zacharias smith

And how’d that gamble work out for ya, Higgs?

Terence’s responding grin is wry. “Great—if only because I think I’ve now given up the habit,” he drawls. 

There are times that he can sense the separation between himself and his acquaintances—between himself and the rest of the world, it often feels like. And in fact, there are many of such times. For a man who can carry on a decent conversation with just about anybody, it may even surprise people to know how deep his sense of isolation runs (with the wonderful exception of Avery, of course—Merlin bless them). Then again, maybe it would surprise no one. He is well mannered, polite—even droll. What he lacks in spontaneity, we makes up in wit, he’d like to think. But he has heard himself described as hard to read more than once. ‘Stoic’ or ‘reserved’ were some of the kinder expressions used. ‘All the personality of a paper cup,’ was a less flattering example. 

Despite all this, however, he thinks he does a fairly good job of playing a part. Of pretending like everything is effortless for him, like everything is simple. Many Slytherins might’ve grown up learning to hide their alienation behind cruelty and apathy. Terence hid his behind easy-going charm and a drawling sense of humour. 

It’s a little odd to think of Smith as a father. Something about his personality and swagger strikes Terence as being sort of still a kid, himself. Though, being young at heart never made for a bad parent. Quite the opposite, usually. Terence smiles at the opportunity to speak about Avery. It’s always a highlight of his day. Somewhere in the back of his mind there’s a voice asking him what that says about him, if it’s a sign his life is lacking in some way, but he ignores it. “Avery. They’re in third year. Ravenclaw. How about yours?”

Well, he has to hand it to Smith, he makes a good point regarding the fair. Not that Terence had ever been inclined to be fully supportive of the state of their Ministry at the moment. It was just a…sticky situation to be in, given his position, his support of the Technomagical Initiative and then his… wariness regarding Granger-Weasley’s governing. 

He sighs a little as they walk, a hand lifting from his pocket to rub at his chin. “No, I agree with you there. It is hypocritical. I’ll be candid, I’m… a bit between a rock and a hard place myself. I work in the Department of Mysteries and I’ve been reassigned to the Technomagical Initiative—which is fine. It’s an intensely fascinating area of study, and I think regardless of political viewpoint, it’s an important one. No matter how we move forward in the coming years… better understanding not only muggle technology, but also how magic interacts with it, is crucial. That said… I can’t deny I… take issue with the plenty of the WRP’s actions, especially recently.”

He knows it’s potentially not the best idea to be airing his personal feelings about the Minister in such a public place, to a nearly-stranger. But at the same time, it’s not like he has anything to hide. It’s no secret he’s in support of the Liberal minority leaders, and it’s not like Zacharias works for the ministry, anyhow. 

Zacharias raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t paid much attention to Higgs, if any at all, but maybe he could be fun. For Zacharias, at least. “Oh? Are you usually a gambler, then? I s’ppose not, or you wouldn’t be talking about giving it up so easily.” He himself wouldn’t think of himself as a gambler; he takes bets every now and then, sure, but who doesn’t? It’s practically become a common thing, with how often he seems to hear variations of Bet you that yada yada yada. “What’s your vice then? C’mon, we’re all mates here, you can tell me.”

He offers no such information himself, of course. That’s not how these things go. In most cases, people would assume to know his vices anyway, as part of the image he’s carefully created for himself, and he likes it that way. Let ‘em think whatever.

“Avery… nah, rings no bells.” As Higgs goes on to add their year and house, it makes more sense; they’re a bit too young to hang in the same circles as Aaron and when you add the different houses, it all fits. “Aaron. Sixth year Puff. Nerdy like a Ravenclaw, though, the Hat really did a piss-poor job on that one.” Then again, Aaron is also a much better Hufflepuff than Zacharias ever was; he swears, the kid is like a fucking saint, with how much of his classmates’ bullshit he deals with. Where Zacharias might’ve told someone to fuck off, Aaron actually listens and befriends ‘em. Weird as shit. Must be all Amelie, but he wouldn’t know that, would he? It’s not like he actually cared to get to know her. “Does yours play Quidditch?”

Higgs’ honesty is unexpected but great all the same and Zacharias’ grin widens. “Trouble in paradise?” He doesn’t feel as guilty as one might expect about his comment about Ministry workers now that he knows Higgs is one. In fact, he doesn’t feel guilty at all. As Aaron says, ‘he’s right and he should say it’. Or whatever. Zacharias still isn’t entirely hip with memes. “Well, yeah, no shit. If you’re gonna decide to add technology to the shitstorm that’s already happening here you might as well do it right. Which you’re not. Or they’re not, since you don’t seem to think of yourself as one of ‘them’. Gotta say, though, you saying all that isn’t inspiring much confidence in my poor peasant soul. If not even you lot in the Ministry know what you’re doing we’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Hogsmeade weekends were always a pain in the ass. Baby-faced teenagers trying to convince him they were old enough to drink (nice fucking try), couples being disgustingly lovey-dovey (they’d break up within the month anyway), kids being loud as fuck, it all made the Three Broomsticks practically unbearable to be at, much less work at, and usually, Zacharias tried to take the weekends off. Usually. But sometimes, the other bartender decided to grow a spine and take the weekends off themselves and while it was very annoying when that happened, there wasn’t much Zacharias could do about it.

The only single positive thing that ever came out of Hogsmeade weekends was the off-chance that Aaron might feel like hanging out with his old man as opposed to his friends. It didn’t happen all that often, mostly because the brat was a real social butterfly, but Zacharias hardly blamed him; when he’d been his age, he hadn’t wanted to hang out with his folks either. It was… bittersweet, though, and in an attempt to shake away the feeling, he latched onto the first person who seemed too old to be a student.

“What’ll it be? If you ask me, you should get some booze just to make all those kids angry and jealous; nothing quite like being the source of their disappointment but close enough.”

Special effects and shit. It makes Terence grin a little. It sounds a little funny coming from him—from any Wix, really. Like the words are foreign to him and he’s mimicking something he’d heard about a few times, but didn’t really know anything about. Not that Terence is any exception. Yes, he had more exposure to muggle culture than many purebloods might’ve, but he’s never felt particularly connected to it. For all his mother’s muggle influences as he was growing up, their household did always feel very Wixen. And when he’d gotten older, he’d understood that that had been a deliberate choice of his parents.

Sometimes, especially during times of political distress like these,  he wondered what those conversations must have been like. Had it been an easy decision? Had there been arguments? Had they both felt it was the best thing for their children, or had politics dictated that they believe as such? Did mother feel good about that choice, or did she maintain any sense of loss or regret about the pieces of her live she’d left behind? He also had to wonder if the fact that his father was now the one sequestering himself to the muggle world with mother, was a sign that yes, maybe there were some residual regrets to which the children had never been privy.

“No, it wasn’t my first. Mother was a fan so, growing up I saw a few. Perhaps I should have stuck with something a little more familiar. But… I took a gamble,” he finishes with a shrug and a slight grin. 

He laughs at Smith’s jab at the ministry, wincing a little, but it’s in good humour. “Ah—my kid would probably argue that it is, to be straight with you.” He isn’t offended—he can’t be. He’s well aware he’s not the most thrilling personality. At least not from the perspective of someone like Smith. Well, to be fair, he knows little about him, but it doesn’t take much to decipher they’re of a very different sort.

“But I think…” He sighs a little, as they walk leisurely down the path, the crowds slow and thinning, but still milling about casually. What did he think of it? He was more on the fence about it than he’d expected. “I think that it’s an admirable cause. I support the initiative of it. And the pursuit of understanding. This is quite the mess we’ve found ourselves in and shoving our heads in the sand isn’t going to serve us any better. But maybe you’re right, the fair has been a little… tame.” 

To be honest, he suspects that was the intention. This is already a controversial matter, and he can only imagine that the ministry wanted to promote the technomagical initiative without… overwhelming any of the skeptics. 

Zacharias snorts loudly at the mention of Higgs’ mother liking films -- doesn’t that just sound familiar. “Yeah, mine was the same. It’s important to keep in touch with our Muggle origins,” he mimics, rolling his eyes, though there’s nothing but affection there. His mother was cool as fuck, something that has only become all the more apparent to him after her passing. “And how’d that gamble work out for ya, Higgs?” He’s just teasing at this point; it’s pretty damn clear that whatever happened later in the film definitely hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows. “Don’t tell me that’s the only film you saw at this thing, that would just be sad. Then again, Brown dragged me to see the shitty love one with her which I guess is even sadder; can’t win with this shit, can we?”

He doesn’t seem too enthusiastic about his assessment of the Ministry which is odd enough to make Zacharias remember that he has no clue what Higgs does for a living. He doesn’t think much of it, though; he isn’t at this thing to think. “Sounds like a smart kid.” After a brief moment of consideration, he decides fuck it, and asks, “What’s the name?” And then because he can’t have Higgs thinking he’s trying to make friends or whatever, he adds, “I’ve got a brat at Hogwarts too, I guess I’m just curious if yours is someone I’ve heard of.”

His answer to Zacharias’ question sounds… rehearsed. Like the shit you’d hear Granger (sorry, Granger-Weasley) sprout at press-conferences and stuff. “How very diplomatic of you. So you think showing us phones and computers in a glass case is going to help Wix understand them? While at the same time forbidding Muggle-borns and Half-bloods to keep theirs? Seems a bit hypocritical, is all.”

Lavender face grew red but answered confidently, “Actually! It was a closet! Perfectly acceptable way to get caught okay? Why are you even here.” she said, swishing her hair behind her back. 

She grew excited, “Well today I was promised that it would just be me and Ronnie and he was going to take me to Madam Puddifoot’s on a proper date! He was going to pay and everything, which I don’t need of course because I have my own savings but isn’t it so romantic when a guy pays like that? Like he wants to take care of me!” she squeaked. “I bet you haven’t paid for a date for any girl, Smith,” she giggled. “Then! We were going to go take a romantic stroll behind the shops, maybe a little snogging…” she said almost shyly, “Then meet Parvati at the Three Broomsticks! A perfect date!” she declared.

She huffed at the candelabra. She did not want to be a house elf, he was correct but instead of telling him he was right she just pushed all the candle and cleaning supplies away from her and pouted. 

He let out an almost impressed laugh; all the more power to her, he supposed. Still, she was very wrong about one thing. “There’s no ‘perfectly acceptable’ way to get caught, Brown. You don’t get caught, is the whole point.” Of course, who was he to talk when that was the exact reason he was here too, getting caught. Granted, he hadn’t been snogging anyone in a closet, but apparently being out after curfew warranted the same punishment. “Filch’s dumb cat snitched on me. Cursed creature.”

Her little date plan was pretty much what he’d been expecting, though that did nothing to stop the grin from spreading on his face either. “‘Course I don’t pay for my dates, I’m a feminist. You’re all independent witches and all that, why should I insult you by paying? Nah, my girlfriend has to pay for everything and I’ll let her ‘cause I respect her so much, y’know?” He was absolutely talking shit, but it was just so fun to mess with Brown. He doubted she’d believe him anyway, even if he said he wasn’t a cheap date -- which was actually true. What was the point of having money if not spending it? “Wait, go back. You were gonna invite Parvati to your date? Damn, who knew you and Weasley were so adventurous.”

His grin only widened as the put the stupid candelabra down; oh, he was a great influence, Sprout ought to be proud. “Atta girl.”

He hadn’t really noticed Zacharias before now, but the voice seems to pull him from his bewildered reverie and he blinks and looks over at the man still seated. There’s that familiar haze of sleep around his eyes that is all too telling, were his comment not enough. He’d clearly taken the opportunity to have a little nap—Terence can’t really blame him. 

He’s crossed paths with Smith occasionally over the years, though perhaps not as often as some, considering how little Terence frequents the Three Broomsticks—but having kids at Hogwarts tends to put them in each other’s paths from time to time, as well. But other than serving Wizard’s Brew and having a son, there’s little Terence really knows about him. Graduated in Draco’s year, too, he thinks? Not that it matters. Previous Hufflepuff—not that it matters. Merlin, he’s too old to think about Hogwarts and their respective years and houses as much as he does and he knows it, but he blames having Avery for that particular idiosyncrasy. The only time Terence isn’t thinking about Avery, is when he’s thinking about work—how can he not have Hogwarts on the brain? 

He raises an amused brow the man, chuckling a little. “I don’t know if ‘better’ is the word I’d use. Maybe ‘eventful’?” He smirks. “Trust me, I think you’re better off. It was a lot to digest, even for me.” Even for a Halfblood—but the quip doesn’t have the same ring to it, with everything that’s going on. It puts a sour taste in his mouth, where it didn’t before, and so he swallows the word back, opting for ambiguity. Politically safer—and there are few days he can’t escape the weight of the current political mess. He’s not about to burden every perfectly pleasant conversation with it not two breaths in. 

He lingers, to give Smith the opportunity to join him. In part because it’s polite, in another because Terence enjoys the company and conversation—at least, when the time is right. “Have you enjoyed the fair?”

Higgs has never really been on his radar; different year, different house, and, to be fair, with the spotlight always shining on Potter and Co., people like himself and Higgs tended to fade into the background. The most he knows about the man now is that he shows up at the Three Broomsticks every not and then -- Zacharias isn’t nearly as invested in his job to remember his order, however -- and that he has a brat at Hogwarts too. It’s not much, barely even anything at all, but it’s not as though Zacharias is looking for a new best friend anyway.

“Eh, it’s all just special effects and shit.” He waves a hand, unimpressed. Of course, it’s easy to do that when he’s missed most of it and what he doesn’t mention is how some horror films have given him nightmares for days, ‘just special effects and shit’ or not. He looks over at Higgs, considering, but he can’t for the life of him remember if he’s a pureblood or not -- honestly, Zacharias isn’t sure he even knows. “Have you seen other films before? ‘Cause if that was your introduction, tough luck. You’d be better off watching Star Wars; now that’s the good shit.”

He finally pushes himself up from the seat, stretching a bit in an attempt to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. He glances around once again before deciding he might as well see what Higgs’ deal is. “Oh, yeah, it’s been a rollercoaster of excitement,” he snorts, tone dry. “Fuck’s sake, somehow they managed to turn something semi-interesting into a trip to the museum. Is being dull as shit part of the qualifications for working at the Ministry?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Zacharias also really might be onto something here. Nearly every Ministry worker he’s met so far has the personality of a piece of parchment, with Boot perhaps being one of the few exceptions. “What’d you think? ‘Bout the fair.”

10. greatest regret?

Amelie’s death. It’s ironic, in a way, because during her pregnancy his greatest regret was the pregnancy itself, but now he considers Aaron to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him so obviously he could never regret that. But in turn, the fact that Aaron now can’t get to know his mother and Zacharias can’t tell him about her because he never bothered to properly get to know her weighs on him and while he knows, logically, that her death was outside of his control, he still regrets it.

18. when was their first real relationship? how’d it go?

The thing about dating is, it doesn’t magically make Zacharias less of an asshole, especially back in Hogwarts when he had his first relationship. Even the way he shows affection, other than physical touch, is by teasing and that’s good and all, but when he’d told his girlfriend there was no point in studying for her Charms test because she was an idiot anyway (he was joking!!) she’d dumped his ass.

30. are they religious or spiritual?

Draco meets Smith’s saccharine smile with a sulky stare. “I doubt that any of the people for whom you’d come to me for social updates would be invited to any reunion thrown by Potter and his lot,” he says coolly, trying to bury the wound of his friends’ absence with his usual scorn and derision toward his oldest enemies, but it doesn’t really work – possibly because his feelings towards Potter are so conflicted, now that he owes the man not just his freedom but that of his parents as well; possibly just because he’s grown tired of the vitriol that boiled between them for so long and used to be such an ingrained part of his every day and deed.

Zacharias’s commentary about Draco’s lack of interest and his marriage inspire a withering glare that would probably be more effective if it wasn’t half-pout and half simmering confusion. “You sound like my father,” he grumbles, and for once in his life he doesn’t mean that statement as a compliment so much as a complaint. His amorous pursuits – or rather, his lack thereof – were one of the few areas in which he had utterly and abjectly failed to live-up to his father’s expectations (one of the few areas that wasn’t a direct result of the Dark Lord and the war, at least, for all that Lucius insisted that it was and thus was no fault of Draco’s own for which he should be judged) and what rankled most about that was the fact that Draco didn’t really mind that failure. It just wasn’t something of which he’d ever seen the point – which was, of course, precisely what his father said was the problem. Whatever that meant…

“And yes, of course Pansy was invited to the wedding, why wouldn’t she have been?” he continues waspishly. It hadn’t been a very large guest list – Astoria had never been a gregarious woman, and most of Draco’s friends had deserted him in the aftermath of the war – but while his parents had lamented the smallness of the affair, Draco had been quite satisfied not to have a large party; he no longer craved a spotlight the way he once had. “And I got married because Astoria didn’t drop stupid hints, she just came right out and said what she meant. Which is the way things bloody should work. How is it that everybody but me is so fixated on the idea that the best way to express your feelings is not to express them?” he whines. How many times had he sprawled across Goyle’s legs, or Crabbe’s, or both of theirs in the Slytherin Dungeon? That hadn’t been a marriage proposal – or a proposal of any other sort – they’d just been there, so Draco sat. How was he supposed to know that when Pansy did the same, it came laced with hidden meaning?

“Think Merlin that Astoria’s not like that,” he mutters, not really meaning to talk to Smith so much as he is musing aloud. “I suppose that’s the upside to needing rather than wanting. If she’d been ‘subtle’ about needing help with her potions back at Hogwarts she’d be dead now…or at the least still impoverished.” Draco’s pointed nose wrinkles in a grimace, less over the dusty old shop that his wife had once called home – he might be a snob, but he can appreciate the sort of products they offer, and Astoria’s subsequent expertise, regardless of the trappings in which they’re sold – than over the idea of not being wealthy. He doesn’t know how Astoria put up with it for so long, but he supposes she didn’t really have a choice…not until she found a suitable subject (himself) to approach with a deal to solve that problem, anyway.

His attention returns to Zacharias, but the grimace doesn’t fade; merely shifts into a furrow of bewilderment. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. What tension? And why would somebody resist something if they wanted it? That’s just stupid. If you want a thing, you should try and get it. End of story.” How was everyone else in the wixen world so dumb? It was almost enough to make him want to find Granger and strike-up a conversation of insults. The Mudbl–woman was horrible, but at least she wasn’t an idiot. Although she had decided to fall in love with Weasley, so perhaps he should revise that estimation…

“Is there anyone else you’d prefer to give me social updates on? I’m not picky, I’d take any gossip. Also who even says ‘whom’ anymore, geez. You gotta get with the times, Malfoy. Be more ‘hip’ as the kids say.” It’s a whole different question that the word ‘whom’ has never featured in Zacharias’ vocabulary anyway, but he’s not surprised in the least that Malfoy, with all his fancy and needlessly complicated words, would be the type of guy who says whom. “Come on, say ‘dope’. Example: Hey, Smith, hanging out with you is dope.”

He’s not sure if the comment about sounding like Malfoy Senior is supposed to be an insult. On one hand, it’s how Zacharias and, he’s pretty sure, every other sane wix on the planet, would take it. He might not know much about the man but he’d supported Voldemort and in Zacharias’ book, that’s enough to make him a shit person. But he has no idea how things work in Malfoy land. For all it’s worth, Draco seemed to fucking worship his father back in the day, if all the ‘my father will hear about this’ comments are anything to go by. So who knows, he might think Zacharias sounding like his father is a good thing. His pout doesn’t really clarify anything either, because honestly, it makes him look more like a petulant child rather than anything else. A drunk petulant child, but still. “I really don’t know how to take that, Malfoy, and I don’t really fancy being compared to anyone in your family so y’know what, I’m just not gonna ask.”

The news about Parkinson delighted him. “Oh, so she was invited!” That has to have at least stung, watching the guy you’ve been trying to get with for years get married to another woman. Poor Parkinson, really. Maybe she’s the one he ought to be sending edible arrangements to. “Did she actually come? Or did she just so happen to have an appointment that day that she simply couldn’t postpone?” He wonders, almost absentmindedly, how Astoria must’ve felt about that. Angry? Smug? Indifferent? “Oh she came right out and said it, did she? Did you at least propose to her or did she have to do that too? But here’s the thing, mate, if you feel everyone except for you has some ‘weird’ ideas about flirting maybe it’s not us but you. I mean, fuck, even corny chat-up lines have their charm.”

He didn’t expect to hear about the Malfoys’ love story, but apparently Draco’s in a sharing mood. Grudgingly, Zacharias will admit it’s sweet, Draco helping his future wife with potions. Then he has to go an add to that that she’d be dead otherwise and yeah, it gets somewhat less romantic then. “Look at you, being a white knight and helping her out. Y’know, you give the rest of us, mere mortals, shit for flirting, but I’d bet brewing potions together or whatever is your version of it.” He just can’t wrap his head around it, is what it all comes down to. Sure, he knows some people who are absolute shit at flirting, but they at least acknowledge it. It’s the first time he hears someone who’s so vehemently against it just ‘cause he doesn’t understand it. Which, huh. Makes a lot of sense, actually, in the grand scheme of things.

Lavender let out a pathetic weep, so distraught at the thought of not only getting caught snogging but also not being able to go to Hogsmeade with all of her friends and Won-Won. How are they suppose to get married if they can’t snog in piece? And cleaning was not one of Lavender’s strong suit, especially doing it the muggle way. She didn’t know how muggles lived like this!

She whined, looking over at Zacharias her lip in a permanent quiver. “I wish!” she said, huffing as she stopped the motion of her cleaning the bottle of the candle’s holder. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Ron as she look away from him lost dreamily in those thoughts. “Yeah! He really is, he would if he could!”

“He’s getting detention with Professor Flitwick so we’re apart,” she said sadly. “I had a beautiful date planned out today! This is awful oh-” she looked at him, frowning.

“And you’re not making it better! Why aren’t you helping clean these-” she holds up the candelabras, “things?”

Zacharias made a face as his sarcasm flew right over her head. Fucking hell, she really was into Weasley, if the constant face-sucking hadn’t been enough of a hint. And how tragic it was that they were separated! Real Romeo and Juliet shit if he’d ever seen one. (Not that he’d ever actually read Romeo and Juliet, but it was the principle of the thing.)

“What’d you two even do? Get caught shagging in the prefects’ bathroom?” He was only messing with her, though he also wouldn’t entirely put it past them, all things considered. “Actually, y’know what, I’m just dying to know about that date you’d planned. Help a lad out, will you? I never know where to bring my dates.” A bald-faced lie, but he doubted he’d be losing any sleep over it.

“Why are you cleaning? It’s not like Sprout’ll be able to tell the difference anyway. But if you wanna pretend to be a house-elf for a few hours be my guest.” He readjusted himself on his seat, making sure he wouldn’t accidentally fall down -- which would not be the first time, embarrassingly enough.

Polish the fucking candelabras. Zacharias had no idea how that was supposed to teach him ‘responsibility’ and ‘respecting the rules’ and whatever other nonsense his Head of House had decided he needed to learn, but at least she hadn’t stuck around. Some sort of a Herbology emergency, she’d said, and it was a testament to how worried she must’ve been that she didn’t even nag when he’d rolled his eyes. You’re a good boy, Zacharias, had been all she’d said in a tone remarkably similar to the one his mother liked to use whenever she caught wind he’d caused some trouble. It brings me no pleasure to have to keep you here while your peers are out in Hogsmeade, but it’s not up to me. Maybe next time don’t leave your room after curfew? I’m sure whatever you need to do will still be there in the morning.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before, really. In fact, he was pretty sure he had her little speech memorised by now. Still, that didn’t mean shit since he’d ended up in detention anyway. And apparently the rest of his dear classmates had made sure to put on their best Saint Potter faces and be on their best behaviour because the Detention Chamber was almost empty save for him and Weasley’s girlfriend. Just fantastic.

As soon as Sprout left, however, Zacharias made himself comfortable, feet up on the empty desk in front of him, hands clasped behind his head. He had no intention of doing anything but relax for the next couple of hours, maybe even take a nap, though before he did that, he couldn’t resist taking a jab at Brown. “Should I be expecting Weasley to come on a dashing stallion to bust you out from detention? A real knight in shining armour, that one, by the way. Congrats.”

where: Techno-Fair, Carkitt Market when: November 10th, 7:48pm status: Open to all!

He comes out of a showing of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street, acutely regretting not having been able to ask his mother for her recommendations on which of the fair’s films to attend. Having grown up with a mother who was far too fond of muggle television and cinema to let it go entirely, this would not be the first time Terence has been exposed to ‘movies’. That said, his experience with it remains limited, as his childhood skewed pretty Wixen, regardless. Mila had kept her job as a nurse in muggle London, as her independence and career had been important to her, but largely, Terence’s parents had agreed to raise the children relatively traditionally—Wixen traditionally, that is. 

Which meant that she was open with them about her life, and shared some elements with them, like muggle board games and story books, but the technology she kept in the house for her work, she kept exclusively under lock and charm in the study. She never lied to the kids, or specifically tried to hide it from them, but she did want to limit their exposure, because children were curious by nature, and she knew quite well such curiosity could get them. 

In any case, though Terence knows more about muggle technology than many, he’d been most interested in perusing the artefacts showcase this afternoon, not only because it so closely pertained to the new direction of his work, but also because he had to admit—he found it infinitely fascinating. In some senses, his problem-solving mind always had, because Terence liked to know things, he liked to understand. Now though, his fascination was driven by something much more urgent. Now, the stakes of solving these mysteries were much, much higher.

He’d honestly surrendered to sitting down for a film because he’d been here hours already, and he’d definitely not worn the right shoes. It’d be a nice break. Or so he’d thought. But the longer he’d sat, the more he’d become… increasingly overwhelmed by the happenings on the screen in front of him. To say he’d not been prepared for what he’d walked into would be an understatement. 

“Well that was… a lot to unpack,” he mutters to himself as the audience disperses back into the market. He rubs his eyes, hands slipping into his pockets as he considers whether or not to call it a day, or head back into the market for another quick browse…

.

Zacharias doesn’t particularly want to be here, but he also figures that if shit goes down he might as well have a front-row seat to see it. This is pretty much the only reason he’s still at the fair at all, and it’s not like someone’s asked, but it’s the principle of the thing. He couldn’t care less about phones, and cameras, and computers, and what the fuck not -- his mother always insisted he kept in touch with their Muggle heritage and, well, that coupled with the fact he has a kid who constantly asks questions about anything and everything means he’s more or less familiar with the majority of the items here. What’s the point of gaping at them from behind a glass like some Muggle at a zoo?

But films aren’t bad. Well, the one Brown dragged him to is, but in general, Zacharias would go as far as saying he likes films. Like Star Wars, for example. A fucking classic. Space, glowing swords, and Han Solo -- what’s not to like? So really, it’s not at all surprising that he ends up mostly lingering around the outdoor cinema, catching different showings, trying to ignore his former classmates and all that good shit. But this Sweeney Todd somehow manages to lose his attention within the first fifteen minutes and Zacharias barely even realises he’s nodded off until he wakes up to the ending credits. Looking around, the seats are mostly empty, with people making their way back to the fair, but one person in particular seems to be hanging back.

“Yeah?” Zacharias raises an eyebrow at the comment even though it’s not necessarily directed to him. “Well, hope it got better than the first fifteen minutes ‘cause those were boring as shit.”

The haughty, indignant denial of his supposed inebriation is already half-formed on Draco’s lips when Smith mentions Goyle. The name lands in Draco’s guts like a solid block of ice and he pushes away from the other wizard – the motion made stiff and awkward by the drink, yes, but also by the suddenness of the unexpected shift of emotions from light banter to deep, cutting guilt and pain. “Write them yourself if you want to know,” Draco says shortly, and while the step away from Zacharias makes him stumble enough that he has to sit down on the edge of the table, his glare doesn’t waver. “I’m not your…your gossip secretary.” He folds his arms in tight across his chest and tries to ignore the uncomfortable contrast of the fading warmth left by Smith’s body against his skin with the icy gooseflesh now prickling across them both.

It’s not fun anymore, talking to Zacharias; Draco has been reminded too sharply of what he’s lost, of who he should be talking to today – of who should have been at his wedding but wasn’t; of who is nothing but ashes and a tombstone over an empty grave and of who he had been waiting for, hoping for, tonight who never came. Zacharias was a good distraction from the latter for a time, but now that he’s raised the specter of Gregory’s absence – and consequently, of Vincent’s absence – that time is over. Draco’s ready to give up and go home…but he’s not quite ready to retreat. Not quite ready to admit how much it hurts that both of his best friends are gone, one dead and the other wanting nothing to do with him because of it.

So he pulls the battered old mask of haughty indifference over his pointed features and says, as loftily as he can with his heart twisting in his chest like a Bludger, “Yes, I was unaware of Pansy’s attempted flirtations until they were pointed-out to me after the fact, that’s correct.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as tired as he feels – but perhaps if he does, Smith will take it as exhaustion at being asked these things over and over and not as the bone-deep weariness of grief. “I am aware that this revelation has proved highly amusing to many people, and continues to be disbelieved by others. Nonetheless, it’s true: I had no idea. And we never dated, no.” At least, not in the sense of Draco having been aware that they were ostensibly dating; that meant it hadn’t happened, right?

He wonders fleetingly if Greg had noticed, if Greg thought it was funny, if Greg or Vince might have mentioned it to him if he hadn’t become so caught-up with the Dark Lord’s orders and short of patience with which to indulge any other topic so quickly into their sixth year…

But there’s no point wondering, and that’s certainly not a topic on which he wants to speculate with Zacharias, so Draco forces himself to pretend he cares about the other wizard’s rant enough to reply, “I expect you could avoid urges toward self-immolation if you didn’t go about shagging people you didn’t know, which seems a bit of an odd choice anyway I have to say. Ordinarily one might expect at least a brief period in between ‘hello, nice to meet you,’ and ‘let’s go for a shag.’” Not even Draco’s father progressed that fast when he was flirting, and Lucius Malfoy had been famous in his day for the number of partners (sometimes multiply) he’d taken to bed. “I’m not suggesting skip straight from introductions to sex, Merlin,” Draco rolls his eyes. “But when a person has decided that they do want to shag someone – or snog them, or whatever – it might go better if they actually came out and said it, instead of being vague and then getting cross about it when the other person fails to decode their oblique and unfathomable hints.”

He eyes Zacharias dubiously and adds, in something that falls a bit flat of his usual smirking sneers, “And no, I can’t imagine wasting my time like that. The whole idea of the ‘thrill of the chase’ is nonsensical. What’s interesting about not being wanted?” asks the man who was once the boy who spent half his Hogwarts career trying to prove to Harry Potter that rejecting his friendship had been a mistake.

Oh, goodness, Zacharias coos in his head. It seems he’s touched a nerve. How terrible, how awful! He can’t even begin to imagine how he’s ever going to make it up to Malfoy. The theatrics only last for a moment, though, just enough to make his amusement skyrocket, and another easy grin spreads on his lips. That’s something he’s very aware of, actually, that his grins are never vicious, and he feels it makes for a nice contrast with the bite of his words; never let it be said he has no style when it comes to all that. “Oh, come on, Malfoy, don’t be like that. I’m just a guy trying to catch up with his old classmates. Don’t tell me I have to wait until Potter decides to organise a reunion where we can all hold hands and cry.” Because that’s precisely what he imagines Potter and his Merry Men do in their spare time. Oh, Harry, Weasley probably cries, either of them, You’re just so wonderful! So dashing and heroic yet so humble! and Potter, in all his glory, would reply, Why, yes, Ron-or-Ginny. I am in fact all of these things. But you know what makes me so great? Having friends like you. Cue the waterworks. And it’s not like Zacharias wastes his time thinking of that shit, but it just seems like an obvious thing.

He’s getting off-topic, though, he thinks as he turns his attention back to Malfoy who seems to be brooding. Not unusual by any means; most if not all of Zacharias’ memories of Malfoy have him either brooding or snarling or a very odd mixture of the two. And there it comes again, as he talks about Parkinson and her little crush. “Guess she should’ve stepped up her game then. Ooh, was she invited to the wedding? That must’ve been fun. Did I congratulate you you’ve finally noticed someone would be interested in marrying you, by the way? I’ll be sure to send over a gift basket.” He will not be sending any baskets, of course, but when has it been more than empty words with him?

And while not even a moment ago Malfoy was struggling with the word muggle-born, apparently he has no problem pulling shit like self-immolation and oblique out of his ass. Go figure. “You must be so much fun at parties.” Zacharias rolls his eyes. “And yeah, nothing’s sexier than saying Hey, wanna fuck? to someone who thinks you sitting in their lap is the height of friendship. Besides, if you’re interested enough you’ll notice the signs. You’ll be looking for ‘em. I guess the point is you just weren’t interested, which is a whole different thing.” Unfathomable hints, Malfoy calls them, but all Zacharias sees is willful ignorance. It does make him wonder though, somewhere in the back of his mind, just how many people have unsuccessfully tried to get with Malfoy that he’s so sour about flirting. “How did you even get married at all? Did you think the girl was giving you friendship rings or some shit?”