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Shock of Attraction
“I've found us a new recruit,” Fred announced, his hand firmly placed between Theo's shoulder blades as he guided Theo into the deserted classroom.
Theo forced himself to keep his eyes up even as his heart bludgered against his ribs. When the advert had appeared on the common room noticeboard he'd jumped at the opportunity; anything to distance himself from his bully of a father.
“A Slytherin, Fred, really?” Disdain marked George's voice as he glanced up from the howler red liquid in his gently simmering cauldron. His eyes flicked assessingly over Theo. A flash of fiendfyre raced across Theo’s cheeks at the scrutiny of the handsome redhead.
“Opportunities, George. Young Nott here has had a few run ins at home. We scratch his back, he scratches ours,” Fred replied jovially. Theo fought to suppress a shudder at his wretched name. Nott. Pureblooded and proud. That's what his father insisted. He'd be devastated if he knew Theo was cavorting with a couple of blood-traitors. Good!
George's lips pursed; his brows creased together. “And how can you help us?”
“I… I can…” Theo stuttered, all words taking flight from his tongue under George's amber gaze.
“They're rich, George, down in the dungeons. Dragon hoards of galleons,” Fred interjected. “We just need an in to get over their distaste for our surname, and Nott is our in.”
George nodded once before resuming tending to his cauldron.
Denial of Feelings
“Why do all of your pastimes require industrial strength cleaning spells?” Fred mimicked in an almost perfect imitation of Professor McGonagall’s dulcet Scottish drawl.
Theo stifled a chuckle, hidden in the shadow of the suit of armour where he often paused to watch the twins at work. Or more precisely, where he paused to watch George at work.
Two years of working with them had given him insight into their many idiosyncrasies. Many people struggled to tell them apart, but not Theo. Fred was more outgoing, adept at impressions, always ready with a one-liner. He was an ideas man through and through. He'd taken to Theo immediately, involving him in product design and marketing. George was quieter, more thoughtful. Always the strategist. He'd taken longer to trust Theo with information, much longer.
It wasn't as if the twins even looked the same. Fred was handsome, certainly. Brilliant red hair on his lithe frame. But George, George was stunning. The slight curve to his upper lip. His extra half an inch of height. His chiseled jawline. Long fingers that would entwine perfectly with Theo's own.
Not that this crush could mean anything. It was just a brief flight of fancy. Here today, gone tomorrow. In time he'd fall for the pureblooded (and proud) wizard his father picked out for him and this momentary infatuation would be less than the merest quill stroke in his memory.
“Theo, is that you?” George called.
Theo's stomach completed a somersault.
“Ye.. yes.” He stepped into the light.
George's sparkling eyes caught his. A beaming smile spread across George's face as he began to excitedly explain their newest product idea.
Anger at Lost Dreams
“What do you mean they've gone?” Theo snapped, failing in his attempt to sound casual as his heart jolted like a hippogriff taking flight. Denied an education because of that stuck-up toad faced bitch. They were geniuses, the pair of them. But now…
“Flown out of Hogwarts,” Goyle replied, swiping a cauldron cake from the centre of the table.
“Set off lots of fireworks,” Crabbe added, crumbs of toast falling from his lips.
“And added a swamp.” Goyle let out a large guffaw.
Draco clipped Goyle round the head with the back of his hand. “Will you two shut up. You are not supposed to be happy about them escaping.”
“Why not?” Crabbe asked. “It was funny. You should have seen her, she went as pink as that ridiculous outfit she…”
“They are on the wrong side,” Draco hissed, cutting Crabbe off. But his eyes betrayed his true thoughts on the matter; they flicked across to the gangly owner a flash of red hair at the Gryffindor table. The youngest Weasley son gestured animatedly towards the gathered gaggle of younger students, his hand soaring through the air like a broom.
The niffler in Theo's stomach turned over its contents. Hiding what you really thought. Who you really wanted. He knew all about that.
Bargaining
“He's dead, Theo,” Draco announced, his tone completely devoid of emotion as he stared into his glass of firewhiskey. The liquid sloshed up the sides as his hand trembled.
“Who’s dead?” Theo asked, dread bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.
“One of the Weasley twins. They'd just won a fucking war, he's a fucking hero and yet what does it fucking matter? He still lost his brother. It's all so unfair,” Draco's voice drifted off.
Theo and Draco sat silently in Draco's smaller sitting room. One of the twins, Theo silently prayed to every deity that he didn't believe in that it wasn't George. He’d do anything. Anything. But if it wasn't George, it'd be Fred. How would George cope without the other part of himself?
The dreaded confirmation arrived in a flurry of feathers and firewhiskey as Theo's owl sent his tumbler crashing to the floor.
Theo's hand shook as he untied the newspaper from Athena's leg. He took a deep breath and unfurled it, flattening it between his palms.
He scanned his eyes across the front page with its list of the departed. “It's Fred,” he breathed out.
“You should write to him,” Draco said, his voice soft.
“Who?”
“You know exactly who I mean.” Draco fixed him with a pointed stare.
Hope in Grief
Theo tugged on his hood, shrouding his distinctive black hair from the passersby as he hurried along Diagon Alley. Even though the children of Death Eaters had been swiftly cleared of any wrongdoing in the days following the battle, there were still some who thought they deserved punishment.
He paused outside the cheery orange and purple façade of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Brightly coloured towering displays of sweets and toys filled every window. A poffle of puffskeins chirruped loudly from their huddle of pink and blue fur.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door. A cacophony of sound assaulted his ears. Fanged frisbees screeched as they soared low over his head. Perched high above on a rafter, a glittering green dragon’s mouth gaped open showering the shop in red and gold sparks.
“Nott,” a friendly voice called over the melee.
Theo swallowed, nervously glancing behind him to check no one had heard his name; the shop was otherwise devoid of customers.
“It's good to see you.” Ron Weasley strode towards him, his hand outstretched. He clamped his fingers around Theo's, giving his hand a firm shake. “Thank you for writing to him.”
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn't nothing to him. You succeeded in making him smile where we all failed.”
Theo's heart fluttered, a captured snitch seeking escape.
“Come on, he's this way.”
Theo followed Ron through the shop and up a narrow flight of uneven stairs. Ron pushed open a lime green door and ushered Theo through.
George sat slumped behind his desk, his head resting on the parchment and quills strewn across it. He didn't look up as the door shut behind Theo with a loud bang. “I'm fine, Ron, just leave me,” George muttered.
“I’m not Ron,” Theo started.
George's head snapped up; his eyes were ringed with black circles, his cheeks red and puffy underneath. His dusting of freckles was rendered almost invisible. “Theo!” he exclaimed; his brief glimmer of a smile did not reach his eyes.
“I hope I'm not intruding?”
“Take a seat.” George's wand appeared in his hand, he waved it once and righted a chair. His head again hit the desk with a dull thud with his arms stretched out.
Theo’s eyes flicked to the hand nearest him. Could he? Before he could reconsider, he reached out and gently cradled George's hand between his own. George's fingers flexed, but he did not pull away.
Reconstruction
“Happy Birthday!” Theo slipped his arm around George's waist as the morning light streamed through the gap in the curtains. Snuggled together in George's single bed, there wasn't anywhere Theo would rather be.
George rolled over to face him; his arm crept around Theo's back.
Theo captured his smile in a kiss. Legs tangled together as lips parted. The warmth of firewhiskey mingled with cinnamon. Theo wrapped a lock of George's hair around his fingers; it'd grown over the past ten months to trail well below George's shoulders.
George pulled away. “Promise me there's no party.”
“No, it's just the two of us for the day,” Theo replied, brushing a whisper of a kiss on George's cheek. “We've no plans.”
“And my Mum?”
“She understands.”
George mumbled something indecipherable in response, snuggling closer into Theo’s chest. Theo stroked George's hair soothingly, ignoring the dampness that spread across his pyjama top.
George's birthday had been a looming dark spot on the horizon since Christmas. Weasley tradition dictated it was always a raucous affair, with family and friends, celebrations and fireworks, all orchestrated by the force of nature that was Molly Weasley.
After minutes, or possibly hours, Theo wasn't keeping track: he'd hold George all day if he had to, George pulled out of his hold.
“Did you say there was cake?” George asked, his voice wavering at the edges. He wore a falsely bright smile.
“Yes,” Theo mirrored the fake positivity, forcing a lightness into his voice. “And tea. Breakfast in bed as you deserve.”
A New Acceptance
“I was thinking we could put his portrait here,” George said, directing the tip of his wand at the stretch of bare wall above their bed in their new apartment.
“In our bedroom, really?”
“Why ever not? We shared a room for twenty years. It'll be like old times.”
“But it's a magically enhanced portrait and we’re…” Theo gestured between them.
“Fred won't mind,” George replied, giving Theo a cheeky wink. “He might even enjoy it.”
“But… but,” Theo started.
“You're not telling me you mind are you? I thought you meant it when you said: ‘I’d love you no matter who was watching’.”
“I meant my family!” Theo protested. “I don't care that they disapprove. I love you, but I didn't mean…”
Theo trailed off as George bent over, laughter erupting from his lips. “I can't believe you fell for it,” he said with tears streaming down his cheeks. He grasped at his stomach, almost howling.
Theo frowned, attempting to look affronted. George's mirth was catching and he soon joined in with the laughter.
George grabbed hold of Theo and kissed him. As he pulled away, he said, “The portrait will go in the living room, that way he can be part of events." He paused, wiping a stray tear from his eye. More quietly he added, "He'd like that.”
"He would," Theo agreed. He leant back in to greet George's lips in a tender caress.