Work Text:
Theo considers the Draco-shaped lump on the floor of his guest room.
“You know,” he says conversationally, and the lump groans. “If you wait a couple more weeks it’ll be Valentine’s.”
The lump shifts as Draco throws a pillow in Theo’s vague direction. “Go away,” he mumbles pathetically.
“I live here,” Theo grumbles as he tosses the pillow back onto the bed. “You shouldn’t.”
Draco buries his head back under the blanket. “You don’t understand,” he whines.
“Honestly,” Theo mutters, “I don’t think you do either.”
Draco scoffs. The blanket shifts. He scoffs again and sits up. “Listen,” Draco says, pointing an accusing finger, “it’s—it’s complicated.”
Theo raises an eyebrow and Draco huffs. Smooths out his wayward hair and adjusts the blanket in his lap.
“Oh please,” Theo drawls, “enlighten me.” He leans against the side table expectantly.
“Well.” Draco licks his lips and looks around the room. “It’s—well—”
“Salazar’s soggy sack.” Theo groans. “Look, she apologised, right?”
Draco nods and plucks at the blanket.
Theo rolls his eyes. “And you apologised, right?”
Draco scratches at his chin. “Well—”
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Theo considers throwing the nearest vase of wilting wildflowers at Draco’s stupid head. “What do you mean well?”
“Well,” Draco says indignantly, “I mean—she’s the one that went to my father about this—”
“And,” Theo says loudly, speaking over him, “she apologised.”
Draco grimaces and bows his head, hiding his expression behind a tangled mess of silver hair. “I know I fucked up,” he mutters irritably. “You don’t have to remind me.”
“No,” Theo snaps, “I should just let you mope around my manor while you don’t fix it instead.”
Draco’s fingers flex and for a moment Theo braces himself for a curse—a hex—but instead Draco flops backwards onto the floor and covers himself with the blanket once more. “Go away, Theo.” His voice is ragged and tired.
“Fine.” Theo throws up his hands in disgust. “Lie there and be an idiot, then.”
He expects a snarky response, but Draco just lies there, motionless, his fingers tangled around a corner of the blanket.
“Fuck’s sake,” Theo hisses as he turns on his heel and stalks from the guest room. He’ll have to write to Narcissa again. Before Draco’s idiocy spreads.
“Theodore.” Hermione peeks past his shoulder and then focuses on his face. “He’s still…?”
“Flopping around pathetically, yes.” Theo sighs. “Do you want me to fetch him?”
Hermione nods and then shakes her head. “No. Mrs Malfoy said it might be better to give him space.” She takes a breath and looks down at the stone threshold. “But I hate knowing that he’s miserable.”
“At this point,” Theo mutters dryly, “his misery is self-inflicted. I might stick his head in a bucket of water soon.”
Hermione snorts with laughter and then covers her mouth with her hands. “Please don’t drown him,” she says in a serious tone, but her eyes are still crinkled with laughter.
Theo sighs dramatically. “If you insist. Would you like to stay for dinner?”
“I shouldn’t intrude.” Hermione sighs. “I just don’t know what to do.” She wrings her hands together and peeks up at him. “What would you do?”
“Have better taste in men,” Theo quips, and Hermione smiles faintly. “I can’t tell you what to do, Hermione.” He shrugs, uncomfortable with the seriousness of the conversation. “What do you want to do?”
“Go up the stairs and drag him home by his hair,” Hermione mutters. “But that wouldn’t be fair.”
“I believe all is fair in love and war,” Theo quotes. “I can leave the door unlocked.”
Hermione shakes her head as her smile slips. “Will you tell him I stopped by?”
“Of course.” Theo gives her a considering look. “No letter today?”
“Not today.” Hermione shrugs and doesn’t meet his gaze. “See you tomorrow, Theodore.”
“See you then, Hermione.” He waves as she leaves—watches her almost trip down the wide stone steps—watches until she’s just a faint smudge of darkness against the golden afternoon light.
She Apparates away without a sound, and Theo sighs as he closes the door.
“You don’t understand!” Draco shouts as he storms away from Theo and then turns on his heel and storms right back. “What if I—what—you don’t even know about dating.”
Theo clenches his jaw. “Excuse me?”
Draco points at him. “You’ve never even had a girlfriend. Why would I take advice from you?” His voice is nasty—the same kind of tone he’d use against Gryffindors when they were back in school.
“Just because you’re in pain,” Theo says stiffly, clenching his fist at his side, “doesn’t mean you get to inflict it on others.”
Draco’s face twists and his fingers clench. Theo turns on his heel and stalks down the hallway with his spine twitching, expecting a curse—expecting something.
He pauses after turning a corner and runs his shaking fingers through his hair. How does this mess just keep getting worse?
Footsteps. Theo looks up in alarm and then melts behind the nearest tapestry, the manor’s magic flowing over him like warm water.
“Fuck,” Draco says as he pauses in the middle of the hall. “Fucking—fuck—fuck!” His arm swings out—there’s a sickening crunch of bone—Theo winces in sympathy as Draco howls in agony and slumps to the floor.
If he were a better friend, Theo would rush over and mend Draco’s broken bones. But he’s not a good friend right now. He leans against the smooth stone wall and bites idly at his thumbnail.
“Why,” Draco sobs as he folds in on himself, “can’t I do anything right?”
Well, Theo thinks unkindly, because you’re a spoiled prick.
Draco’s shoulders shake as he cries—pathetic and desperate—and Theo starts to wish he hadn’t hidden behind this tapestry. It’s awkward—so awkward that he starts to wonder if slipping free would be less awkward than listening to Draco’s snuffling misery.
Just as he’s about to emerge from behind the hanging tapestry, Draco wipes his unbroken hand across his face and gets shakily to his feet. Pulls out his new wand and taps it across his bleeding knuckles. Flicks his wand to clean the blood off the floor—not his own hand—and sighs. Then he heads back the way he came—back to the dining room—his footsteps slow and plodding, as though he doesn’t even have the energy to lift his feet.
Theo tips his head back against the stone wall and sighs. He’ll give it a few minutes. Time for Draco to sort himself out properly.
“I’m sorry,” Draco says as Theo enters the dining room. “For snapping at you.”
His voice is still rough—his dinner is untouched—the wineglass empty.
Theo busies himself with sprawling in his father’s chair and twirling an idle finger through a loose curl. “You’ll snap again in a minute,” he mutters, and Draco frowns in confusion. “Try your next apology with Hermione, yeah?”
Draco looks down at his congealing sauce and his shoulders slump. “She’s too good for me,” he mutters. “I don’t deserve her.”
Theo shrugs. “Don’t expect me to argue with you,” he grumbles. “Stop being so stubborn, Draco. Just fix things while you still can.”
Draco nods without looking up. “Okay,” he whispers.
“Okay.” Theo claps his hands together and sits up a little straighter. “I want my manor back to myself, anyway.”
“She might not accept,” Draco murmurs. “You might be stuck with me.”
“Mate, I can throw you out.” Theo points his fork towards Draco, who still isn’t looking up from his uneaten food. “Leave you to the wolves.”
“You wouldn’t,” Draco says, but there’s a tinge of uncertainty in his voice.
“You’re right.” Theo sighs. “They deserve a better meal. Eat up, would you?”
Draco glances up with narrowed eyes. Pointedly cuts a piece of meat and takes a bite.
Theo hums as he pours himself another glass of wine. Hopefully Draco won’t change his mind in the morning.
Of course, it would be morally wrong to eavesdrop on his best friend’s awkward apology.
Theo flicks his hair out of his eyes and peeks through the threadbare tapestry. Draco is pacing—Hermione is sitting on the edge of the armchair—and Theo wonders if a dramatic entrance would startle them into speech.
“I didn’t know what to say,” Draco murmurs, and Theo wishes he’d speak more clearly. “And I was afraid I’d say the wrong thing.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t point out that saying nothing was worse?” Hermione says as she raises her eyebrow. Theo wonders if she knows that the expression makes her look like Narcissa.
“No,” Draco says as he spreads his hands out in a shrug. “I figured that one out myself.”
Hermione’s expression softens. “What else did you figure out?”
Draco takes a deep breath and Theo carefully leans forward. Don’t fuck it up, he pleads silently.
“That I was incredibly stupid,” Draco admits. “That I shouldn’t have snapped at you for going behind my back when I wasn’t telling you anything.” He crosses to the armchair and kneels in front of Hermione. Offers her the bouquet of red and white tulips Theo had helped him arrange. “I’m so sorry, Hermione.”
Hermione cradles Draco’s cheek in her hand and Theo almost whistles. Finally. He grins as he leans back from the tapestry—listening to anything more might make him sick—and feels for the latch that will lead him back through the secret passages to the kitchen.
He’d never admit it, but he’s going to miss Draco’s company.