Chapter Text
The house was an architectural corpse. But like all rotten things, there were creatures that picked at the bones and nestled in for comfort.
It sat right outside the western border of the Nott estate. You had to walk about an hour out from the manor house until you found the small hole in the wards, just small enough for the determined to squeak by without alerting the head of house that someone had left.
Then, it was tucked up behind a copse of trees, only visible to the cliffside. Theo had found the directions in his mum's journal at the age of ten, just a year before Hogwarts and a year since her passing.
It had been Draco, with dusty palms and a sweat prickled forehead, who dragged them on the adventure of finding the mystical place his mum had written so lovingly about. In the end they’d been successful in finding the abandoned place but had been late getting back for dinner.
For the first time and one of the last, the boys took a punishment together. A few quick lashes and their lips stayed sealed, even if the wounds in their backs didn’t. Still, they kept coming back to the place Draco dubbed ‘Nottinghill House’.
Theo had pointed out that they were not, in fact, in Nottinghill. “You are a Nott, and this is your house, on a hill. I shall call it what it is” He’d said in that snobby tone that was purely Draco with scrawny arms crossed over a puffed out chest. And Theo had let him, because he was Draco and he couldn’t imagine him any other way.
Theo assumed the place must’ve sat without true inhabitants far longer than just the year since his mother’s passing and as they were still a year out from attending Hogwarts, neither boy had a wand to clean the place up. So, they did it by hand as Draco complained that sweeping would turn him into a muggle.
They found trunks of old clothes and jewelry. The kitchen had the odd ins and outs of dishware. The living room had a shaggy, mildewed couch and cracked, still portrait paintings on the wall. There was a mattress tucked into one of the rooms on the second floor. It was dirty but the springs felt new. They jumped on the bed until they were dizzy, relishing in the rebellious act of being alone in this infinitely small part of the world.
xXx
“Do you really suppose this is mine?” Theo asked, glancing at a sunlight in the roof that had been cracked and was one heavy rain from caving in.
“I’ve seen no one else come for it” Draco shrugged, wiping down a counter. It had been a year since they’d set up camp in the place. They were due for Hogwarts in a few weeks. They hadn’t told anyone about Nottinghill House. Not Pansy, nor Blaise, not Narcissa or a house elf.
“One day, we’re going to have true magic. And we’ll live here. Like my mum wanted to” Theo promised, looking at the back of Draco’s head as the boy focused on wringing out his rag. He knew his friend had bigger dreams than creaky wooden floorboards and cobwebbed windows, but Theo wanted him here anyways.
Draco dropped his rag in the bucket, letting it make a wet plopping noise. He turned to Theo, a smile too beautiful for an eleven year old to register. “That sounds grand, Theodore”
And it did.
xXx
Their first year at Hogwarts didn’t go super to plan, but Theo was away from his father so he couldn’t care too much about Draco’s rants about Potter and his comrades. He wasn’t a stranger to the glint of fear in Draco’s eyes when a letter from home landed in his pale, delicate hands.
Lucius wasn’t the same brand of horrible father as Thaddeus Nott, but he was a man who made his son’s stomach twist no less. Outwardly, the man pranced around like a preacher of pureblood sanctity. He was a saintly patron in their societal corner of the world, but he pushed Draco.
Second place was last place, if you weren’t the best then you didn’t even try. When Draco excelled Lucius was the best father in the world. Theo sometimes caught himself wishing the man was his own father.
Lucius Malfoy was strong, always standing tall like the strongest tree in the forest. He would give out hugs with that look in his eyes that whispered he was proud of you. Draco never would want for anything because Lucius would provide.
Until he’d shift, like a werewolf on a full moon. He pinched, hard. They were warnings, Draco had said, reminders that it could be worse but Lucius would hold back for his beloved son. Reminders that he could be like Theo’s own father.
And so yes, Lucius would warn Draco about letting Potter and his gangly friends outshine him. And Theo would let Draco worriedly bitch about Potter in turn.
It was by second year that he’d learned to calm Draco down with promises of what they would do with Nottinghill House. What color they would paint the shingles, what type of rug shall be placed in front of the fireplace. Any outrageous thing Draco wanted, Theo would promise without blinking. Because it was Draco, and he wouldn’t let it be any other way.
xXx
The kiss in fourth year hadn’t come at a surprise to either of them. Not really.
Narcissa had politely suggested Draco bring Pansy to the Yule Ball and so he did. Theo brought no one on his arm, but felt the ghost of a hand on him as he watched from the outer walls of the great hall. It was odd to clock Potter sneaking glances of Draco’s own silver locks and sparkly white dress robes.
Draco seemed to be in his own world that entire night, not deigning to look at anyone, not even Pansy. Theo shoved the loud thoughts down, reminding himself that neither Lucius Malfoy nor Thaddeous Nott would stand for their heirs to be something as plebeian as being queer.
But then they’d snuck away to Nottinghill House over yule break. Theo watched from the bed as Draco reverently touched the hangers of the salvaged clothes they had kept a hold of all those years back.
“Do you think I would look pretty?” Draco had asked, his brow furrowed and his eyes carefully avoiding Theo’s.
Theo’s confession was out of his mouth before he could shove the words back in, like swallowing vomit or a scream after a hit met skin. “I’ve always thought you were beautiful”
“But would I be pretty?” Draco’s finger brushed one of the chiffon blouses, “like Pansy” His voice was reedy, like it was already aching with the urge to sob. Theo stood with a sigh, though his fingers held a slight tremor.
There was a record player downstairs, stolen from the room of lost things back at Hogwarts. Theo waved his hand, and fluttering wandless magic flipped the needle onto the vinyl.
Draco looked up at the noise of classical music breaching the room, his lips slightly open and cheeks warm. Theo bowed deep and then rose with a small smile, “Will you owe me a dance? It seems I was too busy scrounging up my courage to ask a few days ago”
His heart hurt as Draco just stood there, looking abashed but so wonderfully human. In a way that has never described Draco before, he shyly grabbed Theo’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a waltz.
Neither of them had ever been led in the dance before, resulting in squashed toes as Draco tried to reverse the steps. “I wasn’t lying” Theo said, as calmly as a fourteen year old boy could, “I always think you’re pretty. You are pretty”
Draco pecked him on the cheek, as a thank-you he was sure, but before he could pull away Theo cupped Draco’s jaw. He turned their faces to line, creating a messy kiss that even at his tender age he knew would be his undoing. Because it was Draco, and it would always be.
xXx
Their father’s going to Azkaban at the end of fifth year should’ve been a net positive for their tight leashed lives. Yes, Draco was much more terrified about what would become of his sire than Theodore was but freedom was freedom. Then Lucius gave up his manor to Voldemort, then his coffers, and his wife and finally his son.
Draco had cried on their mattress, clutching his arm to his chest as Theo stroked his sweaty temple. “You’ll survive it. You will, Draco” He injected as much confidence into his words as he could. Draco had screamed as he writhed with grief and sorrow long past the ceremony as the curse bullied its way into his magical core. And Theo, Theo had just watched like the helpless child he was.
“I’m ruined, Theodore! Nobody will want me now, Potter will win. I know it, Theo, I’ve seen it and I’ll be locked away because of this” He wailed while waving his stained arm in front of Theo’s nose.
Theo felt his lips flatten as he grabbed Draco’s flailing wrist, “I want you, I still want you. This makes no difference, I’ll make sure of it” And he would. He wasn’t sure how yet, but Draco had given him a home in Nottinghill House, in himself, and Theo would make sure the favor was returned.
Draco’s eyes were starting to swell, his nose all runny, and his starlit hair was starting to tangle. Theo brushed his cheek with the worn pad of his thumb. Potter wasn’t the only one prepping for war in a hidden room. “We’ll have this house one day and do whatever you want. No voldemort, no fathers or family legacy. Just Nottinghill house and us”
“What about our own family? Would you like that, Theo?” Draco’s tears ran over Theo’s fingers, hot and so full of hope it was like a draught of despair had run down his cheeks. Maybe Theo would, if it was with Draco.
“I’ve always thought Scorpius was a good name” He heard Draco whisper, his voice finally giving out as he sucked in a stuttered breath.
“A name created by the stars” Theo smiled, and for the first time he wondered if he’d be able to give Draco something he wanted, “It sounds grand”
xXx
Sixth year, to put it plainly, was bad.
Theo watching Draco in the infirmary after Potter had attacked him was worse than all of Draco’s flailing attempts to kill Dumbledore combined. Potter just watched in something of amazement as Draco’s skin sealed, leaving big ropey scars in their wake.
“How could you? How dare you” Theo wasted no time pushing the wizarding world’s supposed savior. Draco was slurring words to stop but in that moment Theo could feel his father’s blood thrumming in his own veins. The need for revenge, to enact hurt as retribution.
Potter’s eyes widened as Draco started to cry, only this time the only plea on his lips was Theo’s name. Theo stopped his prowling of the chosen one and was at Draco’s side in an instant.
Snape just watched, his dark eyes taking in the entire scene but not making a single move.
xXx
Dumbledore was dead. Draco had been given to Bellatrix for punishment. Potter had cut a run at the beginning of the school year. People, classmates, were going missing in the middle of the night. Theo did nothing with his anger.
Draco snuck into Theo’s bed every night and cried.
Theo clenched his jaw as they got word of the Azkaban breakout and his father’s escape. Things were changing, he was changing, and there were no thoughts of Nottinghill House to escape to in the Carrow’s reign over Hogwarts.
Draco talked, told tales that they would one day live out even if his breath shook with uncertainty. Maybe one day they would get married under the great willow tree covering Nottinghill house. Maybe Draco would carry their children and they could call him Mummy or Papa or whatever name they wanted. Maybe Draco would create the warmest and most welcoming house that any Pureblood child would ever know.
But as nights grew colder and Draco snuggled deeper into his ribs, Theo wasn’t sure it would be with him. There was a certainty, the kind that Draco had that Potter would win, that Theo wouldn’t survive long enough to see the sunny days. Clouds were rolling in, and Theo thought he was close to being swept in the underbelly.
xXx
Theo survived England’s second great wizarding war. Draco did too. Theo wasn’t sure where to go from here.
xXx
It was Potter who had gotten Draco out of the Ministry’s holding cell. He had convinced McGonagall to take on Draco as a parolee, allowing him to attend Hogwart’s eighth year program. Lucius stayed in Azkaban, Narcissa was on a strict house arrest sentence, and Thaddeus Nott stayed tucked into the nameless grave his son had put him in.
Theo, knowing he should let Draco grow on his own but couldn’t let go, had tagged along back to school. It didn’t take long for Draco to announce their relationship, exhausted from hiding away for years. To Theo’s surprise, many people just shrugged their shoulders, dismissing Theo as he’d never been on their radar in the first place. Draco, on the other hand, was the tricky one.
The look Potter had worn that day in the hospital wing had returned, and Theodore was helpless to stop it. It was obvious. Potter wanted his boyfriend, and Theo would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about letting him.
Potter was a saviour, Draco’s personal hero from the sounds of Draco’s very own testament. Theo, on the other hand, was an angry son of an abusive father and a mother only at peace in death. Yes, Draco was the only one of them with a dark mark but if anyone truly knew Draco they’d know he shone as bright as his hair in candlelight.
He was magical, the kind that not everyone would see nor care to search out, like thestrals, but once you caught a glimpse it was impossible to not want more. And Potter wanted more.
They weren’t friends, Draco and Potter. Hell, Theo didn’t think Draco even really paid attention to Potter these days. He’d thanked him at his trial, they’d talked a few times in the common room and were paired for an odd lesson or two but Theo wasn’t worried about Draco dropping him for Potter.
No, Draco was too busy fantasizing about the future. The war was over, they’d lived, they’d earned their house and family. “I think I’d just like to focus on the house first. Did I tell you that they approved me for classes with the Department of Mystery’s Potion Guild? Oh, surely I must’ve. Harry said he was doing a favor for mother by putting a word in for me and I know I should be more prideful but I can’t find it in myself to be. I’m sorry, Theodore, I’ve just been all over the place recently but I think it’s just because everything is coming together now. Just like you promised” He would explain, that smile just as dazzling even if a scar or two now covered his lips.
“What do you think of a bonding ceremony once Nottinghill House is finished? I know you don’t want a whole lot of people, but maybe Blaise and Pansy at least? I’m sure Harry could convince some ministry worker to let mum come with an escort at the very least” Draco would prattle on, running his fingers up and down Theo’s arms. Theo wouldn’t answer with more than a grunt of half hearted approval, the calming draughts keeping his mouth from wanting to open.
“Oh, I know we’re so young and it’ll be a while but I heard Susan Bones worrying that she was pregnant coming out of the common room and don’t you think I’d look pretty with a little bump” He’d say, his hand on a thankfully flat stomach. The more he’d go on the more Theo could picture it. And all he saw was his father staring back at him.
He’d think of the rage he felt staring at Potter that day in sixth year, of the way he walked away from his dying father and coming back later to bury his body in the forbidden forest. Theo remembered his mother’s journals, the fear of Thaddeus hurting her and her baby.
His touch felt rotten on Draco’s bare hip bones, his sighs of pleasure warbled into something sounding like a pained sob. His dreams of Nottinghill House melted into a watercolor painting of prison bars and he was the jailer.
The only help was the calming draughts, suggested to Theo by Potter of all people. It was a prescription strength, given by Potter’s mind healer. “You can have a dose of mine, try it out and see it helps before going through the trouble of getting an appointment” He’d said, his green eyes reminding Theo of the willow branches outside of Nottinghill that Draco adored.
Draco, always the goody-two-shoes he secretly was, had squawked at the idea. So Theo didn’t tell his lover. The draught helped.
xXx
They graduated faster than Theo thought they would, but the draughts seemed to alter his time perception.
The Malfoy’s coffers had taken a big hit, but the ministry allowed enough to be released every month for Narcissa’s housing and for Draco’s classes. Theo had been head of house for the Nott Estate for over a year now, he had no problem with either of them holding no job titles.
They didn’t move into the Manor house when Nottinghill House had been waiting for this day. They argued over curtain colors and which tiles should go in which bathroom. Theo would sit by the cliff, daunting fate as he kicked his legs over the edge. He would stare at the small stash of potions hidden under his sock pile, and go weeks without taking them and allow himself a small smile.
It had been a year, then two, then two and a half. Nottinghill House had been finished, Theo had busied his hands in a muggle wood shop of all places. He was clean of potions, he only thought of that shallow dirt hole riddled with his father’s bones every couple of days now.
And Draco, Draco thrived. He aided in research a couple of days each week at the ministry and then kept his household duties in high esteem. Everything had been fine, Theo had even gathered up the courage to visit the family vaults in search of a ring. Then he’d come home to find Draco curled up in the bathtub with all the lights off.
He’d held up a negative pregnancy test, fat tears in his eyes. “I was wanting to meet Scorpius” He’d said on a shaky exhale. Theo saw his own dark reflection in the mirror across from them, the last of the sun's rays hitting the stubble on his cheek.
It was then Theo knew he did not want to meet Scorpius or any other child for that matter. He couldn’t risk it. Because it was Draco, he couldn’t risk it.
xXx
It was the type of cold that could only be described as wet. The steps up to 12 Grimmauld Place were slicked with an invisible sheet of ice. The building was ominous in the light, it was dangerous in the night.
“I knew you’d come” Potter’s voice hit the air before those willow green eyes showed themselves. “Does Draco know you’re doing this?”
“Does my partner of over five years know I’m leaving him?” Theo scoffed, not liking the way it echoed off the walls, “What do you think?”
“I think it’s about time you cared enough about him to do what’s right” Potter cut in, his words slicing Theo into nothing but a weeping mess of wounds.
“I love him” Theo defended, choking back a mixture of grief, vomit, and tears.
“Sometimes love isn’t enough, is it?” Potter cocked his head, his hand going to the family tapestry hung on the wall before them. His fingers stopped on the threads that made up Draco’s name and face. Theo wondered who had stitched the portrait of his love. Who had studied Draco so intently to match the set of his lips and slope of his nose in fiber medium.
“They say love saved you” Theo threw out, his jaw tight and his words so fucking bitter.
Potter gave a sad little laugh and shook his head, “Love didn’t save me from a childhood of abuse and neglect. It didn’t save you either, it seems. But sometimes I like to think it’s the same as those little flowers that grow in the cracks of sidewalks. Love doesn’t save all, but it saves some. Saved Draco, didn’t it?”
“He might not agree soon” Theo dug his nails into the meat of his fists. Draco would wake, and Theo wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t be anywhere Draco could find. Love didn’t save their future.
“He will one day” Potter said, strong with conviction that Theo’s ten year old voice held once.