Desired | Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, 18+

70

This chapter contains mentions of death. Please read with caution.

I'd like to start off by saying thank you for one million reads. Thank you for loving our chaotic trio as much as I do. It means the world to me. <3

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Isla was sitting on the porch in the warm spring weather. Her skin was brushed with heated beams of the sun, and her cheeks started to take on a shy red color.

In her lap, she held a thick and heavy textbook filled with laws and human rights. She was studying again, reading up on what she could do for Draco.

He didn't speak of it anymore, not since he'd gotten the word that she wasn't fit to be in Fred's trial after they realized that she was his choice. Unethical, they called it. He didn't speak of it because he didn't know how to.

He'd been terrible to her once he found out she was a Weasley. They still hadn't spoken a word to each other about that. He simply showed her what he'd done to the initials on his hip, and that was it.

Yet, it didn't make her forget it.

Isla was still so determined to find out what she could do for him, what she could do for her late cousin, what she could do for them both without harming either.

She couldn't let Draco take the blame for his father's actions. She couldn't let him rot locked up somewhere because his parents weren't alive to take responsibility for what happened, for the taken lives, and for the saved ones.

She tried to read about them. She tried to find documents to learn what they'd done during the war, and they weren't bad people. They weren't bad at all.

His mother hadn't taken one single life on that courtyard. She spent those hours before death greeted her, saving other souls.

Both those who stood with her and against her. She was described as an angel, as someone who was the perfect fusion of virtue and grave. Perhaps that was what her hair symbolized. Perhaps that was why her eyes were black, dark, yet so much feeling was seen through them.

And his father, he wasn't an evil man.

He was described as if he was the devil. He was penned to paper as a wicked man with a dreadful mind, someone who would've done everything to please the Dark Lord. When he was, in reality, doing everything for his son, every act he'd executed was to make sure his son wasn't dragged into the mess he'd created.

He tried to take Draco away. He tried to make them all flee, and the Dark Lord had him locked up in Azkaban for it. The files said that his son had been caught visiting him once without permission.

It got her thinking even more. She never questioned how Draco knew the corridors of Azkaban. She never asked questions about how he knew how to break in.

That blond-haired boy had so much buried inside him, so much that she failed to see, and she hated herself for not noticing it.

She never told him that she read about them. She didn't want him to know. She just wanted to understand if he ever decided to speak about them.

Huffing out, she flipped through another couple of pages, trying to find something. She didn't know what, but she knew she'd understand once she saw it.

Theodore had left for the day. He needed to go somewhere with his mother. She wondered where he always disappeared to. He never told her. She couldn't ask. He was happy she didn't.

He'd been tired lately. His eyes had sunken into his skull, dark circles stained underneath them. She wanted to know why. He wouldn't tell her. There were a lot of unanswered questions lingering around them.