(no subject)
harry potter; pureblood genocide series, 1997
the drinking of the last of the firewhiskey (seven of nine) 4195 words
Desperation is the most beautiful declaration of love and in all his subtly obnoxious Slytherin splendour, Theodore was also quite desperate. It was in the way he looked at the world and the way he spoke of things as trivial as Arithmancy in times of war and in the way he slept, not in the comfortable bed previously owned by Lucius Malfoy but curled up on the cold stone floor outside of Draco's room.
Draco's room was actually two rooms, a sitting room and a bedroom, as the others found out after the finding of the last of the firewhiskey but before the incident in the dungeons. Draco still wasn't allowing anyone in the bedroom. Theodore had tried counting the days but with night coming and going so erratically, it was difficult. They figured they had been there for two weeks or so and in two weeks a lot had changed. During the drinking of the last of the firewhiskey, even more changed.
Ron and Neville had hauled all the alcohol into Draco's sitting room along with any form of entertainment they could find, things like cards and chess sets, books and old photo albums that showed a three year old Draco running around the house naked. They had taken to doing everything in the sitting room, even eating meals, and Hermione didn't cook on her own anymore. They figured it would be better to be all together if there was an attack that way, well, their plans ended there. If there was an attack they would likely all be killed. Everyone was thinking that, but so far, no one had said it out loud.
On that particular night, they all sat around drinking, and the entertainment left untouched save for the photo albums Neville was going through. He had them spread out in front of him, the occupants posing in a stiff, unamused fashion. One of the more recent albums, and one of the only ones displaying any emotion at all, showed Narcissa with her two sisters, Sirius and his brother, or at least it must have been his brother, he looked just like Sirius only shorter and younger. Neville didn't think it was possible for anyone to have been that happy, but considering his current situation, cynicism was expected.
Draco had snatched two albums away from him. One from his childhood that Neville got only a glimpse of, and another that was bound by a spoken password. Neville had stopped trying after ten minutes, he would try again later when his mind wasn't so muddled and Draco was perhaps asleep and unable to throttle him.
Since Harry switched sides, Draco had been more cold and less forgiving. Of course, he had never forgiven easily and he had always been rather cruel to Neville, but now he was ruthless. There was something in his voice that made Neville afraid, like he was on the edge of insanity and liked it. Theodore said it was because of how much he had lost, that Draco never imagined the world would be against him and now that it was, and he had no protection from it, he was breaking. Maybe Neville should have found it strange that Theodore knew Draco so well, but he didn't find anything strange anymore. Well, he found toasters strange, but that was another story.
Neville said when it was all over, if there was anything left to protect he'd want to be an auror. "What would you call this? What we're in," he asked, hiccoughing. He was slumped over on the ground in front of Draco, who was draped over the small sofa in a fashion of true alcoholism.
Theodore, across from them on the love seat drinking whiskey in a wine glass, piped up. "I would call it a house, Longbottom, but there are several variations of the word. Home, manor, dwelling, maison, huset, heimili, aedes." Hermione narrowed her eyes and tore herself away from sucking Ron's face to comment, as she felt was always necessary, even if it wasn't.
"You speak Icelandic?" No one was paying much attention to her. Theodore's intelligence was common knowledge to everyone but Hermione, it seemed. She liked to live in a world where she was the only clever person alive. Ron shook his head at her and turned to face Neville.
"It's a war, obviously," and he and Hermione continued sucking face, much to everyone else's dismay. Neville didn't seem convinced.
"It doesn't seem like one. Usually, both sides agree to go to war, don't they? But we haven't agreed to anything. We're being singled out, hunted. This is genocide." He shook his head gravely. Neville rarely said clever things and maybe it was the alcohol in his system that was making him clever at the moment but everyone else was nodding in agreement. Draco drained his glass and scoffed.
"It's not a war, it's not genocide, it's karma. We're just getting our due, tenfold." He leaned back further in the chair and closed his eyes. Draco only said clever things when he was intending to seriously piss someone off. If it was not worth the drama, he would just keep his mouth shut. Hermione almost pushed Ron off the seat when she sat up, looking as though she was about to hit someone.
"Maybe you Slytherins deserve this, but we haven't done anything wrong." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Draco's grey eyes opened and he sat up. Both he and Theodore shot reproachful looks at her. Theodore was biting his tongue to keep from lashing out.
"We can't have that, now can we? We'll have to do something about you, mudblood." Draco spat, emphasizing his last word as if it meant something when he knew perfectly well it had lost its meaning a long time ago. He looked around the room as if searching for a weapon.
Under his breath, Theo whispered a harsh, "I suggest poison," so that no one would hear, but everyone did and even Neville laughed. He caught Hermione's eye and raised his glass to silently mock her. Draco, it seemed, had decided her punishment and retreated to his room for a moment. He returned with a clear glass bottle that looked ancient but beautiful. The stopper in it was diamond and the liquid in it was thick and dark. It was clearly blood. He thrusted it at Hermione and said, "Drink enough, mudblood, and maybe you'll be worthy."
Ron, though laughing at the predicament, made a noise somewhere between a groan and a hiccough and managed to say, "That's disgusting." Hermione on the other hand, looked as though she was going to be sick. She ignored Draco's last statement, or simply did not hear it, and scowled disapprovingly at him.
"That there is the blood of every Malfoy that ever existed. The first Malfoy, though he was the youngest member of the Senate, was the most trusted adviser to Emperor Nero, of Rome. Course, that was back when muggles weren't afraid of wizards, before the wars and separation." He paused for a moment as if he was contemplating what to say next. Theodore wasn't paying much attention, but Ron, Hermione and Neville were quiet, awaiting the rest of the story. Draco, however, had decided to simply forget about preamble and get to the point. "So drink it, what are you waiting for?"
"Wait, no, tell us more," Hermione pleaded. She was almost falling off her seat, sitting on the very edge of it with anticipation. "This sounds fascinating! Your family is older than the Blacks if the first Malfoy was in Nero's time. That was the sixth century."
"It's not, I assure you. Now drink it. It's possible if you drink enough of it, it will dominate your filthy blood and you'll become pure, like us." He sunk down into the chair even further and stared off out the window, as if making it clear that he didn't wan to to say anything more of his ancestry.
"Tell me more and I'll drink it, then. You've got me very interested in your family history, and I shall like to hear more." If Hermione thought she was being stern, she was mistaken. Draco merely rolled his eyes and shrugged her off. Theodore, on the other hand, drained the contents of his glass and giggled.
"He doesn't want to say anymore because the first Malfoy slept with the Emperor's wife. They called him mal foy and were going to kill him but as he was a wizard, it didn't go off that well," Theo laughed, now hanging over the side of the love seat, clutching his side. "He married his sister and thus began Draco's family."
A pillow flew across the room, hitting him in the side of the head, but he only laughed harder. "That's beside that point," Draco snarked. "The point is that you should drink it." Perhaps it was the alcohol, or the fact that everyone's attention was now on her, but Hermione lifted the bottle to her lips and took a deep breath. She would have taken a drink then, but Draco spoke, in the quietest of whispers. "Pretend you're a vampire."
She replied matter of factly, after looking around at the room, "Vampires don't drink firewhiskey," and lowered the bottle. Neville, of all people, sighed heavily and threw his hands up in defeat.
"No, but they drink blood, and we're all very irritated and entertainment-less, so please, drink up or I shall have to fetch the poison." Hermione stuck her tongue out at him but smiled, as well, and then she hesitated. No one in the room was as much as breathing, in fact the only sound was that of the howling wind outside the window. Somewhere in the distance, people were being killed and even further, a whole other world was sleeping in their beds, unaware of the wizarding events and completely at peace.
Hermione lifted the bottle to her lips and drank. It took a while for her to swallow. The blood seemed to settle in her stomach for a moment and then, just as suddenly as she drank, she clasped her hand over her mouth and ran from the room, probably to save the rest of them the misfortune of seeing her be sick. Draco, Theodore and Neville all erupted in rambunctious, drunken laughter while Ron followed after her, shushing them.
After a few more drinks and a bad game of chess, Neville fell asleep on the three seated sofa. He awoke only a while later to the sound of Ron and Hermione's return. Draco and Theodore had lit candles after storm clouds covered the moon causing the room to smell strongly of hot wood and burnt wax. It was surprisingly pleasant in an eerie sort of way.
Theodore and Draco packed up the chess set and joined the others in the sitting area. They both sat, Draco now in the love seat and Theodore in the small chair. They were glaring at Hermione with looks of absolute delight, as if Christmas had come early. "I hate you both," she said, sitting beside Ron on the three seated sofa, but as she had a smile on her face, she couldn't have actually been that angry.
They sat in silence for quite a while. Everyone's mind seemed to be elsewhere. Neville had taken to flipping through photo albums on the floor again, while Ron and Hermione kissed and Draco and Theodore drank. Neville couldn't watch Ron and Hermione when they kissed. It was like watching his parents kiss, back when they were well and did things like that. Back when they were alive, even.
He could watch the pictures, though, that was easy enough and required no thinking of painful memories. There were pictures of the Malfoys in their garden - Neville would have given anything to tour their garden, but going outside was as safe as throwing yourself down stairs - and a pregnant Narcissa with her sisters and the Blacks and Malfoys at a family dinner. It dawned on him that these memories were not painful to him, but they must have been killing Draco. He slipped the albums back on the book shelves when no one was looking. He would not look at them again.
"We're going to be here forever." The silence was finally broken, by none other than Draco, who for once in all the time Neville had known him, looked sad. All the other times he should have been sad, he retreated into solitude, but now there was no hiding. He sniffled, shaking his head, and drank from the bottle of firewhiskey, not caring that some of it sloshed down onto his chest. He noticed, though, and unbuttoned his shirt, flinging it to the ground. He had everyone's attention.
"I have never once opposed your logic, Draco, but you leave me no other choice. We will not be here forever, not in the least. To exist forever is something not even the greatest wizards in the greatest health can do, what makes you think we, in our situation, can? Not to mention there is an army of filth after our blood. We are being hunted every second of every day. Forever would be a blessing. One, unfortunately, that we will not have."
Theodore was the cleverest of them all. No matter what, when or why he would always make sense of things. It didn't take alcohol to make him clever, nor did it take some form of malice. He was in no way vindictive like Draco or randomly wise like Neville or purposeful like Hermione. You could look at him and know he was thinking clever thoughts, and you would never know them for he never shared them.
All eyes were on him now, even Draco's, and he had been trying so hard not to pay attention. Theodore was on one of his spiels again, he would be ranting for hours if they let him, but with nothing else to listen to, they listened to him.
"There is no hope for us, for anyone of pure blood. Our lives will not be spared if they find us. The saddest part of that is we will never know anything beyond ourselves. We will never grow old, we will never be married, never have families, never live nor love. We will die useless deaths. We will never come close to saving the world, we will not even have the opportunity to try. Fuck," he whispered, his profanity barely heard over Hermione's erratic sobs. "We will never even save ourselves."
Ron stroked Hermione's hair back from her face and closed his own eyes. Maybe he was imagining a world better than the one they were in, like Neville was, or thinking of better times. Or maybe he was just trying to pretend everything would be okay.
"We have wasted our lives." He finished on a sullen note, emptying the bottle of firewhiskey and opening another. Hermione seemed to be the only one who could show any emotion at all, the others were in shock. Ron had settled on being silent while she cried into his shirt, Neville was watching the candles flicker as the flames died, and Draco was watching Theodore drown himself in whiskey. He looked entranced, spellbound, as if he was looking at Theo for the first time.
It was a long time before anyone spoke. Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa, Theodore had gone through two more bottles and Draco, as far as Neville could tell, had not taken his eyes off of him. "Did you really think the blood would purify her?" Neville asked, stupidly. Of course the blood wouldn't purify her, it had no way of entering her veins. As they saw, it just got to her stomach and made her sick. Neville was too drunk to work that out.
"It should have!" Theodore shouted, smiling toothily. He held a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other, drinking from both, one after the other. "Don't you understand how important we are? How important our blood is. Why do you think they want to kill us? Magus est intus nunquam cruorem." He raised his glass and drank what was left in it in one swig.
Before the words could even process in Neville's mind, Draco was standing up. Theodore, who had finished the bottle as well as the glass, wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention, but Draco's eyes were piercing into him. He turned and looked. Neville was looking back and fourth between them, waiting for something to happen. Theodore glanced up and locked eyes with Draco. It was like watching a muggle film, Neville had seen a few when he, Ron and Harry visited Hermione over the summer holiday in year six. In the movies, there were always moments like this, where everything was uncertain and you held your breath while the scene played out.
Draco walked past the fireplace mantle, grabbing the last bottle of firewhiskey. His eyes did not leave Theodore, though he walked so slowly it was as if he was still deciding what to do. He walked to the door at the other end of the room, which had been left open after getting the blood, and disappeared into the room.
Theodore and Neville had both watched him leave, though only Neville was confused as to what was happening. Theodore smiled weakly at him and stood up, setting the glass and the bottle down on the seat. Neville watched him cross the room as well, and then he understood. He felt oddly left out, excluded, as he surveyed the room. Draco and Theodore, Ron and Hermione and then him. But then, he felt included, almost as if the Slytherins had a secret and only he was allowed to know. He had never been let in on secrets before, lest of all Slytherin secrets. He thought, for the second time in his life, that perhaps he was put in the wrong house. He smiled back at Theo and watched him disappear after Draco, closing the door behind him.
It was nearing two in the morning when Neville wandered into Theodore's room. The password was walpurgis which Neville didn't get and didn't care to figure out. The room seemed to be an extension of the library, which was more discomforting than watching Ron and Hermione kiss. It was like being in Hogwarts all over again and Neville no longer welcomed thoughts like that. They made him too sad.
There were a number of things on the desk, several of them he had never seen before and looked to be filled with dark magic, but there was also parchment and quills and Quidditch Through The Ages, and such simple harmless objects made his heartbeat stabilize. There were a number of letters, half written, laying around screaming to be read, and who was Neville to deny them?
- Dearest Mother,
I am glad you are not here to witness what has become of our world. To think of the horrors that are currently going on outside these walls makes me sick. At least I can rest easy at night knowing you are away from it all. Who knows, perhaps I will be joining you soon. On days like this, I can do nothing but remember a time when all was right in the world, when you were with me. I long for those days, though I know they will never come. I must apologize, mother, for missing you so much, for keeping you from peace. I long for peace.
Investigations were useless. If you wanted to find something out, you should not investigate the matter, but wait for the matter to reveal itself to you. On the left side of the desk there was a photo album, just like the one Draco had sealed with a password. Curiosity took over and he opened it, naturally, flipping the thick pages. The first page said, in big bold letters: to theo, from draco, my mum said it would be nice if you had some memories.
Inside were photos of what must have been Theodore's mother, because in many of them she was holding a quiet young boy that looked too grown up to be a child. As the pages went on, the child grew older and the woman began too look thin and sick. The last pages had nothing but pictures of the boy, crying alone in a darkened room. There was one picture of a younger Theodore and Draco. Neville was not certain, but he thought he saw the younger Draco crying along with Theodore. He closed the album and read the next thing he saw to get his mind off it.
- Father,
It is likely you and mum have met again. I heard of your capture not long ago, and it pains me to think you have departed from this world, but I would rather have you resting than witnessing our destruction. I will try and stay strong, for you, for our race, though hope is dwindling and I doubt there is any chance to save us. I am sorry I have failed you. I know you did not want me joining you, and I know you are probably thinking it is you that has failed, but you are wrong. I could have saved the world, like you used to say. Indifference is no better than involvement. I am sorry.
- Draco,
To get certain matters out of the way, I must say this first. If you die before me, I will not sleep nor eat till I avenge you. I only hope you will do the same for me.
- I do not think you truly understand me and yet, at times, you are the only person who understands me. Unfortunately, you have never understood my love for you.
Neville had this habit of trying to do spells without a wand, and failing of course. He had even tried to craft his own wand out of splintered firewood, but that had only irritated him. Nowadays he just held out his hand and whispered spells, simple things like lumos or accio. "Accio quill," he said as he slumped down onto the comfortable bed, his hand out in front of him. He laughed at himself, the sound echoing through the large room. It was stupid of him to even try.
And then Theodore's words played again in his mind and he got what was perhaps the smartest idea he had ever thought of. He rifled around the drawers for ages for it only to find it was on the bedside table. The dagger Theodore had killed Pansy with was sitting, glistening, atop the dark wood, waiting to be used. Neville bit his lip to keep from making too much noise and dragged the dagger across his palm. He regretted it as soon as the blood rushed out of him, but did not hesitate. He held his hand out toward the desk and said clearly, "Accio quill."
In less than a nanosecond, the quill was in his bloody hand and his eyes were wide. Hermione would kill him for figuring it out before she did.
--
Icelandic, like the bands Mike likes. Here's the deal with the photo albums: After Theodore's mum died (I've decided she died when he was about 7) all the Death Eater families came to pay their respects. Narcissa may be proud, but I think she would have been sad as Fiona was her friend, and she would have worried about Theodore being so little and not having a mother to raise him. She assembled a photo album of memories and told Draco to give it to Theodore. Later, Theodore gave Draco a photo album exactly like his filled with photos of the two boys. His said: This is what I remember. He has been in love with him forever, it's true.
And, of course, I stole that one scene right from Velvet Goldmine, but whatever, it is a good scene and it worked well. I actually cried while writing Theodore's letter to Draco because it was just so cute. That is the second time I cried over this fic. And now I ramble. I actually wrote this on Friday the 18th, but my computer ate all 3500 or so words of it and I cried, like a baby. That was, I think, the best thing I have ever written in my entire career as a writer and it just disappeared. I recreated the whole thing as you see it here, and I hope I did a good job, but just know that I think it could have been ten times better. It was. It pains me to think of how much better it was.
Magus est intus nunquam cruorem; the magic is in our blood.
And then there is Theodore's letter to Draco.