the change in weather by an impossibly loud clap of thunder that shook the castle to its foundations, followed by a series of smaller claps and what sounded like a rain of toads beating against the stones.
Theodore was in the library with Blaise, paying absolutely no attention to what he was reading or what he was supposed to be learning, when the storm started. They very well could've been playing Exploding Snap, naked, in the Slytherin common room for all of Theodore's ability to focus, but it was of some comfort to him that Blaise wasn't paying attention either. He hadn't turned a page in his text for seventeen minutes by Theodore's estimate.
The force of the storm was more than what Theodore was expecting, yet he didn't shout or scream when the room began to shake and the books fell off the shelves, neither did Blaise.
Most people, in fact, laughed nervously before going back to their assignments and talking amongst themselves quietly, as though it went without raining in Scotland in the spring for sixty days all the time.
Theodore, however, closed his book and gently nudged Blaise under the table. He would never remember what he was supposed to be studying or what exactly he was saying to Blaise when the explosion happened; all he would remember was the ceiling falling on the table between them and nearly crushing them both.
There was a giant hole above his head that gave him a new view of the Arithmancy classroom, and to Theodore, there could be no clearer sign that it was time to leave.
Through the shouting and wailing and dust from the sky falling, he reached out and hauled Blaise over the table as though he were the same size as Alexandria.
There was blood smeared on Blaise's hand, and Theodore's fingers hurt where they clutched at Blaise's robes, but couldn't dwell on that now. Truthfully, he didn't want to think about it at all.
The rest of the world could stick around to find out what was happening; Theodore didn't need to ask. He wasn't going to die today. Not there, not in the library.
"We're leaving," he said, pulling Blaise along behind him, and holding him firmly to keep the stumbling over debris to a minimum.
Theodore only took a vague notice of Madam Pince and Hermione Granger running up and down the aisles trying to keep order. It was such a Gryffindor response to the start of war that for a moment he almost paused to laugh, but he could feel Blaise vibrating with tension next to him and thought better of it.
Outside the library it was easier to hear the howling of the wind and the rain battering against the stones of the castle. It was also easier to see the chaos. People were running and screaming as though they hadn't a brain amongst them, which Theodore thought might be a real possibility.
A few prefects and teachers were attempting to keep order; Theodore shook his head as Professor Sinistra tried to placate a group of hysterical first-year Hufflepuffs. That was a losing battle all the way.
Flashes of lightning crept through the slim windows, and Theodore exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding when Blaise's hand slipped into his. "Well, that wasn't so bad," Blaise said. "I'd thought there'd be more -–"
Blaise's words were cut off by another enormous clap of thunder, and Theodore lost his footing when the castle shook underneath them. He nearly bit his tongue off as he fell to his knees, griping Blaise's hand tightly, only to nearly be run down by a bevy of Ravenclaws.
Someone kicked Theodore in the side, and he yanked out his wand to curse the offender, but couldn't make them out in the mess. What he could see, however, was a dark shock of hair that he would have recognized anywhere.
Scrambling to his feet, Theodore dropped Blaise's hand. "I have to get Neville," he said. "Don't go anywhere."
Blaise's eyes narrowed. "Are you absolutely mad? There's no way I'm letting you --"
Theodore didn't have time to argue. "Stay here," he said, shaking off Blaise's attempts to restrain him.
"Theodore Nott! Come back here at once; this isn't your war!"
Blaise's words rang in Theodore's ears as he ran down the corridor to where he'd last seen Neville. It wasn't his war; he was well aware of that, but it wasn't Neville's war either -- despite whatever delusions Potter had him labouring under.
There was another flash of dark hair to Theodore's right, and he cursed the system that disapproved of him having a boyfriend in Gryffindor. Of course the majority of Gryffindors were insufferable dimwits with no sense of preservation, but that aside, this chasing Neville through the halls to get him alone was ridiculous and plebian.
And where on Mordred's earth was Neville going?
"Neville!" Theodore stopped running. He'd just shouted Neville's name, a Gryffindor's name, in school, where anyone could hear. It was one thing to say it in the privacy of the greenhouses, but this was different. More real. Of course this was also wartime, and he was under duress.
Shaking it off, Theodore caught sight of Neville going down another corridor, and ran to catch up with him, calling him name again and again.
There had been so many twists and turns that Theodore had no idea where he was or where Neville was going. Was he going to the greenhouses? Was he trying to find Theodore in the dungeons? This was absurd.
Theodore stopped suddenly. He'd lost Neville. He stood in the hall, disoriented and confused, and when he reached up to rub his forehead, his hand came away wet.
There was blood smeared on the flat of his hand; his own blood. He'd never seen so much of it at one time; apparently the falling ceiling had gotten him after all.
Wiping it on his robes distractedly, he tried to sort out where Neville had got to, and then he heard his name. Neville was leaning out of the doorway to a classroom, and Theodore raced to catch him.
"Where are earth are you going?" he said slowing to a stop and following Neville inside the darkened classroom. "There's nothing down here, the Slytherin dormitory is on the other side of the school."
"I know that." Neville waited until Theodore was through the door before closing it behind them, and Theodore briefly wondered how Neville knew were the dorms were before he pushed the thought aside and grabbed Neville by the robes and snogged him harshly.
The kiss was messy and hard; Theodore could taste blood and licorice when he stepped away. He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand absently as Neville leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.
"Are you all right?" Theodore asked, his hands leaving smears of blood on Neville's robes as Theodore tried to check him over.
"You're getting blood on all over me," Neville snapped, shaking Theodore off. "Stop that."
Theodore stopped –- and the nerve in his temple quavered. "Where were you going? I've been chasing you for ages," he said, wincing slightly as a flash of lightning illuminated the room.
"Wouldn't you like to know," Neville smirked.
The nerve in Theodore's temple twitched harder, and he took a step back. "Neville?"
Neville withdrew his wand, and Theodore's stomach dropped into his feet. "Please don't refer to me by that odious name," Neville said, flashing Theodore an impossibly white, sharp grin.
"Neville, I don't know what -–"
Theodore's words were drowned out by a throaty laugh he would've recognized anywhere, and then Neville's features began to shift. His round nose began to sharpen, and his hair lightened, growing longer and paler at an alarming rate.
Theodore opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Outside the storm raged, and the room shook as another explosion rocked the castle.
"You betrayed me," Draco said, stepping forward and pointing the wand at Theodore's chest. "You betrayed your family and the Dark Lord and everything we stand for. You're a Slytherin, and you're shagging one of them!"
"You're just sour because Potter didn't want you," Theodore retorted, staggering when Draco backhanded him. His knees were throbbing from where he'd fallen earlier, and he thanked Merlin that he hadn't dragged Blaise into this mess.
"You think your Gryffindor is so great." Draco's tone was all derision. "You could've had me -– you're an idiot."
"I never wanted you," Theodore snapped. "You don't even want you –- or you wouldn't whore yourself out to the entire year."
"You know nothing about class," Draco continued. "You're a disgrace to everything we represent. My father always thought you were weak -- just like your father!"
Theodore's eyes narrowed. "It's you who's the idiot, Draco, and your father is going to rot in Azkaban," he hissed. "You should be thankful."
Draco's seemed to vibrate with rage, and his pale lips formed one reply -- “Crucio!”
The pain happened in a flash –- for some reason Theodore thought it would've happened slower. That he would've had time to think about Neville and Blaise and Alexandria. That he would've be able to count in French or Italian or do something to protect himself. The tergiversari were supposed to help with things like this -– but they had never talked about the pain, and the pain was unlike anything Theodore had ever known.
When he was six, Draco had pushed him off his broom because he sided with Blaise in a pointless row they were having. He fell thirty feet and broke his collarbone, and that hurt.
His mother was still alive at time, her stomach round with pregnancy, and Theodore didn't remember much about the incident beyond his mother's dark waves of hair tickling his nose, and her voice telling him everything would be okay.
But that had been a long time ago, and there was no place to hide from this pain.
No place at all.
All Theodore could feel was the ache and the sting and the agony of his bones being twisted like toffee inside his skin.
Someone was yelling, and it hurt; he hurt, and he wondered, in a flash of sanity, how this curse wasn't known as The Killing Curse.
He very much wanted to die.
The pain he felt went beyond description of any kind. His clothes bound him and scratched at his skin like a thousand knives. His eyelids were too heavy and ached; his toes cramped and seemed to curl backwards unnaturally.
He could feel his skin separating from sinew and muscle; it crawled, grating against everything inside him, and he hoped that it would crawl off. That he could be flayed alive to get rid of all the pain.
Anything to get rid of the pain.
It was like being seared and scalded, like having heat burn him from the inside out, all his extremities were sensitive to the point of tears.
He could've been crying.
He didn't know.
He couldn't tell.
His existence was only horror and pain and ache, and the idea that it would never end. Blaise had once told him that most of life was about anticipation, about waiting for something to happen, but Theodore had never waited for this.
He had never wanted this.
He could feel his ribs cracking in his chest; his back was being rubbed raw against the stones below him, and breathing was like inhaling shards of glass. Randomly, he hoped that Blaise would take care of Neville. He hoped Alexandria would take care of them both; perhaps she would grow up to be like their mother.
There were all sorts of things Theodore thought he should be thinking about his family and his parents, but he kept coming back to Blaise and to Neville and his sister and the pain.
He didn't want this for them.
He hoped they knew that he --
Epilogue
Dear Oriel --
It's good of you to write; it has been too long since we last spoke, and I miss our regular correspondence greatly. I was extraordinarily pleased to hear of Rene's promotion, and I know that father and mother are beside themselves with pride. This does, however, beg the question of when you will be making your big splash into proper society. With our dear Rene doing so well at making a name for himself, surely the delightful Oriel Beranger Mason Zabini must grace the world with her brilliance sooner rather than later. We could all do with the entertainment.
I mock, yes, it is true, however, I do feel that the world is missing a certain je ne sais quois without you actively contributing to it; and if you tell me again that you're waiting for a fair prince to come and sweep you off to his villa in Rio de Janeiro, something evil may befall you.
Just because I have given up certain things does not mean I don't have access to others.
I will write again soon, give my best to Rene.
Mordred keep you,
Blaise
Blaise put his quill down, read the letter, re-read it, and then picked up his quill again.
p.s. I am doing well, thank you for inquiring. I believe our guests are doing well also. I will send your regards.
Blaise finished the letter, blotted it, folded it and placed a bit of green wax over the closure before sealing the epistle with the Zabini seal. Sighing deeply, he used the snuffer and put out the candle on his desk as he got to his feet.
Making certain the draperies were closed tightly, he left the bedroom, closing the door behind him carefully.
He paused outside the door and tapped the letter against his lower lip thoughtfully. Shaking his head, he turned to his left and walked down the hall, making another right before taking the short flight of stairs to the kitchen.
There was mud on the mat by the backdoor, and Blaise wrinkled his nose at the boots made of strange, shiny rubbery material. His eyes roved over the pastoral blue and green paper on the walls of the kitchen as he crossed the slate floor to the fire, and lifting the lid on one of the copper pots on the mantel, he removed an old, dried piece of bacon and replaced the lid quietly.
"Is he awake?" a voice asked softly behind him.
Blaise exhaled, focussing intently on the splintering wood fireplace before him. "I didn't hear you come in," he answered.
He had found dealing with Longbottom very trying in the first days after the war had begun. They had both wanted to take care of Theodore and neither one was willing to simply leave Theodore with the other. Over time, though, Blaise had come to, if not like Neville Longbottom, to at least tolerate him, for the good of Theodore, and later for Alexandria.
"I didn't want to make a lot of noise," Neville said.
"Ah," Blaise said. "How are things?"
Blaise could practically hear Longbottom shrug. "It's war," he said.
"Of course."
"How is he?"
Blaise could feel his lips pursing together. If something had changed, obviously Blaise wouldn't be answering these insipid questions. "He's tired," Blaise said simply as he turned to face Longbottom. "He's very tired."
"Of course."
Blaise watched as Longbottom rubbed at his forehead -- it reminded him very much of Theodore. "Where's Alexandria?"
"She's having a lie-down. Too much excitement from collecting flowers today -- you know she's very excitable that way."
"Don't indulge her too much," Blaise warned, and he was surprised when Longbottom's eyes darkened.
"She's still young, Blaise; I think she could use a little indulgence."
It was on the tip of Blaise's tongue to tell Longbottom that he didn't know what a child of Alexandria's breeding needed, but he stopped himself. He wasn't terribly certain why.
They stood in the kitchen for a long time before Longbottom -- Neville, spoke. "I'm going to go up and sit with him now."
Blaise nodded. "I just need to send this post; have you got anything you want Francois to take?"
Neville shook his head. Blaise nodded again. "All right then," he said.
Blaise watched as Longbottom padded softly up the stairs to Theodore's room, and exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. As much as it pained him to say it, Longbottom was good for Theodore.
The books Blaise had gotten in the first days after fleeing Hogwarts hadn't helped at all with knowing what to do for Theodore's pain, and Longbottom had shown a surprising aptitude for creating something out of the nothingness of the Nott's holiday home outside Nice. Draco would have -- well, Draco would not have been nearly as helpful as Longbottom, but Blaise didn't want to think about that. Or him.
Draco.
For all his faults, Blaise had adored Draco. He was crass and arrogant and headstrong and so bloody-minded it made Blaise's teeth hurt, but he was loyal, and he was always himself.
Blaise loved him almost as much as he loved Theodore.
But he had made his choice the moment he'd opened the door to that cursed classroom and seen Theodore writhing on the floor in agony.
Blaise wasn't the sort who enjoyed pain for the sake of it; he had never found amusement in Draco's sadistic leanings, but he had tolerated them. Cursing Theodore, however, was unforgivable.
No matter what Theodore had done, he hadn't deserved that.
It would've been so much easier to just curse Draco and have done with it, but Draco was nothing if not relentless, and if Blaise had left him alive, Draco would've hunted them forever.
He'd had no choice.
Shaking off morbid thoughts, Blaise left the kitchen and made his way to the front room where the Zabini family owl stood on a pewter owl perch, considering his surroundings with every sharp jerk of his head.
Offering the bacon to the dark, husky owl, Blaise busied himself with tying his letter to Francois' leg. The owl would first take the letter to his mother and then to Mason. All letters were sent to everyone in the family so they could be informed of everyone else's whereabouts. When Blaise had first heard of the idea he'd been sceptical, but it worked well at assuaging fears for his family's safety.
He looked down and grinned when Francois squawked. "I see someone is impatient to be off," Blaise said. "Don't let me keep you."
Francois squawked again before taking off through an open window, and Blaise watched the greenish-gray horizon long after the owl was gone; his last tie to a life that was, for all intents, over.
He knew that eventually, the owl would bring tidings of death and capture, of those lost or just "missing". It was also more than possible that one day the post would stop or they would be found, whether it was by Narcissa or Bellatrix or Lucius didn't matter.
Pointless conjecturing would get them nowhere.
It was enough to be alive –- for now.
The Soundtrack
Radiohead – Planet Telex
Coldplay – No More Keeping My Feet on the Ground
Snow Patrol – We Can Run Away Now They're All Dead & Gone (thanks to
northernsky_)Embrace – Happiness Will Get You in the End
3 Colours Red - Beautiful Day
Turin Brakes – Rain City
Alexi Murdoch - Orange Sky
Bonus: The Charlatans - Forever
1. First and foremost. I have to thank my betas:
serialkarma, who's been with me every step of the way, and listened to me whinge, like, every *other* step of the way; thank you, sweetie for putting up with my nagging and unrelenting nature. To lalejandra for always trying to stop me from going out with my knickers showing and pointing out 'I do not think that means what you think it means.' Thank you. And to the very fabulous ethrosdemon who is never around except for when I'm threatening to post without her, thank you, from the recesses of my depraved heart. You all make me work and justify and sweat and bleed and sacrifice chickens, and I love you dearly for it. 2. I do believe you're only as inspired as your cast, so, yeah, here's to them.
3. Pretty people help the cause, so does really cracking music. In addition to these songs, I'd like to single out the Final Straw LP by Snow Patrol and Turin Brakes LP 'Ether Song,' which have got scratches from overuse.
4. Thanks to
jonem and velutlunas for the lovely art they've made, which just touched me so.5. I love icons like most people love... um, other stuff. Thank you to
jonem , phineasjones, plumsnickety, researchminion and starstillwonderfor the lovely icons they made to urge me on to actually completely this blasted thing. 6. Thank you to
fearlessdiva for seeing something more in Don't be Shallow, thereby planting the damn seed that sucked up like two months of my life. Yes, I'm grateful, you just can't tell for the sarcasm.7. To
dorrie6 for her amazing enthusiasm and excitement for every last part of this, thank you thank you thank you. You are such a pleasure to have in this fandom :)8. To Rudyard Kipling for writing the poem the titular poem: The Thousandth Man
8. To all of you who read this and took a moment to let me know you were enjoying it, THANK YOU.
9. And last, but never ever least, to
circe_tigana who lit my fire by asking the question on everybody's mind: Who the hell is Theodore Nott? Who indeed. Well, I'd like to think I finally know, and I hope to you do too. Thank you, Circe, for laughing and inspiring and icons and shrieking and crying and just being so incredibly enthusiastic about everything. I wish everyone could know what it's like to have someone rooting so much for something they're working on. It makes a whole world of difference. 
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 10:14 pm (UTC)I stared at the cut for a few minutes before reading because I was afraid of reading it. I didn't want it to end because I was hoping it would end in tragedy and that's what I was afraid of reading.
This verse is one of the most beautiful things I have found in the fandom. I might be a lurker but I've read a damn lot of fic of all parings and ratings and this one was just... breathtaking.
I never leave rewievs because I never know what to say and my English is awful but... but I just can't sit here and stare at the page forever. I've read every part of this and saved it, and loved it and kskfskfksjdsjd! Yes, that's coherent enough.
You really are the Queen of All Things Slytherin. Thank you for writing this.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:05 pm (UTC)I think you leave absolutely lovely feedback, and I'm so pleased that you took the time out to let me know, time and again, how much you enjoyed 1000th man verse. You've been extraordinarily kind, and truly, it's readers like you who make it all worth it :)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 10:36 pm (UTC)*Nothing* hacked about this writing.
Am standing, clapping, shouting, "Encore! Encore!"
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 10:40 pm (UTC)I don't think my stomach muscles will ever unclench thanks to the tension in this chapter.
The Theodore you've created, hell, the Slytherin you've created, has spoiled me for all others.
I hope you're proud of yourself. I would be.
(Even if I can't quite agree with you on the whole Snow Patrol thing...ahem).
And now to re-read from the beginning. Thanks, if I hadn't mentioned that - I love it all muchly.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:08 pm (UTC)What? No Snow Patrol love? You are henceforth banished! Seriously, even if your Snow Patrol hate makes the baby
no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 10:56 pm (UTC)Thank you. It's been a hell of a ride, but I now feel that I know exactly who Theodore Nott is. It has been a pleasure to meet him.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:13 pm (UTC)This is just one of the most brilliant and lovely pieces of feedback I have ever received. I want to take it home with me and keep it safe for when I think I'm producing crap, and then I can take it out and look at it and think 'well, at least somebody liked something I did once.'
no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 11:50 pm (UTC)I have thoroughly, utterly enjoyed this--thank you for writing it and putting so much care into its creation.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:26 pm (UTC)You're extraordinarily kind, thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that this worked for you on so many levels, again, thanks :)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 11:55 pm (UTC)I'm so close to tears right now. So close.
Theodore, Neville, Draco...oh Blaise. I want this verse to go on forever, but I know that it can't. God, I just...
Bravo. I know who Theodore Nott is now, and I don't ever want him to go away.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-28 11:58 pm (UTC)~Cai
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 12:15 am (UTC)It's over. There will be no more greenhouses, no more band T-shirts, no more precocious sisters. No more grandmothers, or portraits, or family loyalty. No more friendship, in all of its permutations. Or love, in every meaning of the word.
You've given us some of the best fanfiction I for one have had the privilege of reading, the most intriguing extrapolation of minor characters and their motivations. You gave us Slytherins as they should be shown - with all their complexities and interdependence.
The way you treated the story - how we only ever saw just enough to keep us informed - was expert. The characterizations were masterful and very true to canon. And you explored the uncharted territory that has given me new appreciation for both the books and the medium of fan fiction.
And for that I thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:29 pm (UTC)Oh, well, now I'm depressed. :p Thank you for being such a fantastic reader... and artist... and just so great with your unflagging support. It means a lot to me to know that you enjoyed this so much, Mark. :) You've been nothing but kind, and that means more than you will ever know.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 12:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 01:35 am (UTC)Now I have such a complete picture of Theodore Nott and his family that if I read any other takes on him, it will seem OOC. (And how sad it is to realize that we are never going to get a view of him in the books that is half as comprehensive and well conveyed. *sigh*)
I have loved this series so much, thanks for sharing it with us.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:41 pm (UTC)*laughs*
I can't even begin to imagine that, but I'm so pleased you enjoyed it so much, thank you.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 01:39 am (UTC)Thank you so much for this brilliant, beautiful thing.
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Date: 2005-01-31 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 02:01 am (UTC)*goes off to read it again*
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 03:03 am (UTC)Wonderful work. :)
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Date: 2005-01-31 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 03:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:48 pm (UTC)Yes! Neville shall rule them all -- hence the title. Um, sorry, my inner Slytherin insists that *somebody* has to rule, otherwise, you just have a big mess.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 03:57 am (UTC)Thank you. I've enjoyed this series very much.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:48 pm (UTC)eeep.
Date: 2005-01-29 06:56 am (UTC)Okay, but obviously he didn't, which I actually technically knew, since I think some of them chronologically take place after this one, but STILL.
You know, I always skipped over this story because I figured there wasn't enough known about Theodore Nott to make him interesting, and then today (or yesterday, by now) I was like, what the heck, I'm bored, I'll read that one story that everyone always likes that's Neville/practically unknown character. I guess I stumbled upon it at a rather lucky time, seeing as how you've just finished it. I would say I was so enthralled that I read it in one sitting, but, alas, my attention span is not that long. But I read it in between periods of restless pacing. Or perhaps I paced in between periods of reading, I'm no longer quite sure.
Errrr, the point of this is that it was terrific and, well, I'm rather lacking a word that explains it. But Blaise was terribly Slytherin, and Theodore was a convincing loner, and Draco was so very Draco. And Neville, well, Neville always just leaves me with a "meh" feeling, which is quite possibly more due to the horror of his name being Neville Longbottom than anything his character did or didn't do, but I didn't mind him so much here, and the whole thing with his grandmother was horrendously amusing.
Eh, also, in one of the stories several back, the one with the dinner party, I think Rene changed from male to female and back several times, which had me slightly confused. I dropped a comment on that entry, but I thought I'd note it here, as well, because you might want to check up on the pronouns.
Also, my icon is toasting you. Well, not really, but close enough, right?
This was rather longer than I meant it to be, sorry for that.
Re: eeep.
Date: 2005-01-31 08:24 pm (UTC)Rene has always been a boy, so I can't really imagine that I would ever call him a 'her.' I've been over the story myself several times and had others look, and I think perhaps you may have gotten a bit confused with the proliferation of androgynous names.
Re: eeep.
From:no subject
Date: 2005-01-29 11:10 am (UTC)But I'll talk general. I think I'm spoiled forever, because your characterization of Theodore is just so incredible, I don't think I'll be able to read fic with him that doesn't give him such a throughout personality. And all the other characters, even original ones (and I usually dislike original characters because I hardly ever give a damn, but in this piece I do, I really do because they all seem important and wonderful).
It's like this universe lives and even though it's over now, it's something I certainly won't forget. It just expanded the universe I had seen in the books and gave it something really special (the entire Gryffindor vs Slytherin thing and how it plays out here - everything is shades of gray where as the books often seem to be too black-and-white).
Words fail me right now, especially what with English being a second language and everything. Anyway, this is a series I will definitely re-read, probably more than once. Thank you so much for writing it.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 09:09 pm (UTC)</i>
I'm a big believer in "The Gray Area", so if I've done anything to help it along that just makes me extremely happy. Thank you so much for all your lovely comments about this story, in particular about my Theodore characterization, it means a lot to me :)
part one: the little details
Date: 2005-01-29 04:23 pm (UTC)Little things I loved:
- how you brought out the essential Slytherin Theodore you introduced in the very beginning -- the one who observes, who steps back and watches and plans accordingly. He got a bit lost (a natural progression) as Theodore suddenly started to grow and take part in the world around him, but you circled back to the beginning so nicely, just a little farther down the character development road ;)
- the stunning of the Malfoy owl. Heeeeeee. Sorry, I'm a terrible person. Owl abuse made me laugh, even though the gravity is understandable! Interfering with the post is a federal offence! I can imagine it would carry sharp penalties and social stigma in the Wizarding world too!
- the portrait of The Mediwizard and the Knight. I had to stop for a few minutes here because my brain was trying to write the fable!
- Blaise.
“Where’s Blaise?” Theodore snapped, his voice louder and harder than he’d meant.
“You don’t ask the questions here.” Draco’s smile was all sharp, white teeth. “I do.”
The fear Theodore felt, the worry and anxiety were all flattened in the wake of his anger and dread. “Don’t toy with me, Draco,” he said taking another step forward. “Where. Is. Blaise?”
OMFG. I think you know what this did to me. More on this later (in part 2) but well, I just want to say how the language of this scene with Draco as much as the content, just stopped my breathing dead. I was .... worried.
- what was Neville mouthing OMG!?!?
- It wasn't that Theodore was averse to the nice weather, but it was unnatural, and that was unsettling. It made Theodore tense. Neville was distracted; Queenie was snappish; and Potter was more skittish than normal. Even Blaise seemed overwrought. I loved this bit!!!!!! Why? Because the lack of moisture in the air made Queenie snappish! Homage to
- his mother always seemed to know when he was awake, and would appear in his doorway, dark hair cascading over the pale nightdresses she wore. She would offer him an amused smile, and she would say she was just passing by and thought he might be awake. It HURTS, how much I love Anora Nott. And at the end, when Theodore hopes Alexandria might grow up to be like her. Oh! I am petrified about the fate of her portrait. Please tell me she was removed from Nott Terrace safely. Lie if you have to.
(...cont'd)
Re: part one: the little details
Date: 2005-01-29 04:23 pm (UTC)-
He could also feel Blaise watching him, and if Legilimancy had been something people were born with then Blaise would've been a terrific threat to the entire wizarding population. I still love that line, and that entire paragraph is such a lovely statement about their relationship. ::happy sigh::
- "Devons-nous partir?" Blaise asked very quietly.
Theodore shook his head. "No, c'est pas ça. C'est juste un pressentiment."
Dead. Just dead. ::thrills quietly::
- all the references to the tergiversari <3 Oh, they thought they were so prepared!
Theodore only took a vague notice of Madam Pince and Hermione Granger ran up and down the aisles trying to keep order. It was such a Gryffindor response to the start of war that for a moment he almost paused to laugh, but he could feel Blaise vibrating with tension next to him and thought better of it. ::loves::
- Green skies! Yay!
-
"You're just sour because Potter didn't want you," Theodore retorted, staggering when Draco backhanded him. Damn right he is! ::raises a weak cheer even while clenching with fear::
-
When he was six, Draco had pushed him off his broom because he sided with Blaise in a pointless row they were having. He fell thirty feet and broke his collarbone, and that hurt. 0.o Now that's a
- how much do I love that while everyone else is getting ready for the war, Draco is brewing polyjuice and plotting to get revenge on Theodore. I mean ... that is SO Draco. And then Blaise coming in, Draco having neglected to neutralize him .... as you said, the devil's in the details for Slytherins.
- Special mention needs to be made of your Crucio description. I may have to hand over my We crucio because we care street cred. You, uh, OWN that curse. And you did it so fucking lovingly, and I mean that in the best way. You stripped a confession of love from Theodore Nott with it. I am in awe. I was screaming at my computer, but there was awe.
- There were all sorts of things Theodore thought he should be thinking about his family and his parents, but he kept coming back to Blaise and to Neville and his sister and the pain. HAH! Blaise gets mentioned first ;)
- I love Oriel Mason and Rene. Just sayin'.
- Blaise loved him almost as much as he loved Theodore.
Oh GOD. ::WIBBLES:: I love you so much for this ending. It was right, so right, and it angsts Blaise up so beautifully. More on that in subsequent feedback (and on how Blaise's character development is just as good as Theodore's throughout this series). Of course, in my head, Alexandria and Draco would be a couple far in the future. Apparently that's not on ;) But now I want to write ghost!Draco/Alexandria. ::sigh::
- I love the owl descriptions in this story. Mmmmm. Bacon.
- It was also more than possible that one day the post would stop or they would be found, whether it was by Narcissa or Bellatrix or Lucius didn't matter. I love you so fucking much. The idea of their Aunt Narcissa now being ... OH GOD! ::cries with love::
The whole story was just one big long indrawn breath, darling. You did SO right by these boys. I can't even.
Less than three you times infinity.
(I'll get into the more meta stuff I loved later.)
I wasn't done yet!
From:You know I had to save your comments for last, right?
From:Re: You know I had to save your comments for last, right?
From:no subject
Date: 2005-01-30 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-30 01:33 am (UTC)There are so many things I wanted to say about this series and the great pleasure I derived from reading it, but in the end, all I can say is this: thank you a thousand times for many happy hours of reading. It was a joy to read: well-crafted, elegant, eloquent and true to life.
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-30 10:08 am (UTC)*weeping still*
Really, just, god. I don't feel like anything I say can really explain how much this series has ment to me and how much I've enjoyed it. You have created the greatest Slytherin characters in Blaise, Queenie and Theodore, and brought out the Neville that canon suggests at, and that I so love. I think if the lines of canon and fanon were ever blured, they would be here.
Guh, magic.
Please excuse me while I weep still more over the end. :(
Stepps
no subject
Date: 2005-01-31 09:06 pm (UTC)If it's any consolation, I feel your pain, but I am glad you enjoyed the story so much. It means a lot to me to hear you say that :)