Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Duty

In the time of war, even though he knew he shouldn't, Harry spared Theodore Nott.

He blames the thestrals.

It would be a ridiculous thing for Harry to have told anyone else except for maybe Luna Lovegood, and even though he knows she would understand, he keeps his secret. By now the war is over -- not long over, but over. Nott is still alive and Harry knows it's because of him. Or in spite of, perhaps. Come January nights, when the candles burn low and the air in Harry's bedroom fairly shimmers with the heat from their bodies, the war will be the last thing on their minds.

Yes, it definitely started with the thestrals.

Harry, of course, neglects to tell Nott this. Or Ted, as he prefers to be called over dinner, between four-hundred-thread-count cotton sheets, and underneath Harry. Were it not for the thestrals, they wouldn't be together right now. Before that Care of Magical Creatures class in fifth year, Harry had barely noticed his existence. But there he was, his hand in the air along with Harry's and Neville Longbottom's, and in that instant Harry felt an inexplicable bond to Nott. Did he want it? Did it matter?

What did matter was that for two years after that class Harry would find himself thinking occasionally about Nott, especially about the death Nott had witnessed. Was it a relative? A friend? Or maybe he had witnessed a Death Eater murder. After all, Harry had heard his father's name clearly on the night Cedric Diggory was killed. That idea of Nott seeing a Death Eater murder crossed Harry's mind more than once and it never failed to turn his stomach. Nott shouldn't have witnessed something like that, if that was even what he witnessed at all.

Death, Harry thinks, is a stranger experience for the witnessing survivors than it is for those who die. Luna agrees with him. They've both seen plenty of it. Were it not for Luna, Harry doesn't know where he would be right now. Beneath her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and radish earrings Luna is a notably loyal friend and a life philosopher, the one person who sat and said nothing as he grieved for a lost friend, but reached for his hand. They see each other for dinner a few times a month and they talk about the Wizarding Wireless Network or Luna's travels to Alaska or sometimes nothing at all, but Harry still doesn't tell Luna about Nott and the thestrals. Luna always gives him the same advice about all of his relationships, anyway: She encourages Harry to let it take its course, but she also warns him to be careful.

As though his whole relationship with Nott isn't built on the careful in the first place.

When Harry spared Nott, it was just hours before the war would end. Heavy casualties had been sustained on both sides. The Order hadn't used the house on Grimmauld Place as headquarters for some time, but Harry still lived there and, in quieter times, worked on renovations. Instead, they gathered at the Burrow for their meetings. Its spare bedrooms, empty of all the Weasley children except Ginny, made excellent places for Order members to stay after particularly late meetings. Harry got the impression that Molly enjoyed playing hostess to them; she always fed them too much, saying they had to keep up their strength. Every dinner she served was the veritable feast before the battle, and she often encouraged them to stay the night.

"Either we attack first or they do. I don't think I have to say which one we'd all prefer," said Professor McGonagall. Minerva. Harry always had a difficult time thinking of her by her first name, even though she insisted on it after he left Hogwarts. They were equals now, she said, fighting alongside each other.

And the Order did attack first, raiding a place called Spinner's End. Despite their Apparating in at four in the morning in the middle of a storm, they didn't surprise much of anybody. Lightning struck a tree moments after they arrived at the edge of the property and Harry smelled burning leaves and wood. Between the flashes of light and the rising smoke, Harry tried to make a path through the Death Eaters to Voldemort. He had Minerva and Hermione in front of him and Ron behind him, and they worked as a team to get to their goal. As they rushed through a thicket behind the house, Harry fell forward. He hadn't tripped; Ron had pushed him. A moment later Ron fell to the ground, taking a Killing Curse meant for Harry.

When Hermione screamed, Nott came running. He wasn't alone. Harry recognized Crabbe and Goyle, just as dumb and hulking as ever. He barely had time to aim before he fired.

"Stupefy!"

"Impedimenta!"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Goyle's down, Harry!" shouted Hermione. She was able to Stun Crabbe, but Nott was gone. "I don't know where Nott went to. We need to move on."

"Ron..."

Minerva took him by the shoulders. "Potter, I know Weasley was your best friend, but we are in the middle of a battle here. There will be time to mourn later. We have to go."

"But we can't leave him!" Harry looked over his shoulder at Ron's still form. He didn't know who had cast the curse, but he was going to find out, and he was seriously considering exacting his revenge slowly and with his hands rather than his wand.

"If I have to transfigure you into a bicycle and pedal you to You-Know-Who myself, Potter, I will do so! Now move it!"

Harry nodded slowly, and then took off. He ran, and he ran faster than he ever had in his life. Part of it, he knew, was to escape Ron. The other part was to escape Minerva and Hermione; he knew they couldn't keep up with him on foot. They could Apparate to where he was, maybe, but they had Death Eaters to fight. He was hoping they wouldn't follow. He couldn't risk their lives anymore.

As Harry rounded the front of the house, Nott cast a curse that came at Harry's right side and barely missed.

He skidded to a halt and turned his wand on Nott, but as Nott shouted, "Stupefy!" Harry's response was not, "Stupefy!" or, "Expelliarmus!" but, "Protego!"

Nott's curse deflected off the shield and they faced each other in the rising dawn, panting, their robes torn and trees burning around them.

Then Harry continued to run.

He never told anyone except Luna about that moment of facing Nott. No one else needed to know.

An hour after Ron died, Lord Voldemort did as well. The duel left Harry scarred in more places than his forehead, and tonight Ted will run his fingertips over the scars, knowing exactly how he got them but never turning it into a point of discussion.

When the war ended, the trials for the survivors began. Harry went by himself to see the trials. That was his choice. After Ron died it became more and more difficult for Harry to face Hermione; she felt like a part of a life formerly lived, and he eventually stopped answering her owls. He ceased communicating with most of the Order, too. Minerva still writes, as does Neville Longbottom, but he hasn't talked to anyone with the surname Weasley in over a year. Luna Lovegood, of all people, is the one he writes to and sees regularly now. They are close friends, never more. Of everyone who survived, she is the only one who understands him, probably even better than he understands himself at times. She never questioned his desire to go to the trials without her and said she was fine with reading the results in the Quibbler.

At the first post-war trial, Harry saw Nott sitting alone in the gallery, one of the first people there. His head was down, and Harry thought he saw a book in his lap. Boldly, he entered Nott's row and sat down beside him.

Looking up in surprise, Nott said, "What are you doing here?" He closed his book and Harry stole a peek at the cover. It wasn't anything he'd read.

"The same thing you are, is my guess." Harry draped his cloak over the back of his chair and sat back. "I've come to see justice served."

"Have you." Nott's statement, not a question, had an undertone of disbelief. "Waited a long time to see Draco Malfoy get sent to Azkaban, I take it?"

"Longer than you know."

They didn't speak for the rest of the afternoon, but every day for the next two weeks was a repeat of that Monday: Nott was always one of the first people there, even when Harry made an effort to arrive early. They sat together and exchanged a few brief sentences. Harry watched the muscles in Nott's hands tighten as those accused of having ties to Voldemort were condemned, one after the other, and he heard his whispers of retort to the judges.

"If you know so much about what these people did or didn't do during the war, why don't you testify?" Harry asked as the court declared a recess for the night and people started to leave.

"Maybe I already have. You've never wondered why I'm sitting here instead of in that chair?" he asked, pointing to the platform in the middle of the gallery.

"I just figured you...I don't know, maybe you were cleared or something earlier."

"I was."

Harry had a flashback to something he'd read in the Prophet a while ago. "You sold them out, didn't you?"

Nott turned in his seat so sharply that Harry was surprised he didn't hear his spine crack. "If the war is over and the Dark Lord is dead and all I do is tell them the truth, it's hardly selling out."

"Well, it's not like they got the term 'Death Eaters' out of the back of Witch Weekly. They were responsible for a lot of--"

"A lot of what? Just because I wasn't a spy for the Order doesn't mean I was some kind of reckless killer. Potter, if you'll pardon my saying so, you've got a lot of nerve presuming what you do about Death Eaters."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot. "It's a fact that they murdered innocent people, not a presumption."

"So I take it your side spared everyone they could have killed, just because, I don't know, maybe to prove a point?"

"I sp--"

Harry stopped himself before finishing his sentence. This wasn't the place to tell Nott that he had, in fact, spared someone he could have killed. If he told him, he didn't think he'd be able to keep the secret of the thestrals, and he wasn't ready to reveal that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. "My guess is that we spared more than you did."

"Hmm."

Nott stood and left after that. All evening, the image of his eyes, brimming with fury, wouldn't leave Harry.

On the day Nott's father was brought into the courtroom, Nott said nothing to Harry as they sat together in their hard wooden chairs. He stared straight ahead and didn't so much as draw breath to make one of his muted retorts. As the court clerk began to read from the docket, Harry watched the blood drain from the younger Nott's face, and he thought of Luna and what she had done for him at Ron's funeral.

Harry reached for Nott's hand.

If Nott noticed, he didn't say or do anything about it. His hand was cold and dry, and Harry felt a slight but persistent trembling. The ambient sounds of the courtroom, the whispers and rustling of robes and scratching of quills on parchment, faded around them. To the judges and barristers this was a Monday like any other, one which would end in yet another Death Eater being sent to Azkaban, more justice in the world, minions of the Dark Lord vanquished, one step closer to them all being able to sleep through the night.

Harry wasn't sure how much more of it he could stomach.

Some accused Death Eaters shouted while they were bound to the chair, but Nott's father did nothing. He sat as silent as his son, making eye contact with no one. Regardless of what any of them hoped, Harry didn't think either Nott would be surprised by the trial's outcome. Still, Harry stifled a protest of pain as Nott clutched his hand too tightly when the judge made his announcement.

"For these crimes of murder, and of performing and sustaining use of the Unforgivable Curses, Theodore Stanley Nott, Senior, you will serve a life term in Azkaban without the possibility of parole."

"Stupid...stupid...," whispered Nott as two courtroom guards escorted his father away from the chair. "A damn waste. Fucking idiot." Through a string of curses he continued to hold Harry's hand, nearly crushing his fingers. Harry wanted to ask whether Nott was referring to the judge or his father, but he knew if he opened his mouth he was going to make some kind of strangled noise rather than any actual words.

The courtroom cleared once Nott's father was taken away but the son remained in his seat, staring straight ahead at the now-vacant chair. His grip on Harry's hand loosened, but he didn't let go. Harry didn't mind. He knew that, in this moment, he was all Nott had, just as Luna had once been all he'd had.

"He didn't have to follow him. He could have said no. We could have packed up and moved to Sweden or Canada or something."

"I...I know it seems that way, but maybe your father felt differently. Maybe he felt like he couldn't leave," replied Harry. "I mean, Voldemort tracked down the people he thought deserted him, right? And he killed them. Maybe your dad was...I don't know. Worried about you, or maybe your mum?"

"Mum's been dead since I was ten, but thanks for your concern." Nott dropped Harry's hand, stood, collected his belongings, and started to walk out of the courtroom.

Harry felt his cheeks burn as he quickly followed Nott through the heavy wooden doors. "I'm sorry to hear that. Was that the--"

For the second time, Harry had to stop himself in the middle of a sentence. Rude was the mildest word he could think of to describe his question: Was that the death you witnessed?

"Was that the what?"

"Never mind. Forget I said anything."

"All right." Nott stopped just before they reached the elevator and looked around. He seemed uncomfortable.

"So, er, I guess I'll see you here tomorrow?"

"I don't know. I'm not really sure what I'm going to do tomorrow. I'm not even sure what I'm going to do tonight."

"Right. Sorry. I'll be going, then." Harry shifted his bag on his shoulder and turned to leave, but Nott caught him by the arm.

"Wait." He swallowed. "I, er.... Listen, that was a really nice thing you did in there. I needed it." Nott barely met Harry's eyes.

"I had a friend do the same for me," replied Harry.

"Yeah, well, that's a friend to keep."

Harry smiled, thinking of Luna. "Yeah. One of the few friends I've kept since the war, actually." Nott withdrew his hand, and Harry added, "But she and I are just friends. She's...really not my type," in a rush.

"Can I buy you a drink or something?"

"A...? Yeah, I guess so."

"I just don't want to go home. Not yet. I live with my dad, you know, and I just don't think.... Anyway, I know this place not far from here, and it's never very crowded."

"Sure, sure."

Harry let Nott do most of the talking over their pints of beer. He was an only child, pureblooded, and the heir to a small fortune left to him by his mother, a mostly successful inventor and writer. His father had been one of Voldemort's followers for as long as he could remember. Nott had grown up knowing Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, but he was quick to contradict the notion that the four of them were close.

"I mean, I knew better than to make an enemy of Malfoy, but we were never great friends. We did our homework together and had a couple of family dinners while we were still at Hogwarts, but I never confided in him about much of anything."

"You were smarter than most."

"Perhaps. But that confidence, or not, I guess, went both ways. I wasn't as useful to the Ministry as they wanted me to be after the war because Malfoy didn't talk to me as much as they thought he did. I guess that's their problem, though, not mine."

"Couldn't you have gone to Azkaban for that?"

"Potter, use your head. They're not going to throw me in Azkaban for what I don't know."

Harry was beginning to feel that he knew as much as the Ministry did -- almost nothing. He checked his watch. "It's getting late."

"Am I keeping you from a date?"

"No, it's just.... Did you want to be in court tomorrow morning? I wouldn't want to keep you up."

Nott shrugged. "I'm thinking about it. Today wasn't such a great day. I should go to Gringotts tomorrow. Figure out what I'm going to do with the house and all that. Not sure I want to stay there knowing he's...not coming back."

For a moment Harry thought that Nott was taking all of this much too lightly, but then, who was he to judge?

"Come on," said Nott, standing and dropping some coins on the table. "I'll take you home."

"That's okay," replied Harry, drawing his cloak around his shoulders. "I can Apparate. It's no trouble to get home. Besides, my house is Unplottable."

"Oh, yes. I remember reading about that. You live in the old Black house. We're related to them, distantly. Second cousin once removed on my mother's side or something like that."

"Sirius said practically all the pureblooded families are related one way or the other."

"I'm sure he's right. Anyway, at least let me take you to within a block."

Harry got the impression that even if he said no Nott would somehow be able to convince him that he said yes. "Er... Okay."

Grimmauld Place was dim, even under the street lamps, and deserted. The tinge of ozone hung in the air, and Harry thought fleetingly that he should check to make sure that the windows were closed before he headed to bed. Nott appeared seconds later. They walked together in silence until they stopped outside a bit of divided yard between numbers eleven and thirteen.

"Nice house," quipped Nott as he peered into the space. "Looks to be a bit drafty in the winter, though."

"That's true," said Harry, "but you ought to see the sunlight I get."

Nott shifted his weight to his right foot. "Okay then. I'll see you...soon."

"Right. Hey, Nott, thanks for the drinks."

"Ted."

"What?"

"Call me Ted. It's what I like my friends to call me."

Harry couldn't decide whether to feel awkward or honored. Maybe a little of both. "Ted. Sure."

For the second time that day, Harry felt the strong grip of Nott's hand, and Nott moved through the shadows until he was standing face to face with Harry. "Friends," Nott whispered. Harry barely had time to realize what Nott was doing when he leaned forward into a kiss. Shocked, Harry almost stumbled backwards, but the strength of Ted's grip kept him upright. The stubble on Ted's upper lip was itchy. Harry could smell the ale on his breath, bitter through the heavy air. The pounding heart he heard might have been Ted's or his own; he wasn't sure. The rest of the street could have disappeared around him and he wouldn't have known. Ted's kiss left him nearly panting and he was suddenly much too warm even in the cool night.

"You're only doing this because of what I did earlier," Harry said when Ted pulled away.

"You really think so?" Ted smiled and brushed a lock of hair off Harry's forehead. He Apparated home after that, leaving Harry standing in the middle of Grimmauld Place, shaking and wondering and wanting more.

Ted must have decided during the night that the trials were still worth attending, because he showed up the next morning in the courtroom. For once, though, Harry arrived first and it was Ted who took the steps down the aisle to sit with him. Harry wondered for a while if Ted was purposely making them meet someplace public so he could avoid all the questions that Harry undoubtedly had. There were the usual questions, of course, of how Ted avoided a sentence in Azkaban and what he'd said to ensure his freedom, but now those questions formed only a thin veneer over Harry's deeper thoughts. What did Ted want from him? Were they in a relationship now? If they were, could what they had ever be public? And would Ted drop him as soon as the grief over his father's sentence to Azkaban lessened?

"Morning, Harry."

"Hi." Harry smiled briefly and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else was sitting near them. Seeing that the seats were empty, he said, "Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I didn't--"

"Don't worry. You're not that bad a kisser."

"I'm not a...what?"

Ted lowered his voice and smiled conspiratorially. "I meant everything I did and said last night. What you did yesterday meant a lot to me, and I want to see you again."

"Are...are you sure?" Harry pulled the collar of his robes away from his neck. He couldn't help but think of Luna's words to him a long time ago, that it was never good to start a new relationship in the wake of trauma. People were too vulnerable then, too misguided by their sorrow. "I don't know if this would be such a good time, with, you know, what happened to your father and all."

Glancing at the center of the room, which was still empty of judges and prisoners, Ted set his mouth in a thin line. "My dad had it coming. He knew it and I knew it. I'm not saying that he deserved it. No one deserves a place as horrid as Azkaban, but--"

"Some people do."

"My dad didn't. He did a lot of stupid shit, I'll give you that, but he loved my mum and me a lot and I turned out okay."

Harry decided to leave Ted's becoming a Death Eater out of the argument. He was beginning to feel like Ted probably had a very good explanation for that. "I... I believe you."

The first of the judges filed onto the bench, and Ted sat back in his chair. This was the last week of Death Eater trials, and despite his words the previous day he didn't seem to want to miss a minute of it.

*~*~*~*

Resolving to be there for Ted, Harry wakes early on Friday morning and even has time to read the Prophet cover to cover before Apparating to the Ministry.

Friday is unseasonably warm and sunny. Light streams through the long windows of the Atrium and those climbing out of the row of fireplaces shield their eyes. Harry knows Ted will be seated in the courtroom already, maybe reading, maybe doing the day's crossword in ink, the way Harry has seen him doing more than once. He isn't sure what to say as he makes his way to Courtroom Two and sits down beside Ted, who has the Prophet folded in quarters in his lap, crossword up, and is running the edge of his quill along his upper lip.

"Five letters, blank Felicis," mutters Ted, not looking up when Harry sits down.

"Felix," replies Harry.

"I knew that." The quill scratches over the parchment, and when he finishes the word he puts the cap back on his bottle of ink. "Thanks." He tucks the quill and ink into his shoulder bag. "Today's the last day of trials." Glancing at the center of the courtroom, he continues, "I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with myself come Monday. I mean, go back to work, yeah, but... a lot is going to be different."

"Have dinner with me." It's an entirely inappropriate thing to say and an entirely inappropriate time, but Harry doesn't think that he'll ever get the words out otherwise. "Tonight. You can pick the place if you want. I'm not a fussy eater."

Ted seems stunned for a moment. Then he laughs. "Okay. You know, Harry, you either have the best sense of timing I've ever seen or the worst."

"If dinner's good enough, will you figure out which one?"

"If you're lucky."

By now, the courtroom is beginning to fill, and they turn their conversation to the day's sports page until the judges arrive. They join hands as one of the last accused Death Eaters, Rodolphus Lestrange, is led to the chair.

"Glad as hell to see him go," whispers Nott. "He was nearly as nutters as that wife of his. He was brilliant, though. So was she."

Harry tightens his grip, thinking of Sirius. "Nutters. Yeah." He can feel Ted's gaze, but he doesn't turn his head.

"She taught me the Killing Curse."

"By using it on someone you knew?"

Ted turns his head and raises an eyebrow. Harry, as bitter as he's feeling at the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange, can't help but think that Ted's eyes, a medium sort of hazel, look especially green today, flecked with gold. "No. She didn't use it on anyone I knew. Not while she was teaching me. You were close to someone she did use it on, though."

"I know. Sirius Black -- he was my godfather, and he left me his house -- she killed him."

"She did, but that's not who I was thinking of."

Realization grips Harry's heart and nearly stops his breathing. "Ron."

"The Ministry got her the day she told me about him. She didn't know she'd killed him in particular until after the battle. She knew she'd offed a Weasley, though, with all that red hair. Bragged about it. Said she'd wiped out another blood traitor."

This, Harry decides, is an excellent time to shut up. If he has an outburst here he'll be escorted from the courtroom, and he refuses to miss any of Rodolphus Lestrange's trial.

At lunchtime, Ted says he needs to run an errand, leaving Harry alone to buy a sandwich from the Ministry's dining hall and read more of his book. He's worried that Ted won't return and is using lunch as an excuse to leave and get out of their dinner date, but Ted is waiting for Harry at the courtroom entrance when he returns.

"Hi. Did you get your errand done?"

"Yeah. It was boring."

Although he's sure he wouldn't be bored with Ted, Harry nods. "We all have those sometimes. D'you want to go back in?"

Looking over his shoulder, Ted replies, "Not especially, but I know if I don't I'm going to be wondering all afternoon about what happened and I don't want to wait for this evening's Prophet." He adjusts his bag and heads into the courtroom.

"Ted?" asks Harry once they're seated.

"Yes?"

"If I ask you why you became a Death Eater, will you tell me?"

"Not until you kiss me back."

Harry opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a sort of squeaking noise. He knows he should expect this by now, Ted's boldness and the way he never bullshits anything, but it still catches him off guard. "I...."

"That's the rule. It's up to you. I'll tell you what you want to know, but I'm not just going to do it out of the goodness of my heart."

"Er...okay."

At the end of the day, Ted looks drained. He stays in his seat after everyone else leaves. "I can't believe that's the last of them," he says. "I've known some of them since I was in diapers."

"Are you... are you the only one left?"

With a shake of his head, Ted replies, "There are a few of us still around. Narcissa Malfoy. They couldn't prove she'd done anything. Pansy Parkinson. And, of all people, Marcus Flint. Of course, he was so dumb that the Wizengamot probably didn't get much of anything out of his confession, if he even made one. A couple of others, too, I'm sure, but I don't know who they are. No one I want to talk to, though. Probably."

Harry doesn't respond, but after a moment of silence Ted says, "Dinner. Shall we go?"

"Yes."

After taking Harry to purchase a bottle of wine to share with dinner, Ted chooses a restaurant that serves Thai food, which Harry has never had. "Everything's good," Ted reassures him. "But if you're scared, I'd try the pad thai. It's pretty harmless."

Over their first glass of wine, Ted points out his favorites on the menu. Anything spicy gets a nod, as does some kind of chicken dish that Harry can't pronounce.

"You don't have to be able to pronounce it to eat it. That's why I like food. It's universal. Except for octopus. Octopus is disgusting. It's like eating trainers."

The pad thai, as Ted promised, is good. Harry is grateful that he has difficulty managing the chopsticks, because it gives him an excuse not to talk to Ted too much. He sees Ted smiling around the rim of his wineglass and he knows Ted would help him if he wanted, but he doesn't ask. Ted's ultimatum turns over and over in his head. A kiss in exchange for knowledge. It'd be a lot more painful on Ted's end than on his, he thinks, judging by their last kiss. Their first. Whichever. How difficult could a kiss be? Lean forward, close your eyes, and let the rest happen. With Ted, though, it's something more. If there's one thing Harry's learned over the past few weeks, it's that there's always something more where Ted is concerned.

Harry needs more wine.

"Am I really such bad company?" asks Ted, indicating the mostly empty bottle of wine. "This is only my second glass. I must drive you to drink."

"What?" Harry snaps out of his reverie. "No, no, you're fine."

"Good. So, are you going to invite me back to your place, or should I invite you to mine?" His tone is so casual that it takes Harry a moment to realize what he's asking.

"Um, my, er, house is kind of a mess." Mentally, he scans his house. The living room is mostly all right, as are the dining room and the sitting room, because he barely uses them, but his bedroom is a wreck, with clothes on the back of his desk chair and bits of parchment and spellbooks all over the floor. Why is he even thinking about Ted in his bedroom?

"That settles that, then. We'll go to my place. My cat loves visitors."

What good would protesting do? Nodding, Harry gives up on his chopsticks. He's not sure eating any more is a good idea, anyway. "Cat? What's his name?"

"Endora."

"Oh. Not a him."

"Not a him. But you had a one in two chance of getting it right, so I'll forgive you."

"Gee, thanks." He knows Ted is trying to make him laugh, but he can't. He's thinking of Ted's mouth, of the warm weight of his hands, of the way he will always associate the scent of storms with Ted's presence. "Er, what kind of cat is she?"

"Calico. She's pretty old. I've had her since before I went to Hogwarts. You know, if I didn't know better I'd think you were more interested in her than in me."

"Of course not. I'm just, you know, trying to make conversation."

Smiling, Ted replies, "You don't have to try. In fact, I'd rather you didn't. Try, that is, not make conversation. You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

After Harry pays the check, they Apparate to Ted's house, which is a gray Victorian with purple gingerbread trim so vibrant Harry can see it in the fading twilight.

"That is incredibly hideous," says Harry as Ted looks around and pulls a key out of his pocket.

"Yes, it is, but do you know how easy it is to find?" He puts the key back in his pocket, taps the lock with his wand, and the door swings open. "Our mail never gets lost."

Harry follows Ted into the entranceway, where Ted sets his keys down on the table. The house feels old, lived in. Harry speculates that generations of Notts have lived here, wearing down the wood floors, but the place has a much different feel than the Black house did before his renovations, less sinister and more relaxed. Portraits hang on the walls, and Harry can see Ted's eyes in one, his mouth in another. He walks past shelves of books and a piano.

"Do you play?" he asks, not quite realizing that Ted has moved into another room.

Harry hears a delicate jingling sound and looks down to see an overweight calico cat winding around his ankles.

"You can pet her," comes Ted's voice from a few rooms away. "I told you, she loves people. She also loves to eat, which you can probably see."

"Hi, Endora," Harry says as he reaches down to let her sniff him. She gives his hand a headbutt as Ted enters the room carrying two glasses.

"Come with me," he says, indicating to his right with his head. He leads Harry down a hall to a sitting room and gestures with his elbow to a red couch facing the fireplace. The nights are beginning to cool down, and Harry is grateful for the fire's warmth.

"Here." Ted hands him one of the glasses, which is full of a thick light brown liquid. "Chocolate and...some other stuff. It's good. Family recipe."

The glass is cold, and the condensation on the sides of the glass makes his fingers wet and slippery. But Ted is right; the drink is very good. They sip their drinks for a while, and the house is so quiet that Harry can hear the clock ticking on the far wall. Harry barely knows what to say first, or at all.

Which is why he leans forward and kisses Ted. It's everything the other kiss was supposed to be: anticipated, initiated, reciprocated. Ted's lips are cold beneath his, but Harry doesn't care. In this moment, unveiling Ted's reasons for becoming a Death Eater is the least important thing Harry could ever learn. There are so many more things to know, to do, before that. So. Many.

When they break from the kiss, Harry exhales slowly. "I have something to tell you. I know this sounds really weird, but… I've thought of you a lot. I mean, not a lot, but kind of off and on since we were at Hogwarts. I know that sounds a little strange, but... I just wanted to tell you that."

"It's not that strange. I've thought of you a lot, too."

"That's because your father was a follower of Voldemort."

"No, that's not the reason."

"So what is the reason?"

Ted laughs and shakes his head. "Would you believe me if I told you it had something to do with thestrals?"