I must confess to having a great deal of difficulty in thinking of a birthday gift for you. The most important things I had to offer, I already gave. Caring, trust... love. To say nothing of the physical.
I know I never said it out loud, and honestly, I don't think I could have. I'm only good with words when they're on parchment; tame. But... I did love you. It wasn't planned, and it wasn't what I expected, because I honestly can say I've never loved another person, before you. And I don't think I was ready for it, but trust me to fall for someone I can't have.
And now you're probably thinking, "But you did have me," and I suppose you're right. And sometimes I do wonder if I made the right choice, really, and sometimes I do regret it, for a little while, and sometimes I want you back so badly it hurts. But mostly... mostly, I do think it was the decision I had to make. Sometimes love isn't good enough of a reason to stay, and I really do believe that Draco can give you things I never could. And I want you to be happy, Harry.
I just thought... you deserved to know all of this. I owe you honesty, if nothing else. Happy birthday, Harry; I do hope it's a good one.
Love, Theodore
[enclosed is a sketch, done by Graham, of Theodore and Draco lying in bed together at the chateau in Avignon, entitled 'Past and Future.']
It was a quiet night in Slytherin, and Theo, feeling either nostalgic or masochistic (really, where his family was concerned, it amounted to much the same thing), was flipping through his photo album. It was mostly pictures of his parents... his father, and his mother before her death. Theo didn't remember her of course, but he fancied she looked like she'd have been a good parent.
In a random fit of altruism, the professors hadn't given much homewok, and the Hogwarts seventh years found themselves with quite a bit of free time that evening. Seamus had seized upon the opportunity and snuck down to Slytherin to spend some time with Theo, and the two were lying on his bed making small talk. Seamus, Theo noticed, seemed distinctly twitchy; or, rather, more so than usual. He quirked an eyebrow and queried, "Something on your mind?"
The dormitory was always quiet lately, not that Theo minded that state of affairs one bit. He liked quiet. Quiet was nice. It ws particularly nice when there was no Blaise to bother him and the girls were all holed up in their own dorm, talking about whatever it was they talked about up there. Peaceful.
Cold, though, Theo thought ruefully, sinking farther under the blankets on his bed, never taking his gaze from the book in front of him. The dungeons were always cold.
Theo woke late to find that he was the only one in the dorm. Crabbe's and Goyle's beds were a bit sloppily made; Draco's, in the middle, was unslept in, and Blaise's was a messy tangle of covers he hadn't bothered to straighten before leaving. With a small yawn, Theo sat up and leaned over to pull open the drawer of his nightstand.
His journal wasn't there.
Theo quickly rose and tugged a shirt over his head, then began to search for it. Not in te nightstand, not under his pillow or under the bed, not in his trunk, not in his nook in the corner, not anywhere else in the dorm–
Seamus. Theo stopped in his franctic searching, eyes widening. He had left the journal with Seamus.
Theodore was sitting curled up in the window seat the Room of Requirement had obligingly provided, quill skating across the pages of his journal by dim golden candlelight as he poured his heart out the only way he knew how, to the only safe confidants: the silent solitude of night and the gentle indifference of blank parchment.
If it was original sin to swallow the apple What then is it To swallow the snake? Cold blooded heartless But burning, always burning Flames of hell sin of desire Snakeskin, snakesin Hard soft hard again Dying little death dying Let me die, die, let me die. Where are the trees the garden the leaves Stripped bare, let me be covered Let me be washed clean Of everything Of every sin and word and sigh and scream Let me find peace Beyond nine circles and seven years Beyond apples and serpents Beyond living death
It was cold out, which was hardly shocking for February. Theo's breath condensed in little clouds in front of him before slowly dissapating in the late afternoon sun. The grounds were peaceful, quiet and empty in this weather, and Theo adjusted his cloak slighty as he walked along the border of the forest. An owl swooped by overhead, a letter on its leg, and a little ways in front of him Theo could see that some of the thestral herd had made their way out on to the snow-covered grass, nosing at the quickly cooling meat that had been left for them.
He supposed it was odd, but he was rather fond of the thestrals.
The dorm was quiet tonight; Crabbe and Goyle were still in the common room, Blaise was off doing whatever or whoever it was Blaise did, and Draco was presumably in his own room with Harry. That left Theo alone in the dormitiory, which suited him fine; he had laid claim to the cushioned seat in the corner that was now, by unspoken rule, "Theo's spot," and was reading by the dim enchanted light that lit the room with a soft glow. It was a calm, peaceful evening, the only sound a faint murmur of conversation filtering in from the common room. He could hear some of the girls chatting away; Millie, Morag, and Pansy, by the sound of it. Odd not to hear the wry bite of Daphne's clear voice interjecting in the whirl of sarcastic comments and retorts that all Slytherin girls seemed to fall into when talking amongst themselves, though the remarks were not without affection.
Theo sighed softly. Daphne was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it now. Her wnats, her intentions, didn't matter now; she had made her choice. "Mal foi," as Sartre would say. Theo had always found Daphne's tendency to fatalism to be little more than avoidance of responsibility.
But no matter now. With another sigh, Theo returned to his book.
cold
contemplative