Not Quite Dark Magic

Rooted Binds

When the sun began to lazily rise above the edges of the far off mountains, Draco was exhausted. He had spent the majority of his time strengthening the wards around the cabin— Merlin, Brightest Witch of Her Age? — she could hardly cast spells that lasted more than five hours. Afterwards, when he'd felt a pair of sharp eyes on him, tracking his movements, he'd resigned himself to spend the rest of his night laughing and joking with the Dunder Squad.

Truthfully, after an hour or so, he'd found it wasn't all too difficult to let go and find a bit of pointless joy in the stories they were sharing. Despite the war, they seemed to get themselves into a lot of stupid situations that lacked all the danger in raids or battle. This war had done nothing to curve their Gryffindor enthusiasm. It seemed that not even the sullen world could dampen their optimism. Even Pansy and Theo seemed to get dragged through the mud trying to keep up with them.

He pointed a finger at Pansy. "That's what you get for being involved with a Gryffindor."

"You're about to find out a little about that," she answered with a giggle and a shrug.

He wasn't laughing with them, no. That was the funniest thought of the entire night. He was laughing at them.

When the sun was surely high in the sky, Potter released an anxious Ginny and allowed her and Lovegood to go scurrying down to the basement to fetch Theo. As much as Draco longed to see him, he was dreading Theo's first glances back into his normal life. Draco didn't want to see his squinted eyes as the sunlight drifted into the pitch black basement, his naked body or the torn shreds of his clothing littering the floor. What type of mood would he be in? It was so rare to catch Theo in anything other than sarcastic and joyful. What if he came up feeling sullen and sour? Draco wasn't sure he could stomach it.

He stood to leave, to apparate away. No one had to know why and if they asked he could just mumble some nonsense about the Dark Mark. People hated when he brought up his Dark Mark, reminding them what he'd chosen for the past five years. Unless it was Granger, of course. She'd pry deeper into the issue, possibly even reaching out through their bind to see if he was lying or hiding something.

He couldn't lie to Granger. Not that he didn't want to; he would lie circles around her if at all possible. But even without their tether she saw right through him. It was this fact that kept him planted to his spot right by the cabin stairs, as three pairs of feet clonked up from the basement.

Granger appeared at his side, standing silent and eyes staring straight ahead. Her back was so stiff he wondered if she wouldn't need a Calming Draught to hunch her shoulders once more. Back in their Hogwarts days—

Theo appeared in the doorway, flanked by the two women who loved him most. Strange, he thought as he took in Theo's bedraggled appearance. Even in the sickest turn of events— before Theo's supposed death— when Theo was itching to take the Mark, and the tides of the war hadn't yet been decided, Draco had never pictured this as an outcome. These people had never even crossed his mind. They weren't even a speck on the Dark Lord's battle map.

"Well," Theo broke out, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Is no one going to come dote on me? Truly, I'm horrified."

He was flanked suddenly, wrapped into a group hug so repulsive that Draco made a note to mock him later on. Not now, of course. He would wait an hour or so.

When Theo was released— meaning he complained and yanked himself from their gangly limbs— he sauntered up to Draco. He was swimming in arrogance, especially for someone that had just spent his past twelve hours pacing and growling in a tiny, enchanted basement. His clothes— his muggle jeans and t-shirt that he must have borrowed from Potter— were rumpled and too short at the ankles. Draco was going to point this out, really he was, but then Theo's dead eyes met his and it all made sense.