Chapter Text
He doesn't know where he is.
He's covered in …blood
... his
He's covered in blood and doesn't know where he is
the stars shine.
Soft grass beneath him. Stars above him.
The air is sweet.
Redolent
So strong it almost
blots out the sharp metal in Theo's nose.
His skin pulls tight as blood dries.
Why blood?
Wasn't he a wizard?
Wasn't.. he ?
Was he?
o0O0o
He’s being dragged by the ankle. His ripped school shirt catches on tufts of grass and twigs
and pebbles. He supposes it hurts - the skin on his back.
He waits for the terror to well up.
The stars streak above him.
He doesn't die now.
He’s not sure if he ever does and all there is
all there is
is pain and pebbles so
Theo closes his eyes and hopes he'll pass out
again.
o0O0o
He jerks to consciousness because he's wet. Cold, sure. Used to the cold, maybe. Doesn't like it, but cold has been a constant. Wet is strange.
He's in a fountain; propped up against the side like a rag doll.
He's not alone.
White hair, white skin, white iris, white lips, white feathers
"Fuck me - you're one of the peacocks."
o0O0o
Theo would hide under the sofa and gaze at the portrait of his mother and pray to anything that would listen that he was a bastard - a cuckoo.
This wish he thought he had put away. Said goodbye. Thought that it was gone – until the day the Furies’ Wraith killed it.
“Has anyone told you about the Marking?”
“No, my lord.” The Wraith had stared at Theo. Theo had stared at the hearth. The burning logs should have crackled and popped. They didn't. When it became clear he would not be released, Theo had added “It is forbidden.”
The death lord had smiled.
“I grant a boon. I tie it to their Mark. Please, do sit.”
As it did anytime his body was in this situation - one with the possibility of his death - Theo's body relaxed.
This wasn't how Theo died.
His body knew it. The relief of knowing he would survive filled him with abject giddiness.
It didn't make the not-dying any less painful.
Some part of him didn't care about how much not-dying was going to hurt - all it cared about was the absolute certainty of survival.
Hands in pockets, Theo slouched to the sidebar to pour a finger of brandy; turning his back on the nightmare in black silk rags. Theo resisted the temptation to drag his fingers along the back of the Dark Lord's wingback on his way to sit in it's twin.
All in the shadow-steps of his father's hospitality ritual. One Theo witnessed his father do with other men.
The death lord grinned wider.
His red eyes washed away revealing a pleasant, hypnotizing light green. The rest of the face followed and Theo saw the handsome man that had ensnared the Purebloods twenty years ago.
If anyone dared to walk in they would have seen pale pale skin, wrapped around a skull without a nose.
“I granted young Draco a boon."
Theo took a sip of alcohol. Through the glass, he could see claws punching through the self-titled lord’s fingers and black, fiery wings.
Theo clamped down on any words wanting to spill out.
He took another indulgent sip letting his lips press angst the crystal.
"He asked that you would be allowed to finish your schooling."
The Thing leaned back in his chair sipping on something that was not-brandy and became even more inhumanly beautiful.
Theo saw lush, chestnut hair; a face with a strong nose, and high angled plains for cheekbones. There was the same thin, wide mouth.
The head tilted - examining Theo. The monster might have the most arresting face Theo had ever seen.
Theo licked his lips and wondered how painful not-dying was going to be.
Could he risk a refill?
Red/ light green eyes looked over Theo in the exact manner Theo had looked at the death lord - cataloging every feature. His eyes could have been a hand dragging along the side of Theo's face - to wrap around his throat.
“You were buried deep in the littlest Malfoy - hidden under boring scenes of fathers and sons attending sporting events and mothers handing out cake.”
Was the jealous tone as obvious to the Monster as it was to Theo?
“You were there on your knees watching young Malfoy come,
and I thought, ‘my, doesn't he look just like his father.’”
The Fury drank deeply; chuckling to himself.
Drake had lied.
For the first time, Theo cast his eyes down - deferential to the being next to him.
Drake had fucking lied to the death lord.
And he had managed a bargain that would safe guard Theo's life - as long as Theo never left school.
“I took them all. I ripped every sweet memory little Lord Malfoy has of you; every tryst in the castle, every stolen glance in company are now mine.”
Drake had fed false memories to the Madman who essentially held them all captive.
Pansy had blown Malfoy after the Yule Ball. Theo had been tripping - high and delightful - in Ravenclaw Tower; building enchantings with some sixth years. They had woken in a pile with all of their clothes on the next morning.
Drake had never stolen a glance at Theo. Drake took or ignored, but he never had to steal anything from Theo.
Theo knocked back the rest of the brandy and couldn't decide who he hated more:
Drake, the self-proclaimed death lord, or his father.
“It was rare for your mother and me to be in the same room, but I see you have her coloring. The bones of your face, your height, shoulders, hips: all your father’s. What did the old woman used to say?” The Wraith tilted his head as if trying to remember something. “Oh yes - he is the stamp of his sire.”
o0O0o
"It did not sit well with me to leave you in the roses."
Theo looked at the water lapping around his waist.
Chrystal clear.
The slash under his ripped school trousers was healed and clean.
Bastard.
He pushed away from the stone ledge he was leaning against and laid back until the stars wavered above him; their shapes dear and loathsome.
If there was any salt, it would wash away with the iron.
He doesn't die now.
There's a punch in his chest - a request for oxygen - a heart finally broken - but no - there is more of that to come.
He rises from the water.
o0O0o
"So are you immortal?"
“Unlikely.”
“Why are you still here?”
A wry look passed over the albino bird being, "Did you think you broke every chain?"
“Yeah, pretty much.”
Feathers and hair shook in annoyed amusement. "There are more chains and stories than yours, Poisonous Nymph."
“I'm not poisonous.”
Pale lips twitched in the dark, "I'm not a peacock."