Dance With Them What Brung You
The plants in the Malfoy garden are dying.
The Everreds are wilting, and neither the Venomous Gnat Trap nor the Vampire Ferns rustle their leaves when Theodore walks past them. The greenhouse shows no signs of maintenance, but the door rattles on its hinges when he attempts to look in one of the windows. Clearly something is still alive inside the glass walls, and he pulls away sharply when a Succubus Snail attaches itself to the other side of the glass and its teeth scrape at the barrier as though it's attempting to suck his soul through the transparent pane.
Shaking off the jarring moment with a roll of his eyes, Theodore kicks off the half-hearted attempts of a vine to ensnare his right ankle and continues on his way.
The Malfoys once had the most magnificent sentient garden of all wizarding kind, with the exception of the one kept by Theodore's mother, but that was a long time ago indeed; apparently Aunt Narcissa has let the place go.
Theodore supposes that is to be expected in times such as these.
He admits to being a tad bit surprised though, considering how much the Malfoys pride themselves on their appearances -- but with Lucius in Azkaban, certain things were bound to slip through the cracks.
Lucius has always been Lucius, never Uncle Lucius; it's never occurred to Theodore to call him anything else. It would be like trying to disguise a sabretooth tiger as a common house cat.
As for his Aunt Narcissa, however, well, she is what she is -- an entity unto herself, both herbivore and carnivore and a force to be wary of in her own right.
Perhaps the garden has fallen into disrepair because she's been focussing on her other plants, however, it would never do to have the house elves slacking off now. One would expect Draco to pick up on these things, but Draco has never been good with the practicalities.
Theodore pauses at the stairs that lead from the greenhouse down to the pond and exhales softly through his nose.
He's always found Draco fairly predictable, so it comes as no surprise to find him attacking a blackened effigy of Harry Potter that hangs over the pond in the garden.
The enormous scar on the head of the doll is a dead give away.
Chuckling in amusement, Theodore slips his left hands into his trouser pocket and fingers the small porcelain bead he finds there. The bead rolls back and forth between his thumb and forefinger as he considers Draco at play.
Draco's clearly gotten quite into the activity at hand: he's got soot smeared along his forehead and he's breathing through his mouth as though he's run a long distance.
It's amazing, in a disconcerting and vaguely common way, how Draco lets himself go when he thinks no one is watching.
"Enjoying yourself?" Theodore's words project across the surrounding area and towards the pond without requiring him to raise his voice.
His mother always said yelling was for barbarians.
Draco finishes hurling a rather vicious looking pin at Potter's groin and makes certain of his target's success before looking over. "Of course," he says. "How could one not enjoy sticking it to Potter? Care to join me?"
The smirk comes naturally as Theodore answers. "When have I not?"
Theodore Marcellus Nott is three months and eight days older than Draco Lucius Nigellus Malfoy, and for as long as Theodore can remember, Draco has been in his life.
He does not necessarily consider this something to be boastful of.
Draco was a high-strung, bossy child, and to Theodore's mind not much has changed in the last sixteen years. Draco's become quite fit, while Theodore's appearance will always be seen as 'interesting;' and Draco has always been at the forefront of their social circles, while Theodore's more of a non-conformist - but Theodore is more than content with his lot as it stands. He finds Draco a bit mindless and vapid in the manner of a good percentage of Voldemort followers. However, like another good percentage of Voldemort followers, Theodore knows when to keep his mouth shut and follow the crowd, rather than creating a ruckus and risking something befalling himself and his family.
If nothing else, Theodore finds Draco amusing and charming, in an odd, Slytherin sort of way.
Draco has become more solicitous and watchful since his father was sent to Azkaban, but he's also become a great deal more violent. This can only lead to Very Bad Things, as Theodore is all too well aware, what with his father at home and still recuperating from That Incident at the Ministry, of which no one is allowed to speak for obvious reasons.
Regardless of the incident and the whereabouts of Lucius Malfoy and whatever might be occurring in the wizarding world at large, life must soldier on and there are duties to be carried out; Theodore's mother taught him that.
He highly doubts that she would have placed shagging Draco Malfoy under this heading, but Theodore has never been one to quibble over unimportant facts.
The first time Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy had sex was at Theodore's sixteenth birthday party. There was no passion involved. On the contrary the sex was purely a functional activity for both parties involved. Theodore needed something to keep Draco from grassing regarding Theodore's nocturnal activities with Terry Boot, and Draco. Well, for as long as Theodore as known him, Draco's never been one to say no to sex, whether it's as a voyeur or as a participant.
The water in the Malfoy pond looks as though it hasn't been drained in some time, at least for several weeks, and Theodore makes a point of leaving several feet between himself and the edge of the pond where Draco is hurtling pins at his Potter effigy.
Wandering around the enclosure, Theodore takes in the browning grass and the tall hedges that are slowly losing their shape. It would take nothing more than a simple Conformare to put the hedges back where they belong, and Theodore takes out his wand and does the charm without so much as nod from Draco at all.
It's the lack of attention to detail that will cost Draco if he doesn't become more vigilant.
Theodore pockets his wand and picks up a branch that's fallen in his path. He traces Arithmancy equations into the grass as Draco mutters epithets at the idol hovering in mid-air over the pond.
"So this is what the great Master Malfoy gets up to in his spare hours." Theodore's tone is sarcastic, but his face is free from guile and when Draco turns from his activity and scowls at him, Theodore winks.
"I don't see you out there killing Muggles and improving the world," Draco snaps.
Theodore pokes at a rock with his stick. "Do you still think that killing all the Muggles is going to make the world a better place?" He glances up at Draco through black fringe, but keeps his expression bland.
The question is as fully-loaded as they come, but Theodore's father has taught him the importance of constant observation and making certain you know where everyone stands.
It would never do for Theodore to say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and while Draco's not necessarily the wrong person, he has been known to talk first and think second.
"If we don't kill them, they'll kill us," Draco says casting another pin at the Potter imitation. This one misses its target and falls into the pond without a sound.
Theodore watches the tiny ripples from where the pin falls. "Indeed."
He continues poking at the drying grass until Draco's trainer streaks into his line of vision and kicks his stick away.
Theodore is not amused.
"I hate it when you sound like your father," Draco sulks.
Theodore's head shoots up sharply, and it's on the tip of his tongue to point out that all Draco wants from life is to be Lucius. Theodore wouldn't mind pointing out that seeing as Lucius is currently in Azkaban, perhaps he's not an ideal role model, but there's a time and a place for everything and such a statement isn't called for right now.
Draco's considering him curiously, waiting for Theodore to act the way Draco would, to shout and push and be uncouth, but Theodore never succumbs to such baseness.
It drives Draco mental.
"Are you going to let me have a go at your Potter dolly, or shall I leave the two of you alone?" Theodore asks instead.
Draco scowls and shoves several of the pins at him haphazardly. They stick Theodore in the palm and the thumb, but the pain is minimal. "Have at it, if you think you can do so much better," Draco says.
Draco has always been too emotional, and in a way, it's something that Theodore admires.
No one would ever call Draco passionless.
Immature, demonstrative and fanatical, absolutely -- indifferent and reticent, no.
"It's not a matter of being better at something," Theodore says, studying the pins in his hands and the tiny specs of blood dotting his palm. He considers his options carefully before choosing a pin of medium length and size. It's not the sort that Draco would choose at all -- too plain.
"It's a matter of choosing the right place and time to wage your battle. Harry Potter will answer for everything he's done, but it doesn't pay to be stupid about it. He'll have his day, but you, Draco, you need to learn the value of patience," Theodore says gripping the head of the pin and flinging it at the figure.
"I'll be patient when I'm dead," Draco begins, his words dying off when Theodore's pin sinks between the eyes of the Potter dummy.
Dropping the rest of the pins into the grass, Theodore looks Draco in the eyes. "If you don't get yourself together, that will be sooner rather than later."
Theodore Nott has always been Theodore Nott. He does not answer to Ted or Teddy or any derivation thereof. His mother called him Theo when he was small, but he doesn't remember that anymore, since his mother died when he was seven, while giving birth to his sister, Alexandria.
Around his sister's first birthday there was talk of her being betrothed to Draco Malfoy, but Theodore had a long conversation with his father and told him very seriously that that was not an acceptable idea, because it was beneath their family. The Malfoy bloodlines were faultless, yes, but Theodore had listened at enough doors to know that the Malfoys were too fanatical to form a good alliance.
Even as a young boy, Theodore commanded a certain amount of respect from his parents simply because it never occurred to them to treat him as anything less than an equal. He was the sum of their parts and as their parts were all quality, well-bred and intelligent; they expected nothing less of their off-spring.
Theodore's father's lineage can be traced all the way back to Salazar Slytherin himself, and Theodore's mother was an eighth-generation Ravenclaw and his father's third wife. As his father is somewhat advanced in his years, Theodore knows his father always expected his mother to outlive him, but things don't always work out the way people expect. His mother was thirty-three when she died; and since her death, Theodore has been raised by his father and a rather large assortment of suitable house elves.
Some of his classmates have always preoccupied themselves with discussions of blood and worth and superiority, for Theodore there has never been a question of worthiness where he is concerned. His parents taught him that worthiness had very little to do with the blood in your veins and everything to do with the brain in your head. However, both of his parents made a point of explaining to him that not everyone saw things they way they did, and while they were somewhat open-minded about lineage, most people were not.
For example: The Malfoys.
Draco has always rushed in where wisdom would say to tread lightly, and it's only because of his family's relationship with the Malfoys that Theodore has done his best to keep Draco out of trouble.
What's good for one keeps everyone else out of Azkaban.
Despite the garden's state of disrepair, the Chinese Elm trees surrounding the pond are still in a good state. Their leaves shimmer gold, red and green in the breeze as Theodore brushes his fringe out of his eyes and takes in the scenery around him: hedges and flowers and trees.
The blue moss growing at the foot of the trees, in place of grass, looks just as lush and inviting as ever, and Theodore sits on Draco's discarded robe, rolling the tiny porcelain bead from his pocket between his fingers, and watching half-heartedly as Draco works to retrieve the kneazle-sized effigy.
The muscles in Draco's shoulders and back are marvelously defined underneath his thin gray jumper, which Theodore presumes are from Quidditch. He can't imagine Draco doing anything else that could be defined as strenuous, and Theodore finds no harm in appreciating something so aesthetically pleasing.
Whatever else can be said of Draco Malfoy, he isn't terribly hard on the eyes, though he can be rather loud and obvious. Theodore pockets the red bead again as Draco makes a great show of dragging the dummy over to the grove of trees.
"Don't strain yourself," he mocks as Draco drops the doll at his feet and collapses down next to him. Sweat darkens Draco's hairline as Theodore shifts to give him room on the robe.
"Piss off," Draco says, brushing lank hair behind his ears and smearing more dirt on his cheeks.
Theodore smirks.
Upon closer inspection, Theodore can see that the imitation of Harry Potter is rather well put together. It has eyes and a nose and the entire business is wrapped in a red and gold scarf and tattered clothing. Clearly Draco put quite a bit of time into this.
Theodore won't ask where Draco procured the scarf.
"I thought you were a bit old for toys," he says as Draco discards his jumper somewhere behind them.
Draco scowls as he spreads out more of the robe and rubs at his arms. It doesn't seem particularly chilly to Theodore, but if Draco is feeling the poorly the last thing Theodore wants is to hear him whinging about it.
"It's not a toy," Draco says.
"Are you certain of that?"
"It's not a bloody toy," Draco snaps. "It's a voodoo doll. My mother taught me how to make them."
If Aunt Narcissa taught Draco how to make voodoo dolls, chances are she made certain to leave out one or two key things. His aunt is no fool, and the last thing she would want is her son in Azkaban or expelled from school, nevertheless, Theodore's right eyebrow arches slightly. "Do you really think now is the best time to be dabbling, Draco?"
"As opposed to when, Theo?"
"As opposed to another time when the Ministry hasn't got eyes everywhere."
Draco makes a dismissive wave with his hand. "Dumbledore and his band of do-gooders be gone soon enough he's no threat to us."
"You've been saying that for years," Theodore points out. "And yet he's still around."
"That was before. This will be the year that Dumbledore gets his." Lucius' words are coming from Draco's mouth, and Theodore can't help but notice when Draco shivers next to him.
The sky above them is just as gray as the day before and the day before that. Theodore's father said that when Voldemort first came to power the sky turned green for three weeks.
Theodore pulls his blue jumper over his head and stuffs the cashmere jumper into Draco's hands. "Put this on before you catch your death."
"You're not my mother." Draco's tone is sulky, but he takes the jumper anyway. Instead of pulling it on though, he tosses it behind him.
"If you're not going to wear it then give it here," Theodore says, attempting to reach around Draco and take it back.
He's not terribly surprised when Draco pushes him away and he winds up sprawled on his back with Draco looming over him. "Was that really necessary?" He's unable to keep the note of annoyance out of his voice, and he exhales sharply when Draco straddles his thighs and sits down.
"You should take up Quidditch; you're getting soft," Draco says, brushing back blonde hair that's fallen into his eyes. His eyes glitter underneath pale eyelashes, and Theodore can feel the muscles in Draco's thighs as he shifts his weight.
He rolls his eyes as Draco flexes his muscles.
"And you shouldn't underestimate me just because you don't see me on a Quidditch pitch," he snarks, gripping Draco's forearms and rolling them over until Draco's on his back and Theodore's on top.
Draco's hair is splayed out on black robes and blue moss, and he reflexively arches his hips as Theodore licks his lips and pins Draco's hands above his head. He can feel Draco's cock swelling through the layers of clothing between them.
They've been here before, but there was no sex last time.
Draco runs his tongue over his teeth and smirks. "You're stronger than you look."
"I always have been."
They remain this way for several minutes, each one considering the other, neither one refusing to yield. The outcome is a given, and Draco lifts his head up slightly and flicks his tongue over his upper lip. "I'm waiting," he says.
Theodore's eyes flit over Draco's face for a few seconds before he releases Draco's wrists and dives in.
There's nothing soft or pretty about their kiss; it's a clash of teeth and wills and bloodlines. Draco's tongue plunges into Theodore's mouth with all the finesse of a charging hippogriff, and his fingers clutch at Theodore's hair as their mouths mash together.
Their tongues are wet and their lips dry. It's easy for the skin to crack, and Theodore's teeth tug at Draco's bottom lip until he tastes blood.
He moves away, licking along Draco's jaw line until he finds the dirt and soot from the effigy Draco's made, and the entire time Draco's writhing beneath him and yanking on his clothing.
"Any day now," Draco grits out.
Theodore graces him with a smug smile.
His teeth leave red marks along pale skin and he sucks a particularly vicious bruise behind Draco's right ear, as Draco makes grunting noises and his fingers work their way underneath Theodore's gray tee shirt.
The sound of cotton tearing takes Theodore slightly off-guard until he realises he's the one doing the ripping, and Draco's chest is bared to his teeth and the fingernails he makes a point of keeping short and trim.
Draco leans into the long red scratches that Theodore leaves down his torso and over pale, hard nipples, and he mouths sharply at the skin over Draco's ribs before moving back up to Draco's mouth.
He kisses Draco again, this time with less force and more passion, not necessarily passion for Draco, but for their cause and everything they represent, and Draco's tongue is thick in his mouth. Theodore's fingers tangle in blonde hair as Draco strives to control their kiss, and the world moves as Draco rolls them over again until Theodore is on his back, and Draco's astride him yanking at his clothes.
Theodore can feel strands of long hair entwined in his fingers, even as Draco's shoving his shirt over his head and down his arms, and his shirt's not completely off before Draco's fingers are yanking at the fastenings of his trousers and freeing his cock from the confines of his clothing.
Theodore's still attempting to free his arms from his shirt when Draco's mouth closes over the head of his cock and sucks. The shirt is forgotten as Theodore writhes on blue moss, attempting to find some purchase to force Draco to take him deeper.
"Quit fucking about," Theodore snaps, but this time Draco is the one smirking, and Theodore's demands fall on deaf ears.
Theodore's neck makes a cracking noise as he lifts his head to watch Draco leisurely lick from the base of his dick to the head and back, and he's unable to control the whimper that escapes as Draco's mouth finds it way to his balls. He bangs his head against a tiny rock as Draco takes him in again and begins to suck with force.
Everything Draco knows, Theodore taught him, and there's nothing but whiteness when Theodore feels the pressure of a wet finger just behind his balls. His eyes snap shut, and his orgasm rushes through him setting his nerves alight like Firewhiskey.
The sound of Draco panting and the wet slap of skin is what forces Theodore to open his eyes, and he shudders violently in the confines of his shirt and trousers when he sees Draco kneeling over him and jerking off with a fierce determination.
Theodore's voice is raspy and his eyes can't seem to focus. "C'mon already," he says as Draco ruthless strokes his cock.
A keening noise escapes from Draco's lips when he comes, and Theodore watches with interest as warm spatters find their way onto his chest before Draco collapses on the moss next to him.
Draco lies next to Theodore, insensate for several moments, and Theodore studies him while flicking the drying spatters off his chest. Draco's all messy hair and swollen lips, there's sweat beading his forehead and he's breathing heavily through his mouth.
Draco's at his best when he's not trying to be anyone else, and eventually Theodore frees his hands from his shirt and sits up to pull it on properly. "You need to get over this obsession with Potter," he says.
Draco scowls and rolls over on his back, but makes no move to get dressed or cover himself. "I'm not obsessed."
Theodore makes a noise of derision as he gets to his feet. "Well, whatever it is, you need to have done with it."
"There's nothing there."
"So you say."
"Exactly," Draco snaps.
"Tell that to your doll," Theodore says calmly pulling up his trousers and fastening the flies.
"I hate you sometimes," Draco says, picking at the blue moss.
Theodore shrugs before bending down and picking up Draco's robe. "I know the feeling, but that doesn't matter, does it?" he says tossing Draco his robe.
Draco looks at his robe for several seconds and then back at Theodore. "I guess not."