𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

lavender frost

Draco was aware how aloof Theo used to be about his education. He barely scraped off the OWLs with seven passes. He barely made it to any of the advanced classes, and he barely cared because Theodore Nott wanted to be aloof. He wanted to be away and indifferent to the rest of the world. Theo wanted to paint; Draco had laughed when he heard his ambitions. He wanted to paint like the muggles did in the Renaissance. He wanted to create art and magic and musings. Theo wanted to do nothing with his name or the power it gave to him. He wanted to leave the magic behind and have a small art gallery in Paris, which was convinient because Paris was where the Notts descended from. French was another thing common between them; they'd speak in French when they didn't want Pansy or Blaise to understand what they were saying— their stupid little pranks or plots to take over the government, or simple conspiracy theories, the most prevalent being Madam Prince's affair with Filch.

"I know you don't care. . . Amelia was asking about you, by the way," Draco said. "Apparently you did ask her out and she was deeply saddened by your death. Although, I don't approve of it, she did try to hand over Potter to Voldemort."

Was Draco aware of the painting Theo drew of his girlfriend? Yes. Did Draco sense the magic from it, the magic Theo poured only in his most exclusive masterpieces? Yes. Draco was aware of everything. He wasn't oblivious— his eyes always saw and his ears always heard. He wasn't shocked when Skylar told him about Theo and his love fore her; he was alright, because he always knew that Theo had a liking for Skylar. How? Theo was always unnecessarily mean to her, around her. Theo only ever did that to Daphne Greengrass in second year when he came down with a huge crush on her. Draco was aware of his friend's feelings for his girlfriend— fiancee—but he kept quiet. He didn't wish to pester Theo about it. He didn't want to lose his friendship. Draco held nothing against Theo for kissing Skylar, and nothing against Skylar for kissing Theo. . . What's the point in holding a grudge against the dead? He knew, Theo wouldn't have done that if he wasn't freshly marked. The terror that Mark instils, Draco knows. The fear everyone felt under the Dark Lord's regime, well, who can know it better than Draco? He had laughed it off as a silly memory. Draco loved Theo.

"I was thinking of spring, y'know?" Draco said. The butterbeer felt sweet against the brine and vinegar of his mood. "A nice spring wedding at the Burrow. . . That's the only place I could think of. The wedding is supposed to take place at the bride's house, and considering Skylar never truly had a house, we might settle with the Burrow. And then, as he final tradition, we'll apparate to the Malfoy Manor, groom's house— Merlin, I'm a groom now, Theo!"

Theo would've been the kind of best man who'd misplace the ring before the wedding. Or the kind who would deliberately take Draco to a strip club for his bachelor party. Theo would be the one to offer him Scotch right before the wedding to the near point of getting him hammered under the pretenses of calming his nerves. Theo would have been his kid's godfather, the kind to teach the kid unwarranted magic, let the kid use his want to practice, buy the first broom. He'd also be the one to harbor love for the theatrics, art and music in Draco's perfect children. Theo was likely to make anyone defiant. Maybe Draco needed that in his life— a best friend who's also the best friend to his children.

"Blaise and Pansy broke up, by the way," Draco added. "And I'm pretty sure Pansy has a thing for older men— no wonder she lost interest in me— and Blaise is developing feelings for Fred Weasley— I wouldn't be surprised, I always got a but of bi-flair from Blaise. He's taken all his mother's money and claims that he wants to start a fancy robe company or something."

Draco remembered the chilling moment when he stepped into the Great Hall. The small gaps in the seats the students left for the fallen. He remembered sitting down at the edge of the Slytherin table, alone, admiring eyes looking at him. He remembered how the Sorting Hat didn't sing about the differences of the house, but sang about the selfless Hufflepuffs who fought in the War, the clever Ravenclaws who used every trick in the book, the cunning Slytherins you protected the young and the brave Gryffindors who fought alongside them all. When the new students were sorted, he saw how they gingerly sat in the gaps left on the tables.