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(w)reckless

pairing: theodore nott x lavender brown

setting: post-war, canon-divergent au

word count: 1,219

written for: @paansyparkinson (i hope your exam went well, bb)


Azkaban is more than a prison.

Theo listens—watches, withers, waits—as the hastily reformed Wizenmagot sentences him to twenty-three months of incarceration with no opportunity for parole; and all he can suddenly think about is how the Malfoys are under house arrest, strolling through pleasantly fragrant rose gardens and drinking hundred year-old bottles of claret in their elegantly appointed drawing rooms and just—just biding their time, counting their gold and feigning their remorse and clawing their way back from the dead like the royal fucking parasites they’ve always been.

Theo, though—Theo is in chains.

He doesn’t speak as he’s led out of the courtroom. There’s nothing to say, not really. His parents are dead. Zabini had fucked off to France with his slinking, deadly snake of a mother. Theo had never had a lot of friends—had never particularly seen the point of making any—but there is, he imagines now, something uniquely terrible about being completely alone for this, the war-drum solemn moment his life is inextricably altered.

Ruined.

The tattoo they ink onto the inside of his left wrist—prisoner number 700, exactly—hurts less than he expects it to. He can almost feel the power of the runes seeping into skin, mucking about with the chemistry of his blood and his magic and his sense of self. Who he’s been, who he is, who he will be. It’s cruel, he decides. A punishment fit for a crime he’s still not entirely sure he’d even properly committed.

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