Persistence

“Persistence”

By Stacy Galore

Chapter 4: Correspondence

“From the blond gentleman sitting by the window,” said Elsie, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes beaming, as she placed a dish in front of Theodore.  Upon the dish was a warm chocolate croissant.  He looked up to find Draco looking his way – not staring intently, but casually gazing in his general direction. When their eyes met, Draco gave a slight smile and a curt nod.  Theodore returned only the nod.

“By the way, I hate you, Theodore,” the waitress added with a giggle, then bent down to whisper, eyeing the young man sitting across the cafe.  “Hottest piece of arse that’s walked in here in ages.”

Theodore teased, “No, that title belongs to you, my dear” as he made a show of smacking her rear end, to which she responded with an emphatic eye-roll and a friendly elbow to the arm.  Malfoy scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes, the faint smile disappearing from his face.  “Thank him for me, won’t you?” Theodore said, capturing her chin with a gentle hand.

“You mean you won’t thank him yourself?” Her voice matched her scandalized expression. 

“My attention can’t be bought with sweets,” he declared with haughtiness intended for Malfoy rather than for her, even though he was far enough away that the other man couldn’t hear him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Elsie said, shaking her head with disbelief.  “More hot arse for the rest of us lonely girls then,” she chuckled.

Though Theodore did have a weak spot for all things chocolate, especially warm things, he let the uneaten croissant grow cold on the plate as he smoked a cigarette, sipped his mochaccino, and scribbled in his journal, never giving Malfoy a second glance.  He wasn’t going to approach Draco, no matter what the man did to invoke him.  It was harder this time, ignoring Malfoy.  Now that they’d acknowledged each other’s presence, it became difficult to pretend that Draco wasn’t watching him, and that Theodore wasn’t doing the same.   He wasn’t hiding behind his paper this time – Draco wanted Theodore to look.  He couldn’t help but steal glances from behind his coffee cup each time he took a sip.  Soon, he found himself staring. 

The last few times he’d seen Malfoy were at funerals immediately after the war, almost seven years ago.  There were too many of those.  Back then, Draco looked lanky and pallid; an empty shell compared to how regal he’d looked just two years prior. 

Time had been exceptionally good to Draco and seemed to erase the stain of war.  His platinum blond hair was no longer plastered against his head.  Instead, it was artfully tousled and peppered with golden brown highlights that brought a warmth to his skin which he’d lacked as a child. The gaunt lines and sharp angles of his body gave way to sculpted curves, accentuated by his perfectly tailored suit.  Draco’s face revealed little, if anything, of what he’d been through as a Death Eater.  He had the look of a seraph fallen from heaven to cavort with the demons of hell – angelic and flawless, with a devious quirk to his brow and a sly twist to the corner of his mouth.  And his eyes – oh gods, those silver eyes which could devastate armies with their penetrating stare – they were impossibly more expressive than Theodore remembered.  This was the Malfoy who’d inspired Theodore’s sexual awakening, now aged to perfection. 

Theodore pressed another cigarette to his lips to keep from gaping at Draco.  Shit, he felt pathetic, like a swooning schoolgirl all over again.  He felt exposed and vulnerable.  No doubt Malfoy had read his book and learned of every significant twist and turn, every one-night-stand and failed relationship, every hidden emotion and suppressed desire of Theodore’s life in the past twenty-four years, concealed in the events of Kieran Tate’s story. Perhaps that’s why Malfoy was here – to find out just how closely Kieran’s life mirrored Theodore’s. 

An agonizing fifteen minutes passed before Malfoy heaved a dramatic, bored sigh.  Theodore glanced up, expressionless, and watched him walk out of the café.  “Self-centered prat,” he grumbled to himself.

The following day, Theodore contemplated avoiding the café, but decided he wouldn’t let Malfoy affect him anymore.  He wouldn’t change his routine for Malfoy. He recalled bitterly how, beginning in their fifth year of Hogwarts, Theodore would wake up obscenely early and go to bed very late just to avoid seeing Draco in the dorm room. 

Theodore entered the café, eyes cast downward, cigarette pressed tight between his lips.  He was relieved (though somewhat disappointed) to find it devoid of the blond man who’d become a regular fixture there.  He sat down at his table and found a tiny envelope, “For: Kieran Tate” written on the front in neat, loopy script.  Puzzled, Theodore quickly turned it over and opened it.  Inside was a folded white card made of expensive looking paper.  Embossed on the cover were the initials “DTM”.  Theodore hesitated before flipping open the card, taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

Dear Kieran,

Ignoring me only makes you look bitter.  Still harboring ill feelings?  Do yourself a favor and let it go.

Sincerely,

Alex

The corner of Theodore’s mouth curved around his cigarette, forming an amused smirk.  How clever of Draco to communicate with him by role-playing the character he inspired – Alexander Moreau.  Alex played a large role in Theodore’s book, namely because of the impact he had on Keiran’s life, though he rarely made a physical appearance in the story.  He quickly scribbled down a reply on a sheet of paper ripped from his journal, shaking his head incredulously, mumbling, “Still such an arsehole after all these years.”  That stubborn little shit couldn’t confront him directly and had to hide behind a fictional character to speak to Theodore.  He made a half-arsed attempt at offering an olive branch via a chocolate croissant.  Sure, it was slightly flattering that Draco spoke through a character Theodore wrote, but it was clear that the missive was coming from him, and meant for Theodore.  He was just too proud, and perhaps too emotionally inept, to use their real names.  Theodore played along, now thoroughly amused.  He wrote a note using Kieran’s voice and left it for Magda to relay it to Draco, should he return.  And Theodore was fairly certain that he would.

Alex,

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve moved on ages ago.  It’s obvious by your presence here that you’re the one who is having difficulty letting go.

- Kieran.

Theodore left the note with Magda.  The next day, Magda handed him another little, white envelope.

“Did he say anything to you?”  Asked Theodore, as he took the envelope and tore it open without hesitation.  Magda shook her head.  “Did he read my letter here?”  Magda nodded. “And?”

“Nothing.  No reaction.  Couldn’t gage his expression.  He just read it, sat down at the counter, and had a quick coffee while he wrote this one,” said Magda, inclining her head towards the little card.  She watched Theodore as he read Draco’s reply.  “So he’s an old school mate of yours, you said?  I don’t understand why you two can’t just talk to each other like normal people.”

Distractedly as he read the note, Theodore said, “Draco Malfoy is not a normal person.”

Magda scoffed, “With a name like that, one would expect it.”

The letter read:

Dear Kieran,

To say that I have let go would imply that I actually held on to something.  Truth be told, I let go before I even had anything in my grasp. 

Sincerely,

Alex

This was becoming infuriating.  Draco’s notes were maddeningly reticent and cryptic.  Malfoy had let go of what, exactly?  Was it his hatred for Theodore?  Clearly, this hadn’t been the case.  At school, Draco’s silence was more hurtful than anything he could have said.  True, Theodore made a point to avoid Malfoy, but the other boy made a concerted effort to publicly snub him whenever he could.  When their fathers went to Azkaban after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, it put an end to Theodore and Draco’s summer familial obligations to one another. The two didn’t see much of each other after that.  But when they did interact, Draco was cold to the point of being icily debasing.  Whereas once they had been equals, Theodore was no different to Draco than a mudblood or a blood-traitor.  

Theodore’s reply notes were becoming more dismissive and angry in their tone, the pen digging deeply into the paper with spite.

 Alex,

Isn’t it sufficient that you inflicted me with enough pain to last nearly a decade?

When I was 16, I turned my back and ran from everything and everyone that had been forced upon me from birth, and with good reason.  You and your supremacist ideals bred nothing but hatred and self-doubt, destroying friendships and alliances that took generations to build.

Why do you feel the need to chase me down just to pour salt into wounds that have already healed?

I’ve found myself.  I’m finally content with who I am.  I suggest you leave me in peace to go seek your own serenity.

- Kieran

Draco’s response the next day was his most revealing letter yet.  Frankly, Draco’s depth surprised him. 

Dear Kieran,

You may have stopped running, content with the person you’ve become, satisfied that you’ve escaped the demons that haunted you your whole life.  But you’ve never really confronted those demons.  So though you say you’ve found peace, you have never truly found closure.  Until then, you’ll forever be running from the truth.

When you’re ready to stop running, I’ll be here.

Sincerely,

Alex

Who the hell did Draco think he was?  Setting aside the fact that they hadn’t spoken in years, Draco never really knew Theodore to begin with.  Did Draco honestly think he could read Theodore’s book and assume he understood the inner workings of his psyche?  Theodore stubbed out his cigarette and tapped his pen to his lips, deep in thought.  After several refills of coffee and many discarded long-winded drafts heralding Alex’s arrogance and professing Keiran’s transcendence, Theodore finally settled on a laconic missive.

Alex,

Give me a reason to stop running, and I’ll consider it. 

Kieran

That afternoon, Theodore left Café Novus Ars to run a few errands around town, finding tranquility in the banal, allowing the colorful buzz of the neighborhood to take his mind off of Draco and his cryptic message.  He would have kept on walking right through until the evening, had it not begun to rain.  Theodore didn’t have an umbrella.  He kept his head down as the light drizzle covered him in a fine mist that dampened his hair. 

When he arrived at the front door to his flat, head still pointed to the pavement, fumbling for his keys, Theodore found a pair of impeccably polished shoes standing in the doorway.  His eyes shot upwards to meet Draco with a look of desperation in his silver stare, not dampened at all by the rain.  The rain fell off him in glistening beads as if he were made entirely of wax. 

Before Theodore could muse about the cleverness of Draco’s spell, the other man seized him by the collar and said, the same desperation from his eyes trembling through his voice, “I’m giving you a reason to stop running.”

Then Draco pressed his lips to Theodore’s, unleashing years of unspoken desire and suppressed lust in one breathless, ravenous kiss. He let Draco take control of the kiss, reluctant to return his passion, fearful that if he showed any sign of eagerness, the other man would pull away and humiliate him all over again.  A mistrusting, rational voice at the back of his mind screamed at Theodore to push Draco away.  As Draco’s hands on Theodore’s collar relaxed and moved to hold his face gently, that voice faded.  As the rain began to fall in earnest, Theodore found himself yielding to Draco, letting his guard fall to the puddle of rain upon which they stood.  

The kiss was simultaneously wonderful and upsetting, full of passion and sorrow.  To Theodore’s surprise, burning on Draco’s lips was the taste of years of fruitless yearning – familiar and bittersweet.    It felt like he was being stabbed in the gut while his stomach was filled with butterflies.  How could he do this to him now, just when Theodore was sure he had fully recovered from the despair left in Draco’s wake?  Theodore shivered from both the cold dampness and the overwhelming juxtaposition of emotions. It took him years to build a shield around himself, to protect against heartbreak, and now Draco was destroying the shield with one kiss.  The rain streaming down his face masked the tears that began to fall, but he was sure Draco could taste the brackishness as he lapped softly at Theodore’s lips. 

Theodore drew back slightly, gazed into Draco’s disarmingly penetrative eyes and implored, voice unsteady from the ache in his heart, “Why?”

Draco’s stare never broke as he answered, “Because ten years ago, I couldn’t,” then pulled Theodore in for another kiss.

A/N: There are two more chapters after this one.  As soon as they’re beta’d, I’ll post them.  The reference to pouring salt on wounds is credited to Jenniffer.