Any action, in the fullness of time, sinks to nothingness

If Lee was being completely honest with himself, any time spent at the Ministry, or any Ministry-affiliated properties these days, only continued to cause him grief. Still an Enemy of the State, so he believes, was allowed to attend public events.

It was ironic to think about how much was being spent on such an extravagant and elegant evening. Gold, as far as the eye could see; free champagne flowed from glasses shinier than his shoes could ever dream of being. Raising money was all for show while the budget for St. Mungo’s itself were being slashed.

Hypocrites.

Lee’s complaints to the only person who would listen (himself) were temporarily distracted by a boy who stood alone by the fountain, as all cool and mysterious boys do. His quest to find out what it was about Theo that interrupted his fling was ongoing, piecing details about the stranger together, deciphering whatever it was that made him seem hot–aside from the fact that he appeared only to ever wear black.

Sauntering towards the fountain, another vulgar display of wealth, Lee chuckled to himself, and shuffled through his pockets for a knut before tossing it into the fountain. The vigor of his toss was perhaps a bit too strong for the occasion, as the coin dinged off of the centaur’s hoof and landed in the water with a splash.

Theo’s reaction to Lee’s (accidental?) toss was noted. Doesn’t like aggressive coin-throwing, he jotted down in his head. “If you throw them at the right angle, they’ll skip like stones,” he explained with a nod, as if this was somehow valid clarification regarding his behavior.

He dug in his pockets, finding only lint and some damp parchment. “You got another, by any chance? I’m all out.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a slight grin crossing his face.

His eyes locked on the face of one of the more familiar former Gryffindor tormentors. Relief was instant when it wasn’t Katherine standing beside him but Jordan. Jordan he could handle on most days. Theo wasn’t sure if he had the strength to deal with anything trying tonight, however.

Why were people asking him for knuts? “I don’t.” His coin purse, charmed to not show it’s true weight in his jacket pocket, rarely contained the smallest type of currency. Arms crossing at his chest, he glanced in Lee’s direction for a moment. Taking in the other boy’s dress or lack there off. Didn’t he know it was a gala?

“I’d ask you to show me but it doesn’t appear as though you’ve mastered it so far.” His gaze slid back to the fountain, back inside himself where he could relax into the comfortable embrace of a mind finally stilling. Or it would have– if not for one chaotic being brimming with energy that demanded some attention, worry or concern more accurately.

Theodore Nott’s reaction surprised Cho. 

She had expected a reprimand, a strike one of sorts. The whole incident written up and kept on records. Harsh words being exchanged. Talks of loss and profit and slim margins. Being told to be more careful next time and to not mess up. Being asked to clean the brewing room faster. She had expected to be fired even. She hadn’t expected him to apologize for it. Especially since she hasn’t gotten to her own apology yet. She hadn’t expected him to go into the logistics of insurance and her job description. Now she feels even worse for blowing up the potion.

“No, please, don’t apologize!” she quickly cuts in, a little panicked by his reaction, “I should be the one apologizing.” She takes a deep breath. “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have followed Bletchley’s instructions-” Despite him being the manager, Cho really should’ve been more insistent on staying near the register rather than anywhere near cauldrons. “-and I also should have known potion ingredients better. It’s on me. I’m sorry.”

“I know I’m not insured to brew. I’ll familiarize myself more with the protocol.” Cho tries to assure him, nodding her head slightly. “But really, you can dock my pay. It’s only right.” She hasn’t an urgent need for it right now. Her savings can get her through the year and not getting a month’s pay wouldn’t hurt her pockets. It’s only the right thing. “To cover for the loss. Besides, if I were in your position, I would have fired me.”

She puts her hands together, a nervous tick that never really goes away, and looks at Nott, wondering if it’s okay to rat on Bletchley to him. “Well, he mainly asked me to do small things,” she starts to explain, “like stir the cauldron and throw in an ingredient. But it’s still all on me. I messed up.”

She should be...? Was she sure? Theo shook his head, a flash of a frown. “Please. Bletchley should be apologizing. You were listening to your manager. It’s expected.” Had Cho been a good hire? He hadn’t thought so, not considering her bad either. “Your position isn’t to know ingredients. It’s really fine.” She had been an emergency filler, a middle of the road possibility with healing experience that always came in handy at a shop of their nature. (Because the day she was assigned to the Knockturn branch was not on the schedule and never would be.) 

“Did anyone get hurt? Has the inventory been affected?” Those were the important questions. Along with– “I’ll have to get you and Miles to write up your accounts of the day. Was Draco in?” If he was, why was Miles even touching a cauldron?

Whether it was the fog of his own potion tinted view or the perspective of someone not from his walk of like, Theodore didn’t know but he was lost in what Cho was trying to achieve. “It’s really not necessary for you to lose any of your paycheck. You were just doing as you were told. The loss in negligible.” His gaze wandered once more, over the crowds, now searching out Miles with a present frown. “We should be glad you’re not.” 

@nottheoretical​ & @bvzabini​  /  various locations  /  24 june 2004

Draco always did his best to stay on his best behavior, but sometimes he wanted nothing more than to cause trouble.

It wasn’t that his family had done something to slight him personally, at least not recently, but being related to the Lestranges made it so much more difficult to make a better name for himself. If it wasn’t his father being in jail, people were likely to bring up his other relations, and it made Draco’s blood boil. 

Tonight, Draco was feeling petty and vengeful, and he wasn’t about to do what he had planned alone. Luckily for him, he hadn’t had a boys night with Blaise or Theo in a while, so he popped on over to grab Theo with a flimsy excuse ( “We’re going to confront Millicent about her obsession with me and I need back-up.” ) and took his friend to Millicent’s apartment – specifically, the balcony.

He was sure Blaise hadn’t had plans tonight, but he could be wrong on occasion. Draco kept a hold on Theo’s arm and opened the balcony door, calling into the apartment, “Blaise! Get your sorry ass out here, we’re going on a trip!”

… Merlin, he hoped Millicent wasn’t home. The last thing he wanted to do was drag her of all people in on this, too.

Bruise paste was useless. Spells, charms, and salves did nothing when everyone insisted on holding onto your wrist in the same damned spot. Theo’s skin would be a marred mess of yellow and green by tomorrow from the effort it was taking to try to free himself from the handcuffed like grip of the former seeker.

We’re going to confront Millicent about her obsession with me and I need back-up. “We?”

It was the only word he had gotten out before this assault on his free time (but was any time free in the past few weeks?) had occurred and he was kidnapped from his flat. Vanished from his books and the runes he wanted Draco to look over, to check because existing in the dusty room that was Octagon Hall had muddled the lines together. Othila turning into Odhinn before his very eyes. “This is abduction.”

Millie had been a terrible excuse but one he had been willing to accept. As though Theo could provide back-up from his designated place on her balcony, the press of the wards prickling his skin like a backfired charm. The hair of his arms standing on end, the moment of calm before lightening struck.

How right he had been. “No.” Theodore tugged his arm more aggressively as Draco leaned farther into Millie’s flat. His fingertips were beginning to lose sensation the closer they were stretched out towards the wards. He wouldn’t lose the use of his hand for a few hours because someone was feeling manic. “I have work to get back to that you were supposed to help with me, if you do recall, and–” His gaze landed on their distant but now home again friend and Theo shut his mouth, a sharp huff leaving him as his wrist released from Draco’s grip with a pop and he was sent stumbling back into the railing of her precariously high off the ground flat.

“Don’t be a fool,” Ana shook her hand in a ‘no’ gesture, pressing her knuts into the teen’s hand. “If you must, then give it as a tip,” Ana took her ice cream from him gratefully, pleased to have at least one shining light of tonight. It seemed that wherever she looked it was full of people simply trying to show their best for the journalists, rather than simply being. Her father was dreadful for that - considering he used to work in the shadows, he was far too happy to be in front of a camera now. Never mind being far too familiar with the Lestrange’s for her own comfort. It made Ana wonder precisely what went on behind closed doors. 

“When we lived in Russia, my mother used to plan lots of parties. I don’t think she ever quite found the knack for it here - though she knows how to whip me into shape for one,” Ana said, her tone turning gentler due to the fondness for her mother. Her smile turned into a wicked grin at Theo’s quip, inclining her head as if in interest. “I’m sure Pansy would much rather be free of me, though we shall say no more on that front.”

“No he hasn’t. Perhaps my accent puts him off - Eastern Europe was terrible for the witch-burnings,” Ana hummed. They had told stories of the burnings around the bonfires at Koldovstoretz. “Russia is still superstitious of witches. We have to be careful there,” Ana noted seriously. “Plus, I confess that Fortescue’s is not usually my go to place for dessert. But I shall make a note to ask, especially if he is keen to share.” Frowning at his question about work, Ana nodded slowly. “We each have an area of specialty that we can independently study. Why do you ask?”

Resigned, Theo dropped his held coins into the glass jar resting near the teen. He was a fool. Most shopkeepers, store owners, runners of the Diagon and Knockturn and Carkitt stores loved to talk. He hated it. Meaningless conversation about the Hogsmeade Small Business Association, attempts to start a chapter in Diagon. Moribund begging for spare galleons and sickles like his pockets weren’t jangling as he walked. Fortescue was different. His shop had been an untouched oasis in Theo’s youth. First, a forbidden promise land housing sweets and delicacies he could only dream of remembering. Next, it had been a secret meeting place. A small act of rebellion that he still found himself carrying when he walked through the shop doors. Now, it was almost like coming home (in a way and manner he had never understood. The doors of Hogwarts had not measured up to his classmates tales of summer holiday.)

He may not understand Ana, the enigma engaged to an old friend (a real friend born out of expectation and proximity), but the puzzle of a woman was clearly intelligent. Any Unspeakable worth their salt could see why Fortescue’s knowledge was overlooked and needed to be appreciated and protected by the right sort. 

“My mother did too.” His quiet tone falling under the rabble of fundraising shouts and shows of wealth. He remembered the days of parties and laughter, not unlike the spectacle they were attending tonight. Noise flooded up the stairs to his nursery until curiosity got the best of him and Theo would hide behind the upper bannister and watch the wix in flowing robes socialize in an entrance hall he was never allowed to run through, scuffing polished floors and spilling wine without a single care.

He couldn’t match her smile as his eyebrows furrowed briefly in response. “We won’t let her.” He wasn’t sure who we was. Draco or himself or the rest of the slytherins of his year who still mattered. Any dislike of Ana didn’t mean ill will would be allowed or he’d let the most important person in his life go down a path currently only rumored. “Worse than the States?” This was the true thing that itched him about her. She brought up and out conversations that begged to be delved into. She’d make Draco happy, if their relationship could be based in academic discussion. “I think most people think he’s kidding but everything he says is factual. I’ve checked. The man is wasted on the dessert industry.”

bvzabini​:​

Time was slipping away, a snowball effect of last minute paperwork to be signed and affairs to be settled and godfather’s to be talked down from their histrionics that Blaise could almost, almost, pretend that amidst the avalanche of change that his life was undergoing, the indiscretion after their graduation party was only a blip on the radar. There were so very many things to do be done, friends and places to say goodbye to, that it could be packaged neatly up and pushed to the back of his mind to be not analysed at a later date. It was easy to focus instead on the strange swell of nostalgia that washed over him as he stared around the sleepy main street of Hogsmeade for what would be the last time in who knew long, at Honeydukes and Zonkos and the cobbled streets that led to The Three Broomsticks and the post office. He almost thought he’d miss the place.

Maybe that’s why Daphne’s note had been so vague.

Puddifoots stood out even amidst the brightly coloured facades of Main Street, the bells chiming merrily over his head as he slipped inside, marvelling over how different Hogsmeade was during the summer without a sea of Hogwarts students crowding the streets. Messages from Daphne were rarely informative, but a glimpse of her hair from the corner of his eye proved he’d gotten this one at least partially right as he hastily swerved the eponymous Madam Puddifoot before she could catch him (there were always questions as to when his godfather would next be visiting) to hasten towards the table Daphne was perched at and stopped short, abruptly as the sight of Theo emerged from the eclipse of Daphne’s hair. Maybe they hadn’t seen him. Maybe they hadn’t seen him and he could still get out of there without—

“Mr. Zabini!” Darling chirped loudly from behind him, a vibrant pink manicure curling around his arm as Madam Puddifoot ensnared her prey and heads from other tables began to turn, “What a surprise! Is Gilderoy going to be joining you today?”

@ofgreengrcss​

“He got to four the first try, six the next. I think he’s improving though still an idiot.” If there was someone she hated the most it was probably Gregory Goyle. Sure he was friends with Draco, even liked well enough by him, but he was still an idiot and even the sight of him angered her. Daphne would take hanging out with Millie for an afternoon rather than ever seeing him again. Good thing she didn’t have to anymore considering they graduated, though Sunday’s encounter with him had just reinforced how small the wixen community truly was.

Another jingle and Daphne looked over, quickly glancing back when it again wasn’t Blaise. “Oh I’m fine, I just like the sound of the tune. I didn’t invite Astoria,” she waved away Theo’s concern, guiltily picking up her cup of tea and sipping on it. He wouldn’t mind if Blaise tagged along just for today would he? It was just a one time thing and it wasn’t as if they were spilling deep dark secrets today. She’d saved those conversations for next time. They were all friends! Even if Daphne had planned this all to get back together with her ex for the day. She really wanted that CPR kiss, had even practiced all night to make sure it went perfectly! 

Too enraptured in their profound conversation, Daphne didn’t hear the door open again, only bolting out of her seat at the sound of a Mr. Zabini! In a second she was by his side, tugging his arm from Puddifoot’s grasp and trying to edge the elder woman out of the conversation she was about to start. Puddifoot wouldn’t ban her for this right? Daphne was one of her best customers. “Sorry Madam I’m afraid I invited him today. Mr. Lockhart is otherwise occupied for the afternoon.” Daphne tugged him towards the table she’d left Theo at. “I’m so glad you could make it, Theo and I were just talking about Astoria’s new career. She’s been hired as an animal colorist, they unfortunately wouldn’t let her become a teen exorcist. I thought she would have been a great one.”

@nottheoretical​

“Be nice.” His chiding was automatic. Hardly a thought in Theo’s head as the words were given to the space between them and not (he was rather sure) to Daphne’s ears. “Why were you spending time with Greg?” He was never really sure if this was how one went about existing around their ex. The frequency in which he saw Daphne had lessened. Barely. Slightly. They had still kept up their Puddifoot’s dates, their trips out shopping for her. Theo even found himself still be dragged tagging along when she went to get her nails done. Pansy didn’t seem to mind (not that he had asked and not that she had said) how much time he did spend by Daphne’s side but he supposed she knew choice was not something Theo had a say in.

“It’s just the chimes on the door. There isn’t really a tune.” It was peculiar how she didn’t turn to look at the next twinkling sound that carried over to them, around the crowded nearby tables filled to the brim like they were on any given weekend of high tea at Madame Puddifoot’s tea shop. Slowly, as to not draw all her attention away from her cup and towards him, Theo craned his neck to try to catch sight of the door and the new customer. It was fruitless, his vision blocked by the mass of the carefully coifed curls he was far too aware of exactly how long they took to perfect.

Settling back in his seat, picking up another heart shaped sponge, Theo was once again rendered mute at the shout of Mr. Zabini! His hand reached out to grasp her wrist but there was a reason he had never tried out for the house team. Daphne was gone. The tables near them felt closer, laser focused on the spectacle of shouting occurring between the owner and his companion for the day with a Blaise in between. She had invited him. It wasn’t going to be the newly-employed-for-the-summer-creature-colorist crashing their friendship date but someone Theo had comfortably slotted into the will-deal-with-in-many-many-months-from-now category. 

A half eaten heart, broken and turning into an utter mess, made its way onto his plate and he hurried to brush away the crumbs from his side of the table. He could look busy. He was practiced at avoiding conversations and stares and the like. But slipping out of a tea room crowded with tables and diners and quidditch fans was not an easy task for anyone. Theo hesitated, his arm already outstretched and reaching for his safety book, Collected Artwork by Magenta Comstock filled to the brim with pictures he thought Daphne would have enjoyed, when they reached the table. “Exorcism takes years to master. Ask Blaise to have his godfather mentor her.” was muttered, eyes avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze as he refilled his and Daphne’s cups, instead of a proper greeting.

Outside London. 

Blaise’s nose wrinkled instinctively at the thought, a deluge of complaints surfacing from old memories in his mama’s voice that echoed through time and space to remind him of the many failings of the English countryside. “Like in Kent?” The formerly-Avery Estate, that he had lived out a significant portion of his first years in England in, had been in Kent. His mother had always had a great deal to say about the Garden of England and very little of it was as flattering as it’s official epithet. The gardens had been beautiful.  “I may as well live in South Harting,” home to a favoured summer house of the Fawley’s before it had become another inherited jewel in his mother’s treasure-box that the surviving branches of the Fawley family were anxious to see returned. England was full of grieving family members to be avoided.

The idea of inhabiting any of those draughty old country manors, in their charming little rural settings that were little more than trophies, spoils of the war his mother had waged against seemingly everyone since long before he was born; of being an interloper amidst the scowling family portraits of families that weren’t his felt a lot like .. a lot like being in Nott Hall, actually.

Dismissing the topic with a sip from his glass, Blaise turned back to the gardens, examining the wild bramble that had overgrown their former structure without any real interest. He suspected that Theo’s idea of ‘outside London’ strayed closer to ‘back in Milan.’ 

The sound of choking and spluttering drew a sigh from Blaise’s lips, his eyes darting back to the glass in his hand in consideration (surely Theo hadn’t expected him to not bring it up) before downing it decisively. Between begging Millicent to crack open her stock of potions and facing this conversation entirely sober, he’d vastly prefer the former. Empathy had never been high on the Zabini’s list of priorities. 

The doors on that conversation were forcefully slammed shut with a whisper and then again, more forcefully as if Theo assumed Blaise hadn’t been listening the first time. Theo didn’t seem to want to talk about anything if it wasn’t to remind Blaise that he shouldn’t be here. It was a refrain that Blaise had already begun to tire of. “What gave you that impression?” 

It really wasn’t much of a joke, Blaise had inherited his mother’s distaste for England along with her spite, but he snorted at himself anyway, decisively moving back to the table and pulling out one of the neglected chairs with a grating of legs across paving to drop down into it, empty glass set upon the similarly weathered table as he sank back to eye Theo shrewdly. 

 His fingers drummed across the table top irritably, precisely, before he sighed and offered bluntly, “You can sulk all you like but I’m not leaving,” he wasn’t talking about Nott Hall, “My contract lasts until the end of next season if it’s not renewed, so if your plan was just to avoid me until I leave you should probably get better at it. It’s settled.”

Talk of Kent and South Harting flew over Theo’s head as his right hand gripped the table’s edge harder. He missed his and Blaise’s glasses refilling themselves, the bottle tipping more alcohol into their cups as if an invisible butler was privy to their conversation. Was it even a conversation? It felt more like an investigation. A trial on Theodore’s wellbeing he hadn’t prepared for, thought to grab a solicitor for.

His breathing had steadied somewhat. The quick intakes melting back into a noiseless rhythm he wasn’t overly conscious of as the cigarette barely moved from it’s home against his lips. His eyes darted quickly up and met Blaise’s gaze before they fell again, anger he thought he had tempered and squashed with fear flaring up. The noise, incessant and unceasing, of fingers tapping and tapping and tapping against the tabletop drew his ire more and his own clenched hand shot out to still Blaise’s movement. “Enough.”

Blaise didn’t deserve his lashing out. Nor more than Pansy did. But someone, something, did and Theodore didn’t fancy taking the journey through the ill kept gardens, which he should really do something about once looking at them felt less like a wound to the chest, across the estate and far away from the main house to reach the mausoleum to yell at a newly installed plaque bearing his father’s name.

He didn’t know where to begin. Would it be an apology? Unlikely as the word sorry or an admittance of guilt were bound to pull emotion over his new reality from him and he didn’t want to talk about it. (As he had said. Twice.) “Not everything is about you. The world...you’re not the center of it all.” Theo yanked his hand back, curled back in on himself with a pitstop to grab his glass and sip the sweet concoction with only a few glances to Blaise’s stare. That wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“I shouldn’t have left.” It was a start of truth, spoked through gritted teeth, not nearly an apology but hopefully Blaise would understand the effort it took to even say that much. “I was needed here. The international portkey office is a mess and you were in the bath. All I wanted was to take a bath.” His reaction to a surprise guest after spending a week fully submerged in regret would have been the same regardless of who it was bathing in his bathroom. “And I’m not fucking sulking. Is this why you came over? To poke and prod and bother me? You’ve succeeded. You can go. Tell Pansy you did whatever it was the two of you plotted. I’m alive. I’ve been outside today. I don’t need a minder wielding accusations at me in my own home.”

The daggers she sent him as he very nearly mistook her for Daphne… he was lucky she needed him too much in this moment to cause a scene. Theo had too often arrived at her home uninvited (left out on the balcony due to the anti-Nott wards her parents had placed on her flat. but failed to extend outdoors) for her to be polite and mannerful when stealing him away from whomever he had occupied his time with. They weren’t important; she was. 

“Hell, you know him?” She looked this Tim man up and down, grimacing at the short lived image in her head of him trying to strike up a conversation with Theo every time he was around. If Theo didn’t care for him, Millicent certainly didn’t care for him. Not to mention that he actually seemed to enjoy her parents’ company in more than the be polite, nod, grin, and laugh at your elders sort of enjoyment. She seized up momentarily as Tim pushed further down the beelined path her mother had begun for him, then quickly launched into action. “Time to go,” Millicent hardly noticed the lips that brushed her hand in her haste to get away. 

While Theo was a tad more composed as they exited the main atrium, the witch couldn’t help but to glance continually over her shoulder; if they were to be followed, their pursuant would catch a wicked hex as punishment. 

“Not sure I have heard of it,” she answered, voice low in her distraction. Several more seconds, then… she turned and gave him her attention fully, though not without first resting a wary hand on the wand just barely sticking out of the waist-line of her skirt. “Da always said we didn’t talk to the Notts because they were dirty cauldron thieves; he made sure the seating chart in Potions had us on opposite sides of the room - did you know that?” She swiftly slipped in behind him after ensuring once more that no one was following behind them, accepting his offer with a nodded thanks. Lips puckered around the butt of the cigarette, her own wand catching the end with a soft orange light. “Seen her? Yeah, but only briefly. Spoken to her? Not yet. You two aren’t quarreling, are you? I’m not interested in playing the middle man - before you ask.” The likelihood of anyone asking Millicent to be a middle man was slim. She had a habit of oversimplifying messages she’d been asked to pass along, causing more problems than she solved. 

“I think so.” He was squinting behind him as they walked away, spotting the face of Maybe Tim once more as it fell at Millicent’s departure. “They send their lot into the shops once a month.” They all blended together in their beige suit jackets and standard haircuts, not sticking out in his mind if the wards didn’t alert him to their returned presence. “Isn’t an obliviator above intoxicating substances?”

Theo wouldn’t mind if more of his friends got engaged, it was nice having Draco who understood the pressure he and Pansy were under. Someone who didn’t take the piss out of them when they had to perform for parents or networking reasoning. Or maybe even someone, just one of the others, who had also found love in a forced situation.

“Your third duke with the Roman Portland vase.” The Roman Portland vase that currently lived in the entry hall of his father’s his home. “Slughorn listened to him? No. My father–” Theo faltered, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette as he searched for words in a now blank mind that seemed to occur whenever Cantankerus was brought up. “He requested I be sat near the front first year. They were old friends. Worked for Mr. Mulpepper together.”

It much easier to ramble on about Old Sluggy and his fondness for Theo himself (and he had to write the man back soon if he didn’t catch him off guard tonight) than dwell on what parts of his life hadn’t be influenced by his father’s rule. But then Millie had said– “Have I ever stolen a cauldron from you?” Perhaps he should start. For lack of finding joy in anything else he did nowadays.

who: @nottheoretical & @bvzabini​

where: madam puddifoot’s tea shop

when: some unknown date so that blaise will never know he dated daphne pt. 2

Daphne and Theo sat at their usual table at Madam Puddifoot’s, a weekly tradition of theirs that Daphne had started to make sure Theo was updated on her life. She expected he was on the edge of his seat each week wondering what she was doing in the three days that they didn’t see each other. It was a long three days, ones where only the most important things occurred since the universe seemed to know they weren’t her Theo hang out days. “I watched Goyle try and count to ten on Sunday,” she huffed, using her finger to spin the small spoon around her teacup. “It was quite sad. Merlin knows how someone as dumb as him managed to graduate.”

The bell above the door tinkled and Daphne jumped to look at who it was for the fifth time that evening, deflating again when she didn’t recognize the couple at the door. She was sure she’d told Blaise the correct time (she hadn’t) and was a bit on edge with the twenty minutes that had already passed in the shop. She focused her attention back on the menu, glancing over the squiggles to look at the pictures instead. “Oh yeah, Astoria started a new job as well. I think she’s very happy with it.”

ᵑ

Theodore was far too busy indulging in the Victoria’s sponge hearts with an orange twist and homemade raspberry jam to respond verbally but he was able to raise an eyebrow as he chewed. Of all the things Daphne insisted on (both during and) after they had broken up, Puddifoot days were his favorites. It was just them, surrounded by couples and families (never coming on weekends and being bombarded by students), and none of their friends, giving Theo the opportunity to relax without fear of being teased or taunted. 

“How high up did he get? Seven? Five?” He liked Gregory, more so than Vincent, but his lack of intelligence was a known fact. Though Daphne mocking someone’s ability to count did bring a smile to his face that Theodore hid behind his cup of vanilla rooibos. “Are you okay?” That had to be the third or fourth time she had looked toward the door. “Did you invite Astoria? I thought Puddifoot was our thing.”

Daphne was on a mission, tugging Theo along a few steps as she tried to catch a glimpse of the pink sparkle again. While usually she’d dive head first into the crowd, moving without a plan this time she took the effort to stop herself. She didn’t want to get the two of them stuck in the middle of the group having to pleasantly work their way out again. Then she’d never have a decent conversation with Theo much less convince him to dance with her! Every event was carefully planned around how Daphne could get her best friend on the dance floor with her. It had about a 40% success rate.

Much higher than the one that Theo had for the amount of successful times he’d grabbed her attention. But again she was making an effort, trying to be more in tune with his feelings after the rough few weeks he’d been going through. She’d thought her efforts were working. “They’re not very good at their jobs if they can’t catch a thief. I thought I had my chance now but–” she looked at the crowd once again, the sparkle not returning to her eyes. “they must have escaped. Here I’ll get you another drink don’t worry.”

She gave him a (hopefully) comforting smile and waved a server over, grabbing two drinks off the tray and replacing Theo’s with a new one. “See all better.” She looked around again, her thoughts still on the thief in their midst. It was hard to take her attention off the task to desperately at hand but she was trying! Daphne was a great friend, she patted herself on the back for that. “Should we go find Pansy? Or perhaps Blaise? Could probably convince him to cause a distraction while we slip out for a bit. No one would notice.” Was she doing this support thing alright?

“Just inform them the thief is here. Without me.” His harsh attitude at being pulled and caused to spill fading at the appearance of another drink in his hand. “I shouldn’t have let them get away from you.” His shirt may not show a stain but it still smelled of champagne that he had already been told to cut back on. It didn’t stop him from drinking from his fresh glass. The mythical stapler thief was important to Daphne, fictional or not, and he could have been more supportive to her plight. Even if supportive may have involved running through a thickening crowd. “All better.”

It was not all better. Theo raised an eyebrow, the biggest change in mood he could show and murmured a “I don’t think...shouldn’t bother them.” He didn’t know what Pansy’s plans were for the night but he had made his own position clear. She and Blaise could do whatever they wanted as long as they both kept him out of it. “I’ll find her before I leave. It’s fine.” 

Why did he look surprised? There was no way Theo didn’t know that Draco would be here – he attended as many events as possible, however boring he found them, for the sake of his family. If someone was hosting a gathering, it was more than likely that Draco would be there. Not that it mattered, anyway; Theo handed his case over, nearly falling from his hand, and Draco grabbed it with a nod of thanks. 

Of course, that was done too soon. He should have expected Theo’s quip, and Draco hung his head back with a groan. “You’ll never let that one go, will you? I said that when we were in… what, third year? Fourth year?” He grabbed a cigarette from the case and gave it back to his ( real ) friend, lighting it quickly and inhaling it. He slowly exhaled, watching the smoke add depth to the Goblin Rebellion tapestry, and let his head loll over to look back at Theo just in time to get smoke in the face. He coughed and waved it away, fixing Theo with a scowl. 

“You could blow that away from me, you know. It’s only polite.” He glanced back to the tapestry and considered it for a moment. “… cleaver, I believe.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes at Theo, bringing his cigarette back to his lips for another drag. “I’ll have you know that Ana and I have an understanding. I like to think the chances of her poisoning me are relatively slim, all things considered. No need for Pansy’s services – yet, at least.” Draco went quiet for a moment, thinking, before continuing. “Well… might need her services for Cho Chang. I can’t work with her, Theo. Did you hear what she did to the brewing room?”

“Third. So?” Why would he ever give up one of the only things he had over Draco’s head? Real friends, as if Theo could possibly fake an effort in someone’s wellbeing if he didn’t care about them. He had a hard enough time remembering to follow the social conventions of friendship with the few he considered close to him, only maintaining those bonds by others’ imposing will or time making so routines became habits. 

Draco was not just a member of their friend group he didn’t give the required effort of friendship to. He was a relief. No pulling or pushing. No grabbing his hand or arm and leading him somewhere he didn’t want to be to talk to someone he didn’t want to see. He was just a public avoidant as Theo, able to keep up when he went on rants about his latest project and even offer insight. In their youth, Theo had even maintained their friendship when told to avoid any and all Malfoys after Lucius’ arrest. 

With a tilt of his head, Theodore took another drag and exhaled the smoke pointedly in Draco’s direction. His gaze locked on the cigarette in the other man’s hand. “I could. Give me back the rest.” His nose scrunched, looking past Draco as he sniffed. What was that smell? “Do you...?” He hoped it wasn’t fireworks again. It was always a show of fireworks and lights, an embarrassment of product placement from a gaudy cart not worth mentioning. But his attention span was short, fleeting and waning as he gave into the calm of moonstone and unicorn horns and looked up again. “Cleaver.” It didn’t sit right against the hyper realistic woven battle behind him. The heat of the embroidered fire beginning to warm his non-smoke holding hand. 

“Are you sure?” Ana was an enigma and nothing frustrated him as much as an unsolvable puzzle. Not Daphne’s whining and prodding or Pansy’s insistence that he stop bringing up her new false and rumored foray into poisoning and murder. Even Blaise’s self-satisfied air when he knew he was being a nuisance didn’t come close to the burden of not grasping a concept. Ana should be someone he enjoyed, if Draco had to bring an unknown factor into their friend group as a bride-to-be, but being raised in the arms of society wouldn’t allow Theo to think she was as simple and sweet as she presented herself to be. “Is that understanding that you...well...” He knew better than to joke about Draco’s preferences in public. The unspoken and unacknowledged placement of his friend on one far end of Kinsey scale. “Have the same taste?” 

“Right, Theo.” Cho has forgotten how much more formal Mungo’s is compared to the rest of the Wizarding World. In Mungo’s, you call everyone by their last name with their role at the hospital tucked neatly at the front. Then you call the patient Mr. or Mrs. for professionality’s sake. The board members and generous donors also get the Mr. and Mrs. moniker. It’s a tightly-formed hierarchy of higher-ups and people who know their place in the system. She was part of that system. Until she did the unthinkable and left of her own accord. Left before they cut her hours and made her redundant like some of her ex-coworkers.

She straightens up. “That’s a relief,” she mutters. She reckoned Bletchley would have run to Theodore Nott the second the potion exploded, writing her up for causing troubles and recommending her to be allocated elsewhere or fired. They didn’t exactly have the best rapport back at Hogwarts. Ravenclaw was always losing the games against Slytherin until Cho grabbed the Snitch.

“I ruined a potion. Bletchley asked me to help in add in an ingredient to the potion he was working on.” she starts to explain, not wanting to hide what happened. Cho’s an honest person for the most part. “I added the wrong one. It exploded. The brewing room’s out of commission.”

She pauses. More to give Theodore Nott time to take in her words than to catch her breath or for the dramatics. “I’m going to finish cleaning the room tomorrow,” she continues, “You can dock my pay. Just thought I’d let you know myself.” 

Something was wrong. Theo could gather that much through his social exhausted haze. Whatever it was that Cho needed to inform him of was bringing about a hesitance that didn’t mesh with his idea of the former Ravenclaw. At least she hadn’t fought against his insistence that be referred to by the shorten version of his first name. He was a pushover on a good day, allowing most anyone to run wild if it kept some kind of peace, but tonight his ability to bargain for his own comfort was lost in a see of expensive outfits and philanthropy. 

“Is it?” Relief was a good thing. Was Cho prone to overreactions? Whatever Miles hadn’t told him, something it seemed she was worried about not getting a chance to explain first, must not have been that bad. “It’s fine.” A ruined potion was nothing they all hadn’t done. Lately all the potions he tried to brew ended up a mess and he’d have to start over halfway through, mind not noting how many sprigs or stirs he had done and ending up in more of a Finnigan mess than a Nott creation. 

Out of commission. 

Out of commission was not a relief. His posture grew more rigid, straightened back and lengthened spine and mask of blankness even as his eyes widened, despite Cho’s presence already bringing out the cold politeness that was expected. He knew how his father would have handled this, starting off with not hiring Cho in the first place, but Theo had never liked wielding authority. Nodding, his eyes scanned the crowd for his fiancée as decisiveness was a trait he found in her in abundance and perhaps she had some to spare. 

Blaise was better prepared, this time. Theo wouldn’t catch him off guard today. He had been away too long, only ever passing through, to remember the adjustments that life in England required. Survival here meant being exactly as shallow and unfeeling as was expected of him, any hint of depth kept walled up and inaccessible from where it could accidentally be stumbled into. Theo’s simmering temper was no match for a lifetime of keeping people at a safe distance — feelings couldn’t be hurt when you didn’t have any.  His friends (if that was what they still were) were difficult to navigate at the best of times. These were not the best of times — not for Theo, at least.

“Maybe Draco should be here.” Draco’s words wouldn’t be so wilfully misconstrued and Daphne had always had a singular ability to get Theo to do things against his better judgement and Pansy .. Well. Perhaps Theo had taken to lashing out at them as well and that was why he was cooped up here alone with only those strange, tired elves, judgemental portraits and his mysteries for company. If he had managed to make a drink sound like an ultimatum, this was not going to be a friendly reunion.

Taking a moment to steel himself as Theo brushed passed him and continued on down the hallway in a huff, he ignored the curious eyes of the portraits looming down over him to mutter, “Fatti i cazzi tuoi,” took a steadying breath and forged on ahead. A glimpse of a tapestry rolling back into place the only indication of where Theo had disappeared to, a narrow staircase that was notably empty as he trailed down it and a door left ajar at the foot of it the scattering of breadcrumbs that he was left to follow, his reward a conversation he was sure he wasn’t going to enjoy. A grand old library, heavy with books he had no interest in, was the next grand obstacle, the heavy door falling closed behind him as he followed the pull of weak sunlight streaming through open courtyard doors. 

His shoes had been left in the entrance hall. Blaise couldn’t bring himself to care. The air outside of Nott Hall felt far less oppressive as he stepped out onto the stone, folding his arms like a barrier across his chest and wandered towards the edge as he focused on the gardens instead, grown wild with neglect. “No,” he replied after a long moment, deliberating over another question that felt like a trap. It wasn’t that he was picky (whatever the aggressively enthusiastic estate agent who’d been showing him through properties morning after practices might say), it was that nothing felt right. Certainly not a home. “Brenda tells me I have unrealistic expectations of the London property market.”

Blaise preferred the term standards, but Brenda seemed like a crier. 

Jumping at the sudden crack as the strange little house elf reappeared, Blaise turned to watch the serving tray of jingling glasses and bottle that were floated towards a table set out in the courtyard that he doubted anyone had sat at in years. His eyes lingered on the procession as drinks were poured, fingers drumming against his sides before he moved obligingly towards the table. If his encounters with Jwi over the years had been any indication, this elf would stare at him until he accepted his hospitality. It was better to get it over with quickly.

A glass in hand that he could blatantly ignore now that he’d accepted it, he considered the next move. Confrontation or distraction? Offence or defence? It shouldn’t be this complicated. Reflexively he took a sip from his glass, nose wrinkling against the sweetness of it. Offence it was then. “Were you planning on telling me or was I supposed to guess?”

An open doorway shouldn’t have been a barricade. Theo let Blaise pass by him, go outside while he took his time slipping on his shoes. Busied himself with charms for the sun and let the heavy weight pushing down on his shoulders, imagined and (if not) only conjured by him, prolong the time it took to cross the threshold to the outdoors. He used to love the gardens, years and years ago when Theo thought of this place as home. He’d beg to go outdoors, show off his knowledge of every plant and flower and ridiculous oversized and tackily shaped hedge growing on their grounds. Those memories pushed him, made him scrounger up the ability to take a step when the somber corners of the garden room stared a hole into his back.

His cigarette was lit before he deposited himself in a chair, hunched down in the seat as if he grew small enough Blaise would forget he was even there. Forget why he had come to visit a near-abandoned manor and leave with more fervor than he had at his arrival. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, gaze still landing everywhere but the clothed back Theodore was sure he could sketch from memory at this point, he let out a heavy sigh that did nothing to loosen any of the coiled tension he’d carry with him until the end of time.

Is this what the others worried about? Whether their ideals of property matched with the current market? Simple questions with simple answers that if they stepped outside themselves for one single moment they could solve them. He had asked the question. He was expected to keep up the conversation. “Look outside London.”

Interrupted by the arrival of drinks Theo had no intention of having when he requested them out of spite, his hand gripped the freshly poured glass as soon as Kkachi left. Something to make this easier, better and simple as talking over real estate and moving into home decor, was needed. He considered, paused in thought over Midsummer and his behavior, and promptly reconsidered his choice as his glass met the table and his smoke filled in the gap of vice. 

The ever moving, dancing around the shape of his friend but never looking, gaze of Theo’s landed on Blaise in surprise as he choked on the smoke he had just inhaled. His drink picked up and gulped down as he tried to stop the burning in his throat of a too quick inhale gone wrong. Nothing was going right. Not his temperament or Blaise’s dedication to stalking but he hadn’t expected an outright attack from someone even more adversed to intimate conversations than he was. 

When he was able to catch his breath, to stop staring at an unrepentant expression of someone who should be his friend, Theo made to push himself away from the table. Up and out of this line of questioning and somewhere far, far away from. Avoidance hadn’t worked so far. He had reached the end of the line if Blaise had come here voluntarily. 

His gaze dropped to the table, the palms of his hands pressed firmly into the side of the long out of style piece of garden decor. “What does it matter?” His words murmured to the intricate design of rose mallows gracing the table top. “You know now.” He didn’t want to talk about this. He’d had his fill of mourning and remembering a man who would have never done the same for him. Spent too many nights regretting a trip to Venice when he should have been here, doing what was expected. He was tired of this line of thinking, of false ever so polite words from other families. Exhausted by guilt and regret. All he wanted was to go back inside and be distracted, head too full of trying to figure out the wards of the Octagon Hall and what unknown area of the house they were playing bouncer to, to have time to think. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” It came out as a whisper, leading to a frown as a cigarette butt was vanished and the reliable silver case, glinting in the late morning sun, was pulled from his pocket and tossed onto the table once he retrieved his prize. “I don’t want to talk about it.” This time, aided by nicotine and tobacco, his voice was steadier. Louder though he still couldn’t pull his eyes up from the table.

“I could,” Pansy argued, even though he was right - probably, “and if they dragged me off, you’d just stare at them as they did.” It wasn’t unusual to have Theo become bored of certain parties, to tune out things that held no interest to him - but it was always much worse when he was on potions. A disinterested fiancé she could deal with, but she hated how he was almost lifeless when he got like this. He was there at the event with her, of course - right beside her, hand clasped in hers - but he might as well not be. 

“Why would I ask you for a knut?” Pansy huffed, vanishing her finished champagne flute and grabbing his from his hand. “That’s enough.” It was a pointed comment regarding the alcohol, considering he shouldn’t really be having at all - but the focus was on the potions. Pansy tried to remind herself to go a bit easier on her fiancé - that he was obviously going through a lot. But she had been trying to remind herself of that for a week now. Shutting her - and everyone else - out was obviously not helping him. 

“Are we not?” She asked, allowing for the change of conversation, raising her eyebrow and looking down at their intertwined hands.  Her grip only tightened on his, not letting go. “Thrilled is a bit much.” Pansy took a drink of his flute, looking around the room with a slight distaste, but landing back on him. “But I don’t hate our life here.”  

She hated having to appease her parents, that planning their wedding only felt like a service for them. She hated that they returned to a mansion that neither of them wanting to touch. She hated that the death of his father only meant a legacy he didn’t want and articles that featured her name. She hated a lot of things. But Pansy did not hate their nights reading in bed, days spent with their friends, the life that they had together. “I’m sure Blaise would let you return to the villa.” Her tone was tense - a offer, a test. 

A slow blink was given in response to her jab, proving her insult right but still finding the weak burning of offense underneath the weight of the heavy blanket of inertia. Theo would like to think he would do something, if the ridiculous scenario she was painting every came to pass but he knew inaction would be the first response on his part. “They wouldn’t get through the wards.” Sudden movement, bravery and change and jumping to opportunities had never been his style. He liked plans and order, calculating outcomes before action. Or so he said as cautiousness wasn’t so much of an active choice but a fundamental makeup of his personality he couldn’t change.

Theodore struggled to identify what was causing her mood. (One of the many benefits to their partnership that wasn’t a shared fondness, a love and attachment and longing for Pansy he had never anticipated developing, was the ease he felt in their interactions. Tonight that ease had not received an invitation.) She was stunning tonight, the way his hand fell to the small of her back at every moment his fingers weren’t intertwined with hers a clear indication of his need to keep her close. Her father’s new position a thing of celebration, even if it did mean more networking and showing face was added to their list of duties that came along with being born with either of their last names. For all he could gather, the only thing at fault tonight was him. And Pansy had inadvertently proved his point by stealing away his champagne and chastising him outright. 

“You said...” Stopping before he could stutter, gaze leaving the painted and charmed ceilings to fall to her face. He should have been listening to her. “A knut in the fountain. I don’t have one.” It wasn’t a conscious movement, to steal the flute back and take another small sip. Nor was it supposed to be combative. His mouth was dry, utterly parched, and the popping of bubbling wine against his tongue was keeping him somewhat present which should have been a plus to their night. 

Returning the flute to her hand, he raised an eyebrow in return. The action of being expressive taking on the same delay all of his emoting had tonight. “Are we?” He should sound more shocked or surprised or jovial but Theo didn’t have his guide for normal and appropriate emotions on hand. He simply took her words at face value, squeezing Pansy’s hand for a moment as he looked down at their meeting palms. “We’d need cords. Or a ribbon.” He couldn’t deny the appeal of throwing all the books and plans out the window, the wedding being the only event he didn’t have the taste for planning down to the last detail of, and just getting the whole thing over with. No– not over with. Marriage was no longer something he looked at with dread and unease but the idea of a day where all focus was on them and not just her was always something he would be willing to avoid. “I don’t have a duck for your mother.” 

If he had a choice, if he was allowed to have a say in the direction his life took, Theodore would be perfectly content with an officiant and the minimum number of required witnesses. No ceremony and show of wealth on either families part but something just for them and between them. But, perhaps, having family to share the day with made his idea sound unappealing. Eyes locked on their joined grip, his thumb making a steady path along the back of her hand, he shrugged. “I like my life with you.” Not London or England, nor Italy or anywhere she wished to visit. Not under the weight of expectation and tradition and ceremony but the carved spot by her side that he considered himself somewhat unworthy of occupying.

If anything that should be a reason why Millie would remember her name, but she wasn’t about to point this out to Theo. That would only mean that Millie would be the topic of their conversation for much longer than Daphne desired and she was already ready to move on from that. Pansy would hear her out later, or perhaps Astoria could be used as someone to vent to. He sister was always good at listening to her. “She just shows up sometimes,” she shrugged, letting the conversation finally drop.

She had bigger things to worry about, like the glimpse of what she now had fully convinced herself was a pink stapler.  “Well you just missed someone in the crowd running off with one of my staplers! He’s here Theo. The Stapler Thief!” She tugged at him again, this time launching the two of them towards the crowd without a moments notice. Time was of the essence and this was a chance to finally see who had been terrorizing her for the past few years. 

Bold of them to think they could get away with it just because there was a large crowd. “We need to catch the attention of an Auror– wait! No! A Hit Wizard! I’m sure they won’t go down without a fight. Theo do you see them?”

With the force of Daphne’s pulling the glass in Theodore’s hand tipped, spilling over mostly himself and slightly on her. He wanted to stop her, complain about the fictitious Stapler Thief he had spent what felt like a lifetime hearing about but never believing in, but she was far too quick and he had no desire to create an even bigger scene for the parting crowd. Instead, he sighed and reached out to grab a napkin from a nearby table but was yanked onwards just as his fingertips touched cloth.

“Daphne.” His voice low, quiet and in no way carrying over the tone of the room, did little to halt her. He tried again, another soft call of Daph that led to the same result. The familiar sense of hopelessness in the face of Daphne’s inherent need to force him whichever way suited her fancy set in. On another night, he’d allow it. He’d grumble and sigh and spell his shirt clean but he’d follow her round and round the room until she got herself dizzy. Tonight, he was too tired to find searching a quality way to spend the night. 

𝓫𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓼

TV Trope: Jade Colored Glasses

Full Name: Theodore Cantankerous Nott

Nicknames: Theo

Age: Twenty-Three

Sexuality: Demiromantic Bisexual

Date of Birth: 7th of July, 1980

Place of Birth: Nott Hall, Nottinghamshire, England

Gender & Species: Cismale, Wizard

Current Location: London, England

𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮

Education: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Slytherin

Occupation: Owner of Mulpepper's Apothecaries, Nott Heir

Languages Spoken: English, Korean, basic French, terrible Italian

Languages Written: English, Runes, Latin, some Greek 

Dialect: Received Pronunciation

Political Affiliation: Bellatrix Lestrange (Dark)

Addictions: Nicotine. Alone time.

Drug Use: Rarely, if ever.

Potion Use: Daily Oculus potion. Occasional Draught of Peace with more frequency as of late. 

Alcohol Use: Socially

𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴

Faceclaim: Woo Do Hwan

Hair Colour: Black

Eye Colour: Dark Brown

Height: 6’2”

Usual Expression: Blank, bored. Disinterested.

Clothing Style: Tailored, neutral color palette. Affinity for soft sweaters over structured shirts and pants. Has never worn jeans.

𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂

Zodiac Sign: Cancer. 

MBTI: INTJ-T. Architect. [Analyst, Constant Improvement]

Enneagram: Six. [At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others. Basic Fear: Of being without support and guidanc. Basic Desire: To have security and support]

Temperament: Melancholic. 

Positive Traits: Aware, Humble, Skillful.

Negative Traits: Cautious, Distractible, Resentful.

Fears: Public Speaking (Glossophobia), Deep bodies of water (Aquaphobia),  

Hobbies: Reading, Amateur Alchemy, Potion Creation

Physical Ailments: Iron Deficiency Anemia

Neurological Conditions: Social Anxiety, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Allergies: Cats (Pothos)

Sleeping Habits: Ideal: Wakes up early. Goes to bed early. Realistic: Wakes up early. Goes to bed late. Wakes up in the middle of the night.

𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓬𝔂

Father: Cantankerus Nott II. Former owner of Mr. Mulpepper’s Apothecaries. Deceased, Seventy-Eight years old. [Faceclaim: Kim Kap-su]

Mother: Hyun-Joo Nott nee Travers. Deceased, thirty-two years old. [Faceclaim: Song Hye-kyo]

Grandfather: Cantankerus Nott I, one hundred and three years old. Owner of H. Syriacus Botanicals. Member of the Herbology High Commission. [Faceclaim: Jeon Moo-song]

Family’s Financial Status: Wealthy. Old pureblood money. The Nott Family established a herbology trade route with British Wixen in eighteen eighty five.

𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮

[Content Warning: Parental Death]

Bellatrix Lestrange was ushering in a new age. That’s what he’d been told. The pernicious rhetoric, a pureblooded agenda, he had been fed his whole life was finally coming to pass. Truly, Madame Lestrange’s appointment to Minister didn’t impact Theodore’s life much at all. He was wasting away in a branch of his father’s apothecaries, filling his time with personal projects and crafts. He’d noticed almost nothing about the increased turnover rate of the Ministry, except for hearing of other wix’s new positions they had no doubt never worked towards. Regulations on rare or potentially dangerous ingredients had lessened or ceased to exist at all.

Theodore’s succession occurred swiftly afterwards. His father, a man who had not mellowed with age, reduced their check-ins to once a month. Cantankerous had work to be done. Alluded to its importance, never spoke of for whom. Theo, who had never seen his father in such a positive mood before, had thought of the older man as overjoyed with whatever path his work had taken him on. 

Early in the morning on June first, or rather in the middle of the night, Theo and Pansy were awoken by the presence of a pair of Aurors at their flat. They needed to get onto the grounds of Nott Hall, one of the elves having grabbed a family healer only a few hours before. The pair, both purebloods as the Ministry finally had an instance of thought in their heads, traveled with Theodore to his ancestral home where his father would be pronounced dead after what they ruled as a routine potions accident.

Cantankerous Nott II was a stubborn, capricious man but he was not careless. He was not dim or dull or so idiotic that he did not check his work or make frivolous mistakes when it came to weighing and cutting and brewing, a passion and business he had dedicated his life to.

Listening to her rambling rants had never been an important aspect in Daphne and Theo’s relationship. The fact that he wasn’t listening wasn’t anything new and wasn’t something that she really ever noticed. Her squeals usually alerted to when something she wanted comments on happened , and Theo was good at convincing her he enjoyed her company. “She doesn’t even remember my name half the time, and it’s not like we don’t hang out! Sometimes she pops by my flat and only ever talks about things so boring I forget them instantly,” she huffed.

“Now why would he do that?” she switched, sitting up a little straighter. That seemed a bit odd but at least Draco was doing something that wasn’t boring with his time. She’d expected him to say hi, make a big donation and then leave. Perhaps St. Mungo’s hadn’t taken his donation? The answer to this mystery didn’t really matter because as another pink sparkle caught her eye, she whipped her head around seeing a pink stapler shaped object in someone’s hand disappearing into the crowd. 

Daphne shot up, dragging Theo along with her. “Did you see that!?”

He had tuned back in, or tried to tune back in, as his gaze left the pair on the other side of the atrium to look towards Daphne. “Do you think she doesn’t remember your name because you call her boring?” Millicent and Daphne’s strange approach to friendship had never been his cup of tea and he was tired of hearing about problems that were easily solvable. “If you don’t like her, don’t let her over.” His ex-girlfriend had no issue being overbearing and getting her way with him, why was Millie any different?

Theo shrugged, looking back out towards the interesting two in the crowd and finding himself thankful Draco wasn’t lurking nearby. He hadn’t intended to lie to Daphne, pass his own folly off as a purposeful action on Draco’s part, but the words had left him before he had processed what he was saying. It was best to get his side of the story out before a Malfoy pension for dramatics did anyhow.