The Last Station

Who: Draco and Theodore
What: A conversation
When: Backdated Sunday evening
Where: Draco and Theodore's flat
Rating: Low?
Status: In progress

In what had become something of habit, Draco and Theodore were lounging in their flat shortly after dinner, a finger of whiskey each as they mentally readied themselves for the week ahead. Though Theodore barely had any complaints with running Eye of Newt-- and Millicent was the best person to work with him-- it was hardly the life he expected back at Hogwarts. He'd been raised with the expectation of taking over the Nott estates, his father's various positions in company boards, and learning under him whilst they occasionally roasted a Muggleborn for fun and profit, the latter part an unfortunate hobby whose enjoyment Theodore failed to inherit, but nevertheless saw as a necessary evil. It was also what had blown the Nott's family name to pieces and lost them their fortune.

Likewise, he doubted that Draco had expected himself to return to Hogwarts and take Snape's position, working under McGonagall and overseeing the education of young people. Not with what Hogwarts was to Draco.

He fingered the edge of his glass thoughtfully, gaze on his husband. There was a tightness to the way he held himself, a restraint in his features that told Theodore his mind clouded with something other than the quiet of a Sunday evening.

"Alright?"

So. Wanderers versus Catapults. I shouldn't be surprised, but since I thought it'd be Bats and United, and both those teams were defeated by-- yep, the Wanderers and the Catapults-- I just feel like banging my head against the wall.

I'll just take solace in the fact that no one else predicted this would happen either, so there's that.