Mourning
Hermione took the next few days off work to look for Lynx. She would have thought she imagined it if it weren't for the white fur he left on her pillows and jumper.
When she returned to the Ministry, colleagues handled her with kids' gloves, afraid to set her off.
She could tell Shacklebolt was disappointed with her. Theo and Draco had not contacted the Ministry since she ran out of the meeting. She spent the week going through the motions.
As the dates for their Fathers' releases drew nearer, they prepared their chambers, met with their parole Aurors, and got their inheritance contracts read and reread by their lawyers. When Nott Sr. and Lucius were released, they were to sign over every business and estate to their sons and be the head of the household in name only. This kept them busy during the days.
Theo brought Muggle models and Pureblood witches over after galas and charity events. They entertained them in one or the other's oversized flats.
Theo's Mother died in childbirth. Narcissa had passed while Lucius was in Azkaban, which prolonged their lost years after the War.
Theo watched Draco go through the motions. He drank. He flattered. He said the right words without promising them anything. Sometimes, Draco would take them to his rooms, but he would be gone by dawn, leaving his house elf to escort them out after breakfast.
Draco grew sullen and pallid ... even more so. He hardly ate but drank heavily.
Sometimes, in a rare sober moment, Theo would catch Draco in Animagus form, staring out his office window. He knew who Draco was thinking about.
[Image: A white cat underneath some some sheer curtains stares forlornly out the window.]
The exploits that used to bring them joy was now a means to an end. Theo couldn't help but feel responsible.
He had to do some retcon.
Fuck my life.
Theo started watching Hermione.
[Image: A white and grey cat sits in a car, its reflection in the side view mirror.]
He hid in her office couch.
[Image: A grey cat hides in the slats of a grey sofa.]
He watched her shopping.
[Image: A grey cat hides in an Abercrombie shopping bag, with its green eyes peeking out.]
He followed her home.
[Image: A striped grey cat camouflaged on carpet steps.]
[Image: A black and white cat wearing a plastic cone sits on its hind legs.]
Theo knew he was a master of disguise. Hermione never noticed.
But he noticed her loneliness. Her sadness. Her sighs that tugged at his nonexistent heart. How she, too, stared outside the window.
Theo couldn't help but feel responsible.
Really, fuck my life.
One night, Theo and Draco were hanging out and reminiscing about the good ol' days in Theo's flat. Draco's voice was appropriately intonated, rising and falling at the correct places, laughing appropriately at Theo's quips and innuendos, but his eyes were dim. He kept drinking.
"I gotta hit the head," Theo said.
When Theo returned, Draco was lying on the antique, Persian rug, drunk and crying in Animagus form.
The blond git finally broke.
[Image: A calico cat cries on a grey rug.]
He sniffed, “I j—just miss her so much! I used to get nightmares and kick and yell and see Bellatrix or Voldemort or the dead bodies, and she would smooth down my fur and whisper nice things. With Granger, all that stuff went awayyyyy. I was happy! And now it's gone and I don't know whyyyyy.”
Theo pet him on the belly to comfort the pathetic cat-man.
Cat!Draco hissed and swiped at him. “She didn’t do it like that!”
Theo sighed as he scratched Draco's chin.
Tomorrow, he would send Hermione an owl.