Entry tags:

2009, draco/terry, draco/theodore, fic, theodore/blaise

Gift for mr_mercutio: Salvation by Slytherin (Thoedore/Blaise, Draco/Terry, Draco/Theodore)
Title: Salvation by Slytherin
Author: slumber
Recipient: mr_mercutio
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~8,700
Warnings: Nothing, really. Plot, probably, and a disappointing lack of darkness.
Summary: All Terry Boot wants to do is author a book and perhaps rewrite history as wizarding society remembers it, but the Slytherins just won't cooperate. When a civil war erupts and Terry's only chance of escape involves working with a poorly-acronymed rebel group and an army of questionable professionals to take down the largest magical empire in the world, is his potential bestseller really worth all the trouble? (Theodore/Blaise, Draco/Terry, shades of Draco/Theodore.)
Disclaimers: If I owned Harry Potter, it wouldn't be about Harry Potter. Made up facts and figures derived from actual facts and figures found in Wikipedia.
Notes: Much thanks and love to my beta-- you know who you are. And mr_mercutio, where have you been all my life? I had a lot of fun writing for your request, though I know this may not be exactly what you had in mind. Happy Valentine's!

PS. JK Rowling has said in an interview that, in DH, Slughorn brought the Slytherins back out to fight in Hogwarts. What she failed to do was mention that in the book. I am taking it as canon, though, so in this fic, that's what happened.

Foreword

Since the end of the Second War... the wizarding world has taken great strides in the advancement of wizarding relations with Muggles and other non-wizard magical creatures, and through the placement and enactment of various nondiscriminatory laws, many previously disenfranchised species [such as house elves, giants, and werewolves] now enjoy the same rights and privileges as any wizard.

...

For all intents and purposes, it does appear as though we are steps closer to achieving the harmony that Professor Albus Dumbledore... once dreamed of. However, it has been too easy to forget that, above those unlike ourselves..., Professor Dumbledore also encouraged us to embrace those who are, [all else] aside, just like ourselves.

-Hermione J. Granger, "Forgiving the Fourth House" (June 2001)

Draco Malfoy wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Is this what you call a manor?" he asked, stepping gingerly over a footstool that looked as though it had survived more than seven centuries, but should have been discarded before the first was over. The floor, buried beneath an inch-high layer of dust, only creaked and moaned under the weight of similar items: piles of unopened, half-opened, should-never-be-opened boxes, mismatched chairs, sofas that badly needed new upholstery, a table that was missing a quarter of a leg, and a book thick enough to prop it.

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini exchanged a look.

"The pickings were slim, but at least this is spacious," Theodore said with a shrug. "There weren't many other choices with what Blaise and I managed to sneak out of the country before the Ministry stepped in. Though, of course, if you were to chip in..."

"This is fine," Draco replied hastily. "A couple of spells will do the trick. And anyway, I'll only need to be here for a few days—a week, at most. I should never have picked Polish contractors to do the renovations on Malfoy Manor in the first place; they're loud, lazy, and incompetent."

Blaise rolled his eyes, but a second look from Theodore kept him quiet.

"And whose unfortunate elf sleeps in there?"

"Actually," Blaise drawled, his lips curling into a smirk. "That'll be your room."

===

Chapter 1

For the darkness we have witnessed in the past is precisely the sort of darkness that we cannot allow to haunt our future, and this I say with utmost certainty and faith: for as long as remnants of this evil remain in our midst, so too shall we remain in danger of losing everything that we have fought for.

- Arthur Weasley, "Muggleborn Protection Act" (October 1999)

"I'm coming!" Draco snapped, rising from where he lay perched on the now-dusted, somewhat-upholstered sofa. Neither Nott nor Zabini were around, and they were not coming back until later that evening.

The rapping on the front door continued at an annoying rhythm, and it was partly his concern for the door's fragile state (one more knock and he just knew it would fall apart, and then what would they do?) that made Draco hurry.

"What?" he snapped, yanking it open.

There was a startled gasp. "Draco Malfoy? Hi, I was wondering—"

The rest of Terry Boot's words died on his lips as Draco slammed the door shut in his face.

===

Terry cringed. That had gone exactly as expected, if he were to be honest, and from the very beginning, he knew tracking Draco Malfoy down would be the easy part. He knocked again, an easy rap-rap-rap that he knew would be heard.

"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

"I'm not a salesman!"

"I know who you are."

Terry sighed. "Then could I— I would like to speak with you." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Please?"

"No," came the reply.

Terry knocked again.

"Stop or I'll make you pay for that door!"

"I'll stop when you come out and hear what I've got to say."

"No!"

Terry growled and kicked the door.

===

"Draco, there's a Ravenclaw on our front lawn," Theodore said when he walked in a few hours later, shaking off the disillusionment charm he'd placed on himself. "Would you happen to know why?"

Draco shrugged from where he'd curled up by the fireplace, working on the day's crossword puzzle. "No."

"That was Boot, wasn't it?" Blaise asked, a few steps behind Theodore. He wore a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"So?"

"Skinny boy with dark hair," Blaise noted, watching Terry Boot from the window. "That's almost a type."

"I do not have a type."

"What's he doing here?" Theodore asked. "And how are you even doing that crossword? You don't know a bit of Russian."

"This is Romanian," Draco corrected him. "And anyway, I don't need to know the language to figure out which words fit in the boxes."

"What?"

"Should we let him in?" Blaise asked, licking his lips. "I don't believe he ever made it to my list--"

"No!" Draco exclaimed.

"Absolutely not," Theodore said at exactly the same time.

===

Terry Boot finally left that night, though much to Draco's dismay, he only returned the next day with even more resolve and determination, along with some sort of contraption charmed to continuously knock on the door so he didn't have to.

"I don't understand," Blaise said, emerging from the shower, robed and looking disgustingly divine as he toweled off his hair. "What's he done to you?"

"Nothing," Draco mumbled. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be—wherever it is you go during the day?"

"I took the day off," Blaise said, eyeing Draco with something close to amusement.

Draco left it at that. Though he was curious, he had never been able to bring himself to ask either man what he did for money. All he knew was that somehow, over the last few weeks, while 'renovations on the Malfoy Manor' kept facing setback after setback, Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini had managed to restore their crumbling estate into something remotely livable. Whether they were doing so lawfully or not remained to be seen, and Draco had long ago learned that in those instances, it was always best to err on the side of ignorance.

"So if he's done nothing," Blaise ventured. "Why are you so adamant not to see him?"

"I know what he's here for," Draco admitted.

"Oh?"

Draco sighed. "He wants to redeem us."

===

"I hear you're to be our salvation," a voice murmured from behind Terry Boot. "Colour me flattered."

Terry jumped up from where he sat on the lawn. "Who—Blaise!"

Blaise Zabini grinned at him, the last of the disillusionment charm dissipating.

"Oh," Terry breathed. "I... didn't see you there."

"Hello, professor." Blaise nodded to the thing that kept knocking at their door. "Do you mind? That's a very old piece of wood and you'll drive a hole right through it."

"Sorry." Terry waved his wand, and the knocking stopped. He looked at Blaise, who flashed him a benign smile. "Draco's told you, then?"

"Not everything," Blaise admitted. "But enough to know that, whatever your agenda, it's never going to happen."

"I don't have an agenda," Terry protested. "And why not? I saw you there, at The Battle at Hog--"

Blaise laughed. "The Battle at Hogwarts? Oh, that is rich. Was 'The Last Battle' taken? 'The Last Stand'? You're right, I was there, but were you? That was not a battle, Boot, it was a massacre gone awry; we're lucky so many of us lived through it at all."

"But we all fought fair and square, you as much as I did, and no one even believes you were there!"

"History is nothing more than propaganda the victors are allowed to write," Blaise told him. "You should know that. Nobody will ever want to read what you've got to say, not even us."

"You don't think I know that?" Terry asked. "It isn't just the book; the Ministry is more than willing--"

"The Ministry!" Blaise snorted. "Are you even listening to yourself?"

Terry said nothing, though his fists had curled into balls. "I wish you would."

Blaise sighed, leaning closer and smelling suspiciously of the ocean breeze. "Let me tell you something, professor," he murmured, his voice low and silky enough to send a shiver down Terry's spine.

"Y—yeah?"

"Zabini, what are you doing?" an annoyed voice snapped from behind them both. Terry pulled back suddenly, turning to see Draco, arms crossed and a glare on his face.

"Entertaining our visitor," Blaise replied. "Well," he amended, "I was about to."

Draco ignored him.

"You said you wanted to talk to me?" he asked Terry, who stood up and nodded. "Alright. But not here."

===

"That's okay; I know a cafŽ!" Terry had said earlier, when Draco finally agreed to speak with him.

Terry had, indeed, passed by a small, cozy-looking coffee shop just a few blocks from where he'd tracked Draco Malfoy down, and though he meant to try it out (the smell of coffee always seemed overpowering, but the little signboard out front advertised a few types of tea that made his mouth water), his attempts at finagling an interview with the Slytherins had so far been distracting.

That the cafŽ turned out to be the bastard child of Madam Puddifoot's and Professor Trelawney's classroom was, clearly, unintentional.

"It looked better from outside!" Terry protested when he saw Draco's scowl.

"Not a word to Zabini or Nott and we'll call it even," Draco said, gritting his teeth as he took the strong, solid chair opposite the pink, fluffed-up booth that was going to be Terry's seat.

"Fair enough," Terry reasoned with a sigh. "So you've finally agreed to talk to me. Dare I ask why?"

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Don't be daft; I didn't come here to help you write a bestseller. I've just preserved your honour—did you see the way Zabini was looking at you?"

"What?"

"Oh, don't be na•ve. Never trust a man who smells like the sea breeze," Draco said solemnly, smirking when he caught the guilt in Terry's expression.

"So what are we actually here for, then?" Terry asked. "Is there no way I can convince you otherwise?"

"You've already tried," Draco pointed out. "Seventeen Owls' worth, I believe."

Terry took a deep breath. "What if—what if you could have Malfoy Manor back?"

"Excuse me?"

"The Ministry is willing to return some of the property they've seized," Terry explained. "As a show of good faith--"

"In return for what?" Draco asked. "Turning me into their poster boy for--"

Before he could finish the rest of his sentence, the shop across the street exploded.

"That wasn't me!" Draco yelped instinctually as he ducked, narrowly avoiding shards of what was once an apothecary.

===


"Draco, there's a Ravenclaw in our sitting room."

"I know."

"And the apothecary down the road is on fire."

"I saw."

"They don't, by chance, happen to be--"

"What are you implying, Nott?" Draco snapped. "I say the wrong spell one time--"

Theodore opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to think better of it. "Nothing," he said, looking out the window at the burning remains of the store. "I suppose it's a good thing we've made sure the manor is Unplottable."

===

"Elphaba's Brewery and Inn has been taken too," Terry announced to everyone the next morning, the day's paper open on the table as he ran his wand over the words to translate them. "The same goes for a number of local establishments, The Camelot—shit, that's where I—and oh, no. They've shut down the International Floo Centre."

"Are you always this bright and perky so early in the morning?" Blaise asked.

"They're talking about the possibility of declaring war," Terry added, ignoring Blaise's comment.

"War?" Draco echoed.

Terry nodded, tight-lipped.

"On who? What for?" Draco demanded.

Terry consulted the paper again. "The Magical Independence and Liberation Front of Moldova--"

"Moldova?" Draco asked, confused. "Who's Moldova?"

Terry blinked. "Moldova is a country. We're in Moldova."

"No, we're not," Theodore said. "We're in Russia."

"Russia?" Draco looked baffled. "I thought we were in Romania!"

Terry looked at Blaise, who shrugged. "Don't look at me; I just followed the man with the portkey. But at least I knew this wasn't Italy."

"You have got to be kidding me," Terry muttered.

"No, we're not, though now I do wish I'd taken Mother up on her offer, after all."

"Did none of you take Muggle Stud—right. Why did I even ask?"

"We're in Russia," Theodore insisted. "That's where my portkey was charmed to go."

"Did you charm it yourself?"

Theodore frowned. "No, it was—it's been in the family for—a while, I suppose."

"For emergencies, right?" Terry guessed. "And judging from the, uh, state of this manor, can I also assume the Notts have not set foot on their Russian property since that portkey was made?"

"Was the portkey faulty, professor?" Blaise asked.

"Professor?" Theodore interjected.

"Binns finally retired," Draco said.

"Actually, his wife died, so she came and dragged him off to vacation in Majorca," Terry corrected. "He'd promised her, and she said she wasn't taking any more excuses."

Blaise cleared his throat. "We were talking about the portkey."

"Oh, yes, well, it wasn't faulty, no. The timing was," Terry said. "This area we're in, it was part of both Romania and Russia at different times, but the Muggles know it as Moldova. Most wizards who live here do too, but as far as the Russian Empire of Magic is concerned, that doesn't mean a thing."

"So it's really more of a rebellion," Blaise said.

"Either way, we're stuck here until this insanity is resolved."

There was silence all around as everyone digested the news. Blaise did not appear to be the least bit concerned, nor did Theodore. Instead, he looked as though the wheels in his head were turning.

"Theodore, you don't happen to have any more of those emergency portkeys on you, do you?" Draco asked. "Maybe if we try to go to Ukraine, we'll end up with Binns in Majorca."

===

The papers the next day confirmed it: the Magical Independence and Liberation Front of Moldova had declared war on the Russian Empire of Magic, demanding sovereignty or death. And though Terry pretended he didn't see it, he could have sworn he saw Theodore Nott almost smile.

===

Chapter 2

While I most certainly understand [the arguments]... we must also let our emotions neither blind us nor rush us in our judgment. There are those who believe that intervention is in their best interests, but we must think of what is in the best interest of everyone involved... we cannot let that kind of near-sightedness lead us back into our own destruction.

- Kingsley Shacklebolt (August 2002)

If Theodore Nott learned anything from those years when Harry Potter was either saving the wizarding world or causing it undue discomfort, it was this: war could be very profitable.

He should know; his father sat on the board of The Daily Prophet and saw the charts spike whenever Skeeter published an article on Potter. Caractacus Burke, a family friend, said nothing about how well Borgin & Burkes was doing, but the jewellery his young wife wore at different parties (always extravagant, never the same) spoke volumes. And there was Janus Jiggers, of course, whose apothecary never lost the bustle of customer activity, and who saw more gold than he was taxed for when his store closed at day's end.

Theodore knew there were certain industries that thrived during a crisis, but when he slipped out of England, he was only able to bring with him enough resources to invest in the oldest one.

"Good morning, girls," he murmured as he strode into what stood for his offices, a nondescript, almost-falling-down pile of bricks that did an adequate job of hiding the secrets it stored inside.

"Good morning, Theodore," returned a chorus of heavily-accented English from girls (and boys) of varying ages, sizes and races scattered about the lobby. At its centre stood a woman with a clipboard in her hand.

Theodore walked toward her. "Anca, I trust everything went well last night?"

"Of course, sir," Anca replied with a beam. "Oh, but we are almost out of Roger Davieses, Harry Potters and Celestina Warbecks."

"Warbeck? Really?"

"They say she is doing a—what do you call it, coming back?"

"Ahh. Well, thanks for the warning," Theodore murmured, taking the clipboard she handed him and looking it over. "I'll ask Dima to take care of it. How is our potion stock otherwise?"

"I place order for everything else yesterday."

"We're about to have many Russian guests, Anca," Theodore told her. "Young, lonely Russian soldiers, by the looks of it. Expect at least twice the demand in the next few weeks."

"I read newspaper too, Mr. Nott. I ask for triple the usual stock of ingredients."

Theodore smiled. "Good. How are the rooms?"

"We just clean up."

"The girls?"

"A little tired, I think."

"Tell them they can sleep now. Oh, and what did you do about last week's applicants?"

"I already see them. They are with Mr. Zabini in his office."

===

"Oh, yes, yes," Theodore moaned, throwing his head back against the sheets. His skin was slick with sweat, his muscles taut, his long fingers tangled in fine blond hair as he bucked his hips.

Draco angled his head, straining to take the full length of Theodore's cock into his mouth. He hollowed his cheeks, tongue flat against the shaft as he sucked harder, eliciting a strangled gasp from the other man.

"Knees up," he ordered once he'd pulled away, wiping away the pre-come on his lips with the back of his hand, smirking when Theodore obeyed.

"Good boy," Draco murmured, pushing two fingers inside Theodore's mouth. With his free hand, he began stroking his own cock, groaning as it grew harder.

"Draco, please--"

"Please what?" Draco asked, withdrawing his fingers from Theodore's mouth and pushing them roughly inside him.

Theodore cried out, squirming beneath him. "Please—please fuck me."

Draco was about to oblige when the door flew open. There, standing by the doorway, wide-eyed and red-faced, was Theodore Nott.

"What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

===

"The Camelot's still occupied by the rebels," Terry reported when he walked into the manor. "I couldn't even get in with a disillusionment charm; they had the whole place warded."

"Pity," Draco muttered from what had become his sofa. "What's an eight-letter word that ends in 's'? Third letter is 'a'; fifth is 'y.'"

"What's the clue?"

Draco snorted. "Do I look like I know Moldovan?"

Terry gave him a strange look, but Draco did not notice. "Where are Theodore and Blaise?"

"Give me an eight-letter word!"

"Fine," Terry huffed, pondering for a moment before he offered a suggestion. "Analysis?"

Draco nodded, penciling in his answer. "Well played, Boot."

"I don't see the point," Terry said, peering over Draco's shoulder to look at what he had written down. "You're filling them in with your own words?"

"What? It's a challenge," Draco muttered in response. "Nott and Zabini are at work."

"Huh. What do they do?"

"I don't know. I probably don't want to know."

"What about you? Don't you have work?"

Draco tensed. "I beg your pardon? Malfoys," he replied icily, "are never employees."

===

"Theodore!"

"Blaise."

"What? You told me you wanted talented people who can take up a challenge," Blaise pointed out, not the least bit perturbed, it seemed, by the murder in Theodore's eyes. "It's nothing personal, Theodore; sometimes I even let them turn into me."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Will tea?"

"Um, Mr. Zabini?" a hesitant female voice called out.

Blaise turned toward the bed, where instead of the men he'd been watching earlier, there were now two young women, both naked and wrapped in sheets. "Hm?"

"The potions run out."

"That's fine, girls," he told them. "That was all I needed to see."

"Is that—do we get job?"

"To be quite honest, I'm not sure Theodore would have been that loud, or Draco that aggressive, and remember, part of this is characterization," he said, to the obvious disappointment of both girls. "I'll have to think about it. Why don't you get dressed, come back tomorrow, and I'll let you know."

"Yes, Mr. Zabini."

Once the girls had left, the door closing behind them, Theodore crossed his arms and glanced down. "Is that an erection?"

"It took them less than two minutes," Blaise replied casually. "And they were able to sustain it. They're good; I think we should hire them."

Theodore made a frustrated sound and ran his hand through his hair. "For fuck's sake, Blaise, what was that about? You were the one who made a huge fuss about 'drawing lines' and 'setting boundaries,' and now here you are--"

"Theodore, that was my mother!"

"She's in demand!" Theodore snapped back. "Do you have any idea how much business we lose when we tell men no, we don't have Isabella Zabini in stock?"

"It's different!" Blaise snarled.

Theodore crossed his arms. "How?"

Blaise took a moment to calm down, inhaling a deep breath and looking Theodore in the eye, unsurprised to find that his cock had not softened. "There was no money involved."

"What does that matter?"

"I wasn't finished," Blaise said, moving closer towards Theodore. "I wasn't a stranger."

Theodore frowned slightly and stepped back. "That's still not enough."

"I'm not done," Blaise told him, eyes now alight, not with anger, but with something else, something that unsettled Theodore. "I promise I won't do it again."

Theodore swallowed hard. "I asked how it was different."

"I was getting to that," Blaise murmured.

"And?"

"She's my mother," Blaise said simply, pushing Theodore back against the wall. "I don't want to fuck her."

Theodore's eyes widened. "Is that why you're still hard?" he asked.

"Yes," Blaise said, closing the distance between their lips.

===

"'The Emperor of Magic announced yesterday that the Empire will soon deploy peacekeeping troops to monitor the situation in Moldova,'" Terry read, "'besides employing other measures to ensure that security is maintained.' I bet that means they've closed off the borders and started watching owls leaving the country, too."

"Will you stop reading the bloody paper already?" Draco asked. "It's only going to depress you."

"Ignoring it doesn't make it go away," Terry countered. "I'd rather know that I can't leave the country than try and get killed in the process."

"You make it sound so dramatic."

"In case it wasn't clear to you, it rather is," Terry said.

Draco shrugged. "The manor's Unplottable. As long as we stay inside, we should be safe."

"But until when?"

"Who cares? Someone else can have problems for once."

Terry pursed his lips, but kept quiet.

"Regretting coming out here now, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Terry said, but there was a little less certainty in his voice.

"You know, you never told me how you found out where I was," Draco remarked.

"Oh, I tracked your owls," Terry said. "You really should have been more careful with them."

===

"Oh dear Salazar," Theodore groaned as Blaise dragged the tip of his tongue along the shell of his ear. His fingers twisted in the fabric of Blaise's robes, hips pinned to the wall by Blaise's own.

"Blaise, not Salazar," the other man said in a low murmur that sent shivers down Theodore's spine. He pushed Theodore's robes off his shoulders. His shirt soon followed, and Blaise's attention turned to the fastening on Theodore's trousers.

"Careful," Theodore warned, holding Blaise's wrist still as he reached for Theodore's trousers. "I'm going to wear this later."

Blaise laughed, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Theodore's pants and yanking him forward, pressing a hungry kiss to his lips. "I don't think so."

There was the sound of ripping fabric, followed by the faint popping of buttons, and before Theodore could voice his protest, Blaise pushed his tongue past Theodore's lips to silence him. Theodore's trousers fell to the floor and pooled around his ankles. Blaise's hands closed around his cock and Theodore pulled back, head against the wall, a soundless cry on his lips.

"Blaise," he gasped, fingers curling against the man's shoulders. "You bastard."

"Why, Theodore," Blaise murmured, squeezing Theodore's cock and stroking it roughly, his thumb harsh against its tip. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Will you?" Theodore asked, looking up at Blaise.

Blaise shook his head slowly. "Too late for that."

"Then take off your clothes," Theodore retorted, tugging Blaise's own robes off him. He struggled for a moment, concentration easily broken by Blaise's hand on his cock, before he gave up and, with a spell, shred Blaise's clothes to pieces.

"Nott!"

Theodore smirked, swatting Blaise's hand away. He fell to his knees, hands on Blaise's hips, mouth dangerously close to Blaise's cock. He looked up and met Blaise's gaze.

Blaise swallowed hard. "Please."

Theodore smiled. He lowered his head, keeping his eyes on Blaise as he closed his mouth around the man's cock.

===

"What's wrong with 'echo'?" Terry asked. "All you need is four letters starting with an 'e', right?"

"How many five-letter words end with 'c' and 'h', Boot?" Draco replied, filling the spaces with 'eden' instead. "You're going to trap yourself early."

"You've really given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Shut up and help me fill out the rest."

===

"No, no—Theodore, wai—oh, fuck," Blaise cried out, thrusting hard against Theodore's mouth as he came. He leaned forward, one hand on the wall to support his weak knees, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

Theodore rose to his feet, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He lifted Blaise's chin and kissed him, tongue curling against Blaise's.

"Theodore," Blaise moaned into the kiss, body flush with heat as he tasted himself on the other man's tongue.

"Against the wall," came the reply.

"What?"

Theodore pulled back. "Against the wall," he repeated, holding Blaise by the hips. He switched their positions so that Blaise faced the wall and Theodore pressed up against him, his swollen cock against the back of Blaise's thigh. "Spread your legs."

"Wait, Theodore--" Blaise gasped, spine traitorously tingling with anticipation when he realized exactly what Theodore wanted.

"I'm not done with you yet," Theodore whispered, pushing come-slicked fingers inside Blaise.

===

"Aren't you worried?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Why should I be? It's only a puzzle."

"I didn't mean the puzzle."

"Are you still going on about that?"

"Well, there's a chance we're stuck here for a really long time, and I would like to go home sooner than that," Terry said. "Wouldn't you?"

Draco scoffed at that. "Home?" he echoed.

Terry winced. "I'm sorry, that was--"

"Really stupid, Boot," Draco agreed. A few moments later, he added, "But I accept your apology."

"Thanks," Terry said, subdued.

"Why are you really here?" Draco asked after a minute or so of silence passed. "Why track me down for a stupid book?"

"I told you, it's—people ought to know there's another side to the whole story, and it's only right that--"

"Let me rephrase that," Draco interrupted him. "Why do you care? You've got a job, a house, your reputation's not completely shot to hell. What does this matter to you?"

Terry sighed. "You know, it's ironic. I spent seven years at Hogwarts, but I didn't see it until I came back to teach. Well, that's a lie—I saw it, but I didn't see how horrible it was until I came back."

"What is 'it', Boot?"

"The division," Terry replied. "Somehow we're paying the elves a galleon a week and giving them days off, whether they like it or not, but refusing to sit beside a classmate just because of the colour tie they're wearing."

"So? This isn't your problem."

"I helped create it. I didn't stop it. I let it blind me when I could have been kinder."

Draco frowned. "You feel guilty."

"I didn't know what you were going through in Seventh Year," Terry said. "When I saw you in the infirmary--"

"You should have told me to get well soon instead of threatening me with your wand?" Draco snorted. "Don't worry, Boot, I wasn't actually threatened."

"Well, I shouldn't have said what I did anyway," Terry mumbled. "You were—you looked more bruised than I was. And I thought that, but I ignored it."

"I was not more bruised."

"I didn't even—who did that, anyway? The DA weren't supposed to use spells that str—was it the Carrows?"

Draco did not answer, which was confirmation enough for Terry.

"I didn't know," Terry said again, looking down at his hands.

Draco shrugged. "I was the reason they were in Hogwarts."

"And I—I probably also shouldn't have hexed you when you weren't looking," Terry admitted. "Or asked Michael to do it again, either."

"That was you?"

Terry nodded guiltily.

"For fuck's sake, don't tell anyone!" Draco exclaimed. "If people find out I was bullied by a Ravenclaw, that'll really be the end of me."

===

Chapter 3

While the Ministry of Magic has neither confirmed nor denied it, sources [report] that the rebellion [in Moldova] could very well be the handiwork of [former] Death Eaters. Similar sources have confirmed that [Moldova] has indeed become a harbour for Ministry fugitives... Could the Ministry have kept this information from public knowledge to cover up its own incompetence? Is there a link between the Death Eaters and the Magical Independence and Liberation Front of Moldova? Is the Ministry refusing involvement due to diplomacy or cowardice?

- Rita Skeeter, "The Daily Prophet" (September 13, 2002)

It took the Russian Empire of Magic less than a week to send their men to Moldova, and even less time afterward before they occupied most major magical establishments. Despite intensifying skirmishes between the Russian army and the Moldovan rebels, life went on as best it could for some people.

"You burnt the toast again," Draco accused Theodore. "And mutilated the eggs."

"Perhaps you could do better next time," Theodore shot back.

"I don't see why this manor couldn't have come with an elf," Draco grumbled.

"What we need," Blaise proposed, "is an orphan boy."

Terry blinked. "What?"

"To do our bidding for us," Blaise explained. "He can cook our food and clean the house, and we can make him miserable and build his character."

Terry stared.

"Hell, we have a cupboard under the stairs; he can stay there," Blaise continued. "Maybe he'll grow up to be The Boy Who Saved Moldova."

Draco snickered into his coffee, and even Theodore appeared to be trying very hard not to laugh. "I better get to work," Theodore announced.

"That'll be my cue as well," Blaise murmured.

"Hey," Terry said, standing up hesitantly. "Could I go with you?"

"What for?" Theodore asked.

Terry shrugged. "It looks like I might be here longer than I'd planned," he said. "It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to get a job in the meantime. Do you have an opening?"

===

"I still don't understand what was so funny," Terry mumbled, following Draco into the sitting room. "And what's he mean, I've been pulling my weight?"

"With the two of them, you never know," Draco muttered in reply.

"Yeah, they do seem—what's that noise?"

"Hm?" Draco turned around to see Terry walk towards the windows.

"Merlin—Draco? Do you have the wireless here?" he asked. There was something in the way he spoke, some sort of tension in his voice that made Draco frown.

"Yes, why?"

"Can you turn it on, please?"

Draco did, flicking his wand to tune in to the wireless channel. He cast a translation spell before he moved to stand behind Terry, curiosity overpowering his better instincts. Almost immediately, he wished he hadn't. Behind him, the wireless channel crackled to life.

"...chaos today in downtown Chisinau where a troop of Russian soldiers attacked..."

===

"Anca? What's going on?" Theodore asked as he strode in. There was a tension in the workplace that he knew Anca had been easing and seeing the fear finally reflected in her own eyes unsettled him.

"Is everything alright?" Blaise asked. "Where's everyone else?"

"I tell them to stay in their rooms," Anca explained. "They are—it is not safe to go home, and last night—Mr. Nott, Mr. Zabini, there is something you must see."

===

"Turn that thing off," Draco ordered for the third time that day.

"Are you mad? How else are we supposed to know what's going on?"

"We don't want to know," Draco told him with a scowl. He'd already yanked the window curtains shut earlier, dragging Terry toward the sofa and forcing him to sit there instead of absorbing the carnage outside. It didn't seem to have helped; now the professor was instead flicking through various wireless channels attempting to gather all the information he could.

"Hey, what did you do that for?" Terry asked when the channels all turned to static.

"I didn't do anything! I was just about to turn it off."

"That wasn't you?" Terry asked, turning the wireless off before he switched it back on. Nothing changed.

"No, it wasn't," Draco said. "What happened?"

"They've blacked out the news."

===

There weren't a lot of things that slipped his notice, attentive as he was to detail, but this Theodore had forgotten: as there are opportunities, in war there are also casualties.

"Ileana's husband—the Russians kill him last week," Anca explained. "I did not know. She did not say. I send her this man last night, and--"

"I see." Theodore examined the body lying prone on the bed in a pool of blood and impaled upon its own wand. A Russian soldier's uniform lay crumpled on the floor. "Did he come in with anyone?"

"Four friends, but they leave separately."

"And where is Ileana?"

"She is with Dima. We give her calming potion."

"Theodore," Blaise murmured beside him. "His friends will come looking for him soon."

"I know." Theodore glanced down at the dead man for a few moments, until it seemed he'd arrived at a decision. He picked a few strands of hair from the man's head, took a vial from his pocket, and placed the hair inside. "Anca, find someone to clean this up, please."

"Yes, Mr. Nott."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to stay here for much longer," he continued. "It'll be too risky. But Anca, I would like to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Is there anybody here who wishes he or she was able to do what Ileana did?"

A pause. "Everyone here does."

Theodore handed her the vial. "How many more of these do you think we can find tonight?" he asked.

"There is no need, Mr. Nott," Anca said, eyes gleaming with triumph. "I tell the girls to take a few from each man who visits; we have many of those in stock."

And despite everything that had happened, Theodore found himself smiling once more.

===

"Who're 'they'?"

"The Russians, I'm willing to bet," Terry said in response. "All the news so far has been sympathetic to the rebels."

"Why would they do that?" Draco asked, sitting across from him.

"The head of the Magical Independence and Liberation Front was about to get an interview," Terry told him. "It might have turned into a plea for support. And the civilian body count's rising. That's probably the bigger reason. They don't want us to see just how many people they're killing."

"We're Unplottable," Draco repeated, noticing the way the other man's skin paled. "They won't find us."

"What about Blaise and Theodore?"

"They can take care of themselves," Draco answered after a short moment of silence. "They have before. They'll be fine."

===

"What do you have planned that you're not telling me?" Blaise asked, following Theodore as he walked down the hall to his office.

"An exit strategy," the man replied once they were inside and the door was closed behind them.

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

Theodore returned the look. "Don't you trust me?"

Blaise laughed. "After the shit you keep pulling on me--"

And suddenly Theodore's lips were upon his, his fingers in Blaise's hair, tongue slipping past pliant lips to stroke Blaise's in a heated, hungry kiss that left Blaise flushed and out of breath.

"You bastard," Blaise gasped, laughing as he fisted his hands in Theodore's robes and pulled him close for a second kiss.

===

"If by that, you mean they're perfectly capable of fleeing one country only to end up in another one on the brink of civil war, then yes, they can take care of themselves," Terry muttered dryly. "None of you even knew where you were."

"Not my fault my map was a little outdated," Draco mumbled.

"This is bloody Hogwarts all over again," Terry said, standing up. "We've got to do something."

"Like what?" Draco asked. "We're fine here; no one will find us, Nott and Zabini will come back, and we can just wait this out."

"And when will that be?" Terry retorted. "We can't lock ourselves inside—what about food? What if this doesn't end soon?"

"So what are you saying we should do? Plan a daring escape? Fight to the death? Save the civilians?" Draco mocked.

Terry glared at him. "No, don't be stupid. We just—we need to be ready for anything, that's all."

"How do you plan on ensuring that?"

Terry's gaze fell on the sofa. With a quick swish of his wand, he Banished it to the wall, throwing Draco, who yelped most indignantly, to the ground.

"What in the hell, Boot!"

Terry ignored him, instead turning to rearrange the rest of the furniture in the sitting room, clearing out the centre. Satisfied, he turned to Draco.

"How good are you with your hexes?" he asked. "Because I'm fairly sure mine need work."

===

"Mr. Nott?"

"Come in, Anca."

The door opened and Anca walked in, arms full of fabric and rolls of parchment, which Blaise eyed with interest. "I bring what you ask me for."

Theodore first examined the fabric, unrolling it to reveal the dark reds and golds of the Russian uniforms. "This looks good," he said. "Get the girls working on as many exact copies of that soldier's uniform as they can Transfigure."

"I have them start already."

"And how do you plan to make sure there is no confusion?"

Anca stretched out the fabric for Theodore to see. "White stripe," she pointed out.

"That will have to do." Theodore took the parchment from her, spreading it out on the desk to reveal a map of the city. "You've marked the governor's office here?"

"Also the Floo Centres, the bases and the border stations."

"Thank you, Anca. Let me know when the uniforms are ready and make sure you tell Flaviu about the stripes."

"Yes, Mr. Nott."

Blaise turned to Theodore once the woman had left. "How long have you been working with the rebels?"

Theodore looked up at him. "I'm not. We need them to get ourselves, the girls and their families out."

Blaise crossed his arms. "And who is Flaviu?"

"Anca's husband." Theodore sighed. "And the general of the Liberation Front, yes. I didn't know until recently."

"We are not getting involved in another war," Blaise hissed. "This is not our problem, Theodore."

"We won't; we aren't," Theodore insisted. "I told you: this is an exit strategy. I'm getting us out of here."

Blaise did not look convinced. "Then I don't see why you can't tell me how."

===

"Ready?"

"I was ready five minutes ago, Boot. Are you stalling?"

"You're a git, you know that?" Terry shot back, casting a wordless hex and aiming towards Draco, who avoided it easily and shot a counter-curse in turn. It missed Terry by a hair, though before Draco could be smug about it, the professor had already tried to disarm him.

"I don't think so," Draco said, and for the next few minutes, the sitting room was aglow with the coloured light of various hexes and spells, shooting out of both men's wands, though hitting neither one, skilled as they had somehow become in evasive defense.

After some time, their footwork slowed and their reflexes became less responsive. Terry's aim was losing accuracy, though now there was more time for him to adjust in between the curses Draco cast in his direction.

"Need time to catch your breath, Malfoy?" Terry panted, casting a hex that missed Draco by a fraction of an inch.

"Calling this kettle black, Boot?" Draco asked, sending a Stunning spell Terry's way.

Terry Summoned the nearest object, which happened to be a footstool, and Levitated it in front of him to block Draco's spell. The spell froze in mid-air before falling to the ground, and Terry jumped out of the way to avoid the second spell that Draco had cast.

"Careful with the furniture; I liked that footstool!" Draco growled. He aimed his wand at Terry, but his Stunning spell ricocheted off the walls as his feet flew out from under him. He landed against the sofa, which Terry had Summoned from behind Draco.

"You cheated," Draco snarled from where he lay on the sofa, looking up at Terry's wand, which was now aimed at his chest.

"Did not," Terry gasped, licking chapped lips as he looked down at Draco. "I used what was available. That's perfectly acceptable."

"Is this where you finish me off?" Draco asked.

"If we were in a real fight, yes," Terry replied.

Draco laughed. "Oh, I don't think so," he said, yanking Terry's wrist suddenly and twisting it so his wand clattered uselessly to the floor. He hooked his leg behind Terry's knees and lifted the man's feet from under him, eliciting a yelp as he knocked him to the floor and—unfortunately, as Terry's wrist was still in his hand—tumbled himself off the sofa and onto Terry.

"That went only eighty percent according to plan," Draco explained, sprawled against Terry's chest. "But the point was, I don't need my wand to disarm you."

"You cheated," Terry grumbled. He looked up at Draco. "Get off."

"That's an awkward request considering our position," Draco pointed out, smirking with glee when Terry merely flushed in response. "Why, Boot, are you actually--"

"You are utterly infuriating," Terry hissed, pulling Draco down to kiss him.

Draco opened his mouth to gasp, to sputter, to say something, but then Terry's tongue was stroking his, Terry's fingers were in his hair, Terry's hips were rubbing deliciously against him, and then Terry moaned, a low whimpering murmur that shot all the way to Draco's groin, and all manners of protestation were forgotten. Draco shifted against Terry, straddling him, and, hands against the man's chest, kissed him back.

===

"Now, once we're among the soldiers, it'll be easier to incapacitate them. Anca's taking a group to the governor's office, and we'll be taking care of the soldiers at the International Floo Centre. There aren't too many of them there; we'll be able to get out soon enough," Theodore finished.

"That's it? That's your plan?"

Theodore shrugged. "Well, we can't all flee by dragon," he muttered.

Despite himself, Blaise snickered. "I like to think we'd be a little more subtle than that."

"You must admit, it's a solid plan on such short notice."

"There's one possible wrinkle in it, though," Blaise pointed out.

"Oh?"

"When we reach the Floo Centre, where are we supposed to go next?"

"I've been corresponding with a man—an old friend of my father's; he's arranged our papers for us. I hadn't expected things to speed up the way they have, or that we'd have a Hogwarts professor tagging along, but he's come through," Theodore explained. "We'll meet him in Prague and from there, anywhere's fair game."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "They've been monitoring the owls leaving the country; how do you know we won't be walking into a trap?"

For the first time since he'd started laying out his plans for Blaise, Theodore looked particularly pleased with himself. "Who says I've been owling? Marius and I have been using the Muggle post."

===

Terry threw his head back with a moan, only to wince when it hit the floor. "Wait—not here," he gasped, squirming from beneath Draco. "Bed."

Draco groaned, sitting up and tugging Terry onto his lap, hands roaming quite happily across Terry's chest. "No. Now," he murmured, pushing back Terry's shirt off his shoulders, his lips hot against the man's throat and collarbone.

Terry whimpered, his nipples hardening at the brush of Draco's fingers. He pulled back only to disrobe Draco. "Bed," he insisted, nipping a line down Draco's jaw. "Floor's too hard."

"Bed's too far," Draco protested. He lifted Terry and dumped him onto the sofa, crawling over him while he pulled Terry's pants away. "There. Better?"

"Fine," Terry mumbled, slipping his hands between them to undo Draco's trousers. "I suppose it is."

"Damn right it's—fuck," Draco moaned when Terry closed his hand around his cock. "Your hand's fucking cold, Boot."

"Be quiet and let me warm it up, then," Terry snapped back, stroking the tip of Draco's cock with his thumb before he folded his hand around its shaft, sliding his hand all the way to its base. His own cock hardened as he increased the speed of his strokes and roughened the way he touched Draco.

Draco gasped, licking his lips as he rocked his hips against Terry's hand. Eyes on Terry's, he placed two fingers in his mouth and started sucking. "Ready?" he asked when he was done.

"Since five minutes ago, Malfoy. Are you stalling?"

"Fuck you, Boot," Draco retorted, pushing both fingers inside Terry.

"That's rather the point," Terry groaned in reply, pressing his hips towards Draco's fingers.

"Didn't know you've got such a filthy mouth when you're hungry for a bit of cock, professor," Draco whispered, stretching Terry around his fingers.

"Just fuck me already," Terry hissed, jerking Draco's cock forward.

Draco smirked, shifting to sit between Terry's legs. He slid his fingers out, replacing them with his cock as he thrust his hips slowly and deliberately.

"Merlin!" Terry gasped.

===

"Mr. Nott, we have a problem!" Dima announced, bursting into the room. "The Russians—they are heading this way."

Theodore frowned. "Do you know why?"

The young man shook his head. "They're going into every store. Arresting people."

"Call Anca and tell her we'll need to get the fireplace ready; have the girls and their families prepared as well," Theodore told him. "Have them come up here with everything—the potions, the uniforms, everything. We won't be coming back for anyone, do you understand?"

Dima nodded and left.

Theodore sighed. "At least they don't suspect us yet, but they will if they see what we're doing," he muttered to Blaise.

"They won't," Blaise said. "And they can't follow us if they don't know where we're going."

===

The first thud went unnoticed, as did the second and the third and the fourth. By the fifth clattering of something, though, Terry was forced to wonder what the commotion was all about.

"Merlin's balls!" he cursed, pulling away from Draco and scrambling for his clothes.

"What in the hell?" Draco cursed, zipping up his trousers. "Who are you?"

The strangers—most of them female—did not seem to know what to say, and more of them kept popping out of the fireplace. The sitting room slowly became so crowded that a few wandered into the other rooms, and that was when Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini finally appeared.

"What the hell is going on?" Draco demanded.

"Who are these people?" Terry asked from behind the sofa as he buttoned his shirt.

"I'll explain later," Theodore replied. "I would have sent word we were coming, but there wasn't much time."

"We didn't interrupt anything, did we?" Blaise asked, his tone of voice only all too amused.

Neither Terry nor Draco were able to answer.

"I told you to use the bed," Terry hissed at Draco.

===

"You've been running a what?" Terry exclaimed, nearly knocking his tea aside.

"That's all you've taken from this? Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Boot," Theodore warned. "Especially as it's earned you your board and lodging and will perhaps continue to pay for your retirement."

"What?"

"I never gave you your royalty fees," Theodore went on. "But I had no idea there was such a huge market for the debauchery of academic types; you and I will need to discuss licensing once this is all over."

"What?"

"Mr. Nott, everyone is dressed, and the potion is ready."

Theodore ignored Terry and nodded at Anca. "Alright," he said. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us to the Floo Centre?"

Anca smiled. "Thank you, but I promise Flaviu I will meet him in the governor's office."

"If any of you want to change your mind, now's the time to do so."

"The girls with families, I understand why they want to leave," Anca told him. "But the girls without, we want what's ours, and we'll get it back whatever it takes."

"Then you must use any means to achieve that end," Theodore told her. "Alright, pass the brew around; make sure everyone's got a mugful."

"Yes, Mr. Nott."

"Good luck, Anca."

"You too, Mr. Nott."

"Have you all got your hair sample?" Blaise asked once it seemed there was a mug in everyone's hand. Everyone nodded. "Into the mugs, please."

Terry followed Blaise's instructions, wrinkling his nose when his brew turned an unsightly orange. He glanced up to see Draco eyeing his own potion with disgust.

"We've only an hour to make the most of this," Blaise declared. "Bottoms up!"

===

Afterword

There is, of course, much speculation about the events leading up to the night that the [Magical Independence and Liberation Front of Moldova] succeeded in overthrowing their government, and consequently achieving independence from the Russian Empire of Magic... A few so-called academics have postulated that the traitorous Russian soldiers were paid off by [the rebels, and] a few more have suggested the involvement of Death Eaters... but unless there is undeniable evidence proving otherwise, [those theories] remain in the realm of absurd fiction... and have no place in the pages of our history.

- Professor Cuthbert Binns, 'A World History of Magic' (February 2009)

"Boot, you've got a package!"

"Bring it up here, will you?" Terry called, loathe to move.

"I can't, you bloody git; it's too heavy!" Draco hollered from downstairs. "Come in here and get it yourself!"

Terry groaned, pushing himself from the deckchair. "Alright, alright," he grumbled, walking away from the Grecian sun and down the steps to the dining table. Four owls were just taking off, leaving a large box behind. "Oh, is this it?"

Draco read the mailing label. "It's from Whizz Hard Books, so probably, yes."

Terry read the note that came with the package. "The first edition!" he exclaimed, tearing open the box and taking out a mid-sized, hardbound book. "Quick, call Blaise and Theodore!"

"We saw the owls coming in, professor," Blaise said, strolling inside, Theodore following not far behind. "We hope you don't mind us letting ourselves in."

Theodore nodded to the box. "Can I see?"

"Of course you can," Terry said, tossing them a copy each.

"'The Boys That Saved Moldova' by Terence Buttons," Draco read. "Buttons? Really?"

Terry shrugged. "I needed a nom de plume. It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Professor, this has been classified under fiction," Blaise said, studying the inside of the book.

"Has it?" Theodore asked, looking over Blaise's shoulder. "'The events and characters depicted herein are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.'"

Terry looked sheepish. "Who would believe it?" he asked.

"Good point," Theodore said.

"Though it's not exactly what you were going for, is it?" Blaise asked.

Terry laughed. "Not quite what I had in mind, no. I'm sorry."

Draco shrugged. "We'll take it."


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