#(bella.)

The tip of his ears reddened as soon as the words came out, the thought of Daphne getting herself ready for bed setting on his mind much more than he would like, fearing turning his head and getting a glimpse of her robe. Nott thought of it – Daph sitting in front of the mirror, brushing her gold hair a thousand times and singing, like a princess would do. Yes, to him, she rose above the mere ladyship and took on royalty. 

Daphne’s glare permitted him a scoff, but the moment of complicity lasted only enough for her to set a hand on his. Talk to me, and, even if fighting against every single instinct he possessed, how could he deny anything when it came through Greengrass’ honey-laced voice?  “It’s just… it’s too real.” 

Draco’s mark on his forearm, that haunted Theo since he had been there, as a witness, while he got it, the agitation in which Potter and its gang seemed to dwell on – even old and useless Dumbledore absence now did the opposite of soothing and humouring him. 

“Merlin, Daph, there will be a war. A real war, and one where we already have our alliances sorted out for us.” With war came not only death and destruction, but the absolutely annihilation of life as they knew, of their society. Winning side or not, where would he stand in the aftermath? If the Dark Lord emerged victorious, would he be damned to a life of eternal servitude and thankfulness? And if he stood on the defeated side, would he be condemned, judged – maybe truly arrested, sentenced to death in Azkaban, even without a mark on his arm – and turned into a pariah? 

It made him dizzy to think. 

“I, I can’t… I will be by His side, my father would never allow otherwise. And what if, what if I don’t want to fight? I don’t. I have no interest in war, no interest in fighting.” Theodore cared, maybe, to what happened to him, but little to everyone else. He had no reason to engage in battle, as Lord Nott thought the exact opposite, but little choice. “But I will, I suppose. Even if without cause.”

“Will you not fight for Draco? Pansy? Blaise?” For some reason, Greengrass optimistic thoughts were the only ones that never bored him. “You can choose your own side, Theo.”

He considered it. Someone had to be there for Draco, to keep him alive at the very least, and this had always fallen upon Theo’s duties. Someone also had to embrace Pansy, he knew too well she was more fearful than she would ever admit (he had the privilege of being her cousin and of being allowed into family secrets), and someone also had to make sure Blaise didn’t spiral into reckless behaviour. “For Parkinson? I’m not sure.” 

The girl rolled her eyes, shoving him off, warning him to not divert his attention and bottle everything up. “You didn’t ask if I would fight for you.” He said, after a moment of silence. They stared at each other, too close, too vulnerable, too completely lost into the madding atmosphere of not only the common room but the world. 

Theodore could count every single freckle that graced Daphne’s face from there – not that he hadn’t already memorised them all – and see the hint of blue in her eyes.

 He realised that there was very little he wouldn’t do for her. 

It meant fighting a war. It meant killing Voldemort with his bare hands if had to. 

It scared him to death. 

“I will not let you fight alone.”

And someone had to make sure Daphne wouldn’t let all of her good heart disappear or, worse, put herself on the line because of it. 

He kissed the top of her head, swallowing hard and thinking he had too much to lose.