𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗮𝗻'𝘀 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, theodore nott

˗ˋ 03

CHAPTER THREE
✧
-: sixth year :-

── IN WHICH THE COUPLE
ARE CALLED UPON

. . .

CIGARETTES HAD BEEN SHARED and jumpers been pulled over crisp black shirts and the short sleeves of Cerise's dress as the sky above them only darkened in wake of the sun setting fully, casting a chill through the air likened to what would be normal whether during the day come September 1st.

The revelation of the plot Draco was now heavily involved in - and his friends growing more and more entangled within as their parents discussed their own wishes for their sons and daughters - had cast an almost awkward chill through the group as they came to terms with what had been said; if Draco were to fail, he would die - and if Draco were to succeed, Dumbledore would die.

And as much as they thought Dumbledore to a coddled, batty old sod who could hardly be trusted to run a school given his frequent disappearances and lack of ability to enlist people's help other than those hundreds of miles away in London - there was an odd sense of unsettling distress that came to the idea of him dying.

But they knew it was the only possible way. Dumbledore was a hinderence to Lord Voldemort's plans, and for it to go well, there couldn't be any such interruption. He had defeated Grindlewald many years before, but there was no way he was anything close to the level of ability and spryness that had had in his youthful years.

"How old is the bastard now?" Theo asked, somewhat tipsy off of a bottle of Firewhiskey summoned by Draco through the Malfoy house-elves, the group have teens having long abandoned the balcony towards the end of the hall on which the meeting room doors lay, instead deciding a walk around the Manor and it's gardens would be a more appropriate way to pass the time.

That and Draco had expressed worries that his mother wouldn't be too pleased if he was told to return to the meeting and they all smelt of muggle cigarettes.

"Who knows." Cerise wrinkled her nose as they made their way down the hallway. She leant in to Draco's sudden touch, smiling up at him. "110? 115? Somewhere around there. He was born in 1881.. defeated Grindelwald in 1945 at the age of 64.. so somewhere around 115. I can't figure it out right now."

"She's right." Blaise nodded, taking the bottle of amber-coloured alcohol from his friend and taking a swig. He wrinkled his nose. "Is this the best you've got, Draco?" He passed it to Cerise, who only sniffed it, nose positioned an inch or so from the rim.

"It's cheap." She mumbled, watching as Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on, you know you couldn't get it past us. Mother would be disappointed to think someone could sneak something under the radar when her interests in her own children solely came through in teaching them how to develop exquisite taste."

"Yes, we know." Theo took the brunt of Cerise's distaste, an arm over her shoulder and swinging around to look up at her. "Don't wrinkle your nose at me like that!"

She smiled, just briefly, pushing his head away gently with a very brief kiss to his temple. "Shhh." Cerise comforted the tipsy boy. A glance to the silver-blond boyfriend and feeling somewhat proud of himself, Theo abided. 

Draco cleared his throat, not all that bothered by the action. "Mother took all the vintages up to the drawing room for the meetings. Apparently, even though we're yet to see the Lord eat, drink or do anything other than orate in front of us. That means speak, Theo." He said.