Nightmares and Nocturnes

The Sweetness Underneath

Chapter 20: The Sweetness Underneath

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2000

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He felt Theo's hand on his shoulder but didn't look up.

"Fuck," Theo muttered.

It was a somewhat rare occasion in which Draco was gratified that Theo never felt compelled to behave like any rational human being. For one thing, Draco was comfortably certain that if he heard so sorry for your loss or such a gifted witch or and to think, she hardly showed signs one more time his knees would likely collapse beneath him; and for another, Theo's language, however predictable it was, was at least one he fluently spoke.

"Yeah," Draco replied, swallowing. He shut his eyes, passing his tongue over the cracks in his lips as he stared at the portrait of his mother, her smile drawn and mournful and - as was all that mattered at the moment - no longer to exist outside of oils and gilded frames. "Yeah, exactly."

Theo shifted, stepping in closer.

"I heard," he said neutrally, clearing his throat, "your houseguest has gone elsewhere."

Draco glanced up, catching Lucius' wary eye on him, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah," Draco muttered again, treading carefully. "He's been avoiding the Manor for months. It's not much of a surprise."

"Afraid he'd catch mortality?" Theo supplied, grimacing, and Draco nodded slowly.

"Yes, actually," Draco confirmed, his voice clipped. "Watching her deteriorate was getting to be" - he sucked in a breath, shaking his head - "too much for him, I think."

"Well," Theo sighed, "in fairness, what is the point of being a Dark Lord if you can't just transfer from one ancient palatial estate to another at a whim?" He shrugged. "And I suppose it's not really much of a loss."

"It isn't," Draco agreed, "though I'm not sure - "

He trailed off. Theo's grip on his shoulder tightened reassuringly.

"The Black properties," Draco offered; it was an ambiguous explanation, but he didn't particularly want to finish the sentence, as it would undoubtedly involve words like bequests and inheritance and only surviving heir -

"Yours now?" Theo prompted, oddly clairvoyant, and Draco nodded.

"Yes," he said. "And I was thinking - "

"Makes sense," Theo agreed, following Draco's train of thought and nodding. "I'd go, if I were you," he added quietly, glancing up at where his father stood beside Lucius. The elder Nott was stony-faced, his hands crossed as he gripped his cane, staring blankly at the casket; it was less any plausible sympathy, Draco knew, than simply expectation, though it was hard to hold that against him. The Death Eaters were no fraternal bond, after all; they were organized around a purpose - a master - rather than each other.

Something Lucius had certainly made clear early on.

"There's a townhouse in London," Draco said, turning to Theo. "It's pretty big, too. Maybe you could - "

"Can't," Theo said tartly, still watching the elder Nott. "Would like to," he said, his green eyes flicking soberly to Draco, "but - "

"I get it," Draco said, his gaze falling again on their fathers, on the men they resembled so fully and had managed so thoroughly to disappoint, trapped in service they were never suited for.