The Magnificent Manor and the Misogynistic Wizard
June, 1995
Blaise didn’t question Theo’s silence on the ride back to London. He wished he could reassure his mate somehow, but being only fifteen years old, he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. He hated seeing his friend like this, and the reason for Theo’s stress wasn’t something Blaise could fully understand.
“You’ll owl me, eh?” he settled for saying to his friend with a nudge as they disembarked. “If you’re still alive?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” Theo replied with a perfectly flat grin.
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Theo spent the entire train ride carefully planning his homecoming.
He needed to find out whether there was a chance he might have a cousin, sister, or half-sister who’d been hidden from him, and whether his father had any inkling of her existence.
More importantly, he needed to know what was going on with the Dark Lord and whether he’d be expected to join Thoros on the front lines or whether he could at least wait until he was of age before making such a commitment.
He needed to know if he should make an escape plan for next summer. He needed to know if anyone else he cared about was at risk. He needed to know if she might be in danger.
But simply asking questions of Thoros wasn’t an option.
There were precise rules about what could and could not be discussed around the house. Thoros ran his life, household, finances, and magic with a firm, unforgiving hand, and he was accustomed to living alone for ten months of the year which meant Theo didn’t dare get in the way or distract his father with mindless chitchat and inane questions.
And of course, Thoros would never reveal information of which he didn’t believe Theo to be worthy.
The gathering of information would have to be veiled as a casual discussion of politics, with no small amount of careful maneuvering to guide the conversation in the directions Theo needed.
But during the course of a normal day, Theo wouldn’t even see his father except for the dinner meal at six o’clock sharp in the formal dining room – a strict family tradition even when the family only consisted of two people – and political discussions could not be held during dinner; such a thing was uncouth.
That left Theo with only one option for initiating a conversation with his father: immediately upon arriving home.
He stood on the platform in the queue for the Floo, watching the large clock carefully. His father knew precisely when the train arrived, and Theo had only a thirty-minute window in which to return home. He was permitted to move through the crowd and say farewell to his friends, but it should never take a moment longer than thirty minutes, otherwise Theo would be accused of dawdling.
Two minutes before his window expired, Theo made it to the fireplace with a relieved breath. He withdrew a pinch of powder from the sack in his pocket and threw it in, anticipating the usual emerald-green flames.
“Nott Manor!”
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“Greetings, Theodore.”
The tall, perfectly-postured figure of Thoros Nott rose from an armchair in the drawing room as his son spilled out of the Floo clutching his trunk.
Theo took a necessary moment to straighten his robes and expertly Banish the soot from his hair and possessions – magic was allowed in the Manor under his father’s scrutiny only.
Appearance perfected, Theo stood tall and responded, “Good day, Father,” in what he secretly called his adult businessvoice which Blaise normally laughed at, but Draco secretly copied.
“I trust your academic year was fruitful?”
“Indeed, Father. I remain within the top three students among all subjects but one – in which I fall in the top ten.”
“And what is your struggling subject?”
“Transfiguration, sir.”
Thoros’ eyes narrowed ever so slightly before straightening out. “We will utilise your Saturday afternoons for the next month to address this discrepancy. I trust that for OWLs next year you will emerge within the top three.”
“Understood, Father.”
Thoros Summoned Theo’s trunk to his hand and called for Pippy, the elf, to remove the contents and clean them. Theo tried to ignore his sweaty palms and ran over his mental list yet again. He couldn’t write anything down yet, given that Thoros inspected his trunk and schoolwork with a fine-tooth comb. Every book must belong to an approved topic, every set of notes transcribed legibly and with good detail, and every article of clothing returned in acceptable condition.
“You may amuse yourself for the remainder of the afternoon,” Thoros instructed. “We will collaborate at six o’clock for dinner, of course.”
Thoros made for the drawing room door solemnly, expecting Theo to exit after him.
“Oh, pardon me, Father?” Theo tried to make it sound as though a thought had just occurred to him.
“Yes, son?”
“I wonder … might I ask for some of your time in one of the coming days, that we may have a conversation regarding the current political environment? I wish to learn more than Hogwarts teaches on the subject.”
As he hoped, Thoros immediately showed a hint of surprise, though he would never display it obviously. Theo had come to learn his father’s emotional subtleties over the years, and he relaxed, knowing at this moment Thoros was startled but pleased with his son’s initiative rather than annoyed.
“Certainly. I will send a missive when the time is convenient.”
Phase One complete.
Ten minutes later, Theo was in his bare, dull bedroom with several rolls of parchment. He paid no attention to penmanship as he scribbled down everything he could think of.
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It was a few days into the summer after the obligatory dinner of small talk that Theo found himself in his father’s study. Thoros sat as always behind his imposing desk, and Theo felt appropriately short in the facing visitor’s seat. Pippy had delivered Thoros’ usual glass of perfectly aged, honeyed Scotch along with the lemon tea that Theo would drink until he was of age and could enjoy the Scotch as well.
“Tell me, son, what drove your sudden interest in political affairs?”
Theo took a practiced sip of tea. He had to be careful, and cunning. Not for the first time, he wished he could trade lives with Blaise.
“I feel it is important for me to understand our country’s current political climate so I may study its trends before I come of age,” Theo recited carefully. “Our History of Magic professor rarely covers topics within the last century, and we have no such class that discusses the importance of pure-blood traditions as I have learned from you, Father. In fact, I suspect our professors are discouraged from teaching such things.”
“I had certainly hoped the curriculum would improve over the years since I attended Hogwarts, but I regret that does not seem to be the case,” Thoros frowned at his tented fingertips. “I expect much of it has to do with interference from Dumbledore.”
Theo gave the obligatory nod of agreement.
“Then you admit to knowing little about current events and how they may affect wizards like us?”
“Yes, sir. Our professors occasionally discuss current events during lectures if they hold relevance to our studies, but this is uncommon. Of course, I keep up with the Prophet, but as you taught me, Father, I do not presume to take the words of a reporter at face value, nor the opinions of other students.”
“Quite correct,” Thoros said approvingly. “Even when meaningless gossip is avoided, news articles are often altered, misunderstood, or deliberately phrased to be read from a certain perspective.”
“Yes,” Theo took another sip of tea to give his shaking hands something to do. “That is why I was concerned, Father, given that recent rumours about whether or not the … the Dark Lord has possibly made a reappearance–”
Thoros sat up even straighter than usual, intimidating Theo into silence. Likely he hadn’t expected Theo to be so blunt.
There was a moment of silence. Theo couldn’t read his father’s expression.
“You wish to know if the rumours are true?”
“Yes, Father,” Theo almost whispered.
There was another silent moment. Theo summoned his courage and decided to try and circumvent a possible blowout.
“As you know, I defer to your expertise in this matter, Father,” Theo said humbly. “I expect that very few other wizards knew the Dark Lord in his early life as you did. While it would be logical for me to follow the Dark Lord in political matters, I admit there are possible discrepancies that cause me to question such an absolute decision. I wish only to have all the information available before making any sort of choice.”
Thoros’ expression adjusted ever so slightly, and Theo breathed an internal sigh of relief. There had been a chance Thoros would take offense, but Thoros had raised Theo to think logically and to make rational decisions. Blindly following a leader of any kind would go against his strict teachings.
“Well, son, I expected this conversation to occur much later, perhaps not until you came of age. I admit, I’m startled that you are thinking so far ahead for yourself, but proud nonetheless.”
Theo bowed his head humbly, a nonverbal expression of gratitude.
Thoros straightened his perfectly-tailored sleeves in thought.
“I suppose, in order to do this correctly, we must start at the beginning. I shall tell you about the young wizard I met, known at the time as Tom Riddle …”
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Theo had known sleepless nights, but never had he been up into the wee hours in the sole company of his father.
It had been hours, and the information he learned might’ve overwhelmed him, except that Theo long ago perfected the art of organising one’s mind to store abundant information neatly. It was a difficult trick, in which Theo imagined his own brain as a sort of complicated filing system.
The best part about his system was that Thoros would never approve of it. It was colourful, chaotic, and disordered. And it worked perfectly because it made sense only to Theo.
Long drawers of multicoloured file cards stored useful facts, usually grouped by school subject, but sometimes in random order if they corresponded to a particular topic that Theo liked better than another. Personal memories were stored in boxes stacked in crooked piles, labelled with small pictures or symbols to identify the contents. He might mentally toss a piece of clothing over one of the boxes or pin a scrap of cloth from his circus tent to the front.
And like the inside of his circus tent, all around the “room” hung pictures of moments Theo never wanted to forget. Some, like the memory of he and Blaise zipping around the empty Quidditch pitch on their brooms at sunset, were pleasant memories. Others, like the memory of his father’s expression in response to his son exchanging friendly conversation with the likes of Justin Finch-Fletchley, were ingrained in his mind as moments to never be repeated.
At the forefront of his mental library hung the portrait of his mother, immediately beside the Prophet’s photo of the girl that must be related to her.
Information about the Dark Lord had once been shoved into old drawers with the likes of Father’s version of the old ways, which Theo referenced only when needed. But now, more shelves and rolls of parchment appeared in careful stacks as Theo absorbed every shred of information Thoros was willing to part with.
Thoros spoke of the boy Tom Riddle who excelled in every school subject and learned magic the other students barely heard of. He told of Riddle’s incredible charisma, how he could command a room with the power of his voice or call followers to him to complete a task that nobody believed possible, and how Riddle gathered others like himself to create a team of elite students.
Riddle desired to change the way society viewed magic: he wanted greater appreciation for Dark Arts and certain magics legally restricted to wizards worthy of wielding them. Riddle’s hypothetical world matched so clearly with Thoros’ that Theo understood why his father followed this man; he craved order, scrutiny, purity, and magical perfection.
But Theo was still stumped as to why his father wanted to follow Riddle in the manner of a servant. All his life he’d been taught that the Notts should bow to no one.
“I have not heard the name Riddle before,” Theo said with a curious tilt to his head. “He is not of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, certainly–”
“You are correct,” Thoros nodded. “This is why he chose a new name, a unique name to reflect his true power. He’d been assigned a useless, mundane name – Riddle – by the filth that he was forced to live with as a child. But his true blood, Theodore, was as pure as the best of us.”
Theo allowed a confused look to cross his face in place of the eye roll he was tempted by.
“What bloodline did he originate from, then? I know, of course, we wear our names proudly to denote our heritage … surely the Dark Lord would’ve wished to do the same?”
“Indeed, he would have, but he unfortunately never discovered his true heritage,” Thoros explained. “As you know, there are mistakes that occur among even those of purest blood. Mistakes that must be rectified.”
Squibs, Theo thought. He knew what became of children who were born with no aptitude for magic.
Sure enough, Thoros recited emotionlessly: “A family is often left with little other choice but to anonymously bestow a different life on a nonmagical child. This is necessary for our survival, so another heir may take their place. In the rarest of cases, a wizard child might be mistaken for a Squib and disowned before he knows his parentage. I, personally, feel the Dark Lord was one of those.”
Theo nodded in understanding, but his mind spun.
Was that the answer? Did someone think SHE was a Squib and abandon her?
Considering the resemblance, Theo knew Hermione was related to him maternally. He had some Selwyn relatives, like his cousin Tatiana, but they’d all moved to France after the war. Hermione would’ve likely been sent to Beauxbatons and not Hogwarts if she were born from another of the Selwyns.
So, she was surely Isabelle’s child.
Theo’s half-sister?
It was highly unlikely. Theo knew his mother had been a traditional wife. She couldn’t’ve had another child near Theo’s age by another wizard – Thoros would’ve noticed long before she’d had a chance to give birth.
So, Hermione must be his full sister.
His heart thrummed.
But surely even tough-as-iron Thoros Nott wouldn’t’ve thrown away his own daughter even if he thought she’d be a Squib? Thoros might recite the old laws and expectations to the letter, but his father would surely do the right thing if it were his own family?
He needed to know more.
Theo tried to emulate his best friend trying to convince McGonagall that he was paying attention to the lesson; he rested his elbows on the desk and appeared to deeply contemplate the lesson at hand.
“Forgive my curiosity, Father … how is it that you knew the Dark Lord to be pure-blood in the first place, without the ability to confirm his family name?”
Thoros inclined his head. “I commend your insight. You see, in our final years at Hogwarts we collectively designed advanced tests of magical achievement. As expected, the Mudbloods proved utterly unworthy of any test we set them, and half-bloods fluctuated in their results. But we, Theodore, of the strongest bloodlines, we passed the tests with flying colours, as did the Dark Lord. There was no doubt in our minds that he was one of us, and we did not require a family name to prove him so.”
Theo nearly snorted aloud. You passed the tests YOU designed?
“Such a tragedy,” he murmured instead, feeling sick at even imagining sympathy for Voldemort. “To never know one’s true history … I suppose the Dark Lord’s parents must have passed when he was too young to know their names – certainly there wouldn’t be some other reason for a pure-blood child with his aptitude to be sent away from his family?”
For the first time, Thoros seemed baffled by Theo’s question and Theo held his breath, knowing he was getting desperate.
After a moment of silence, to Theo’s luck, Thoros seemed to deem the question worthy of a response.
“Though not relevant in the Dark Lord’s case, I suppose an Ancient and Noble house like our own would send their firstborn away if it were female. It is imperative for our houses to bear male heirs to carry on the line. You know this, of course–”
“I’m given to understand that certain families who produced a female heir – the Parkinsons, for instance – are excused from such an obligation, since they’re known to have a shorter pure-blood history than our line. Their female heir will endeavor to marry into a stronger family line, I expect, and it would not be shameful to do so.”
Thoros looked appropriately pleased at Theo’s recitation.
“Correct. Though, you must understand the risk an Ancient and Noble family undertakes when they send away a female heir. As you know, the oldest child claims the heirship to the family fortune, even if they do not inherit the name. Most families would not risk a wayward female heir coming to know her history and returning to steal away what should rightfully belong to the family’s son.”
Theo sat quite still. He wondered if Thoros could hear the rapid beating of his heart.
Could THAT be it? She was born first, then sent away to protect the family fortune? Theo still didn’t like it, but he supposed in his father’s logic it might make sense. Better to send her away than do something worse …
Thoros tilted his head minutely.
“Your curiosity is granted, though the relevance of your questions on this topic eludes me. Detailed information about our Lord’s history is admittedly fascinating, but I hardly expect it to sway your political decisions one way or another.”
Theo made a bit of a show of playing with his teacup before setting it down gently.
“Well … I admit, Father, my questions are not exclusive to the Dark Lord’s history,” Theo said in a manner suggesting he was admitting a deep, dark secret. “I will be sixteen this year, and I want to consider every possible scenario I may encounter in my own future. I have wondered, after my wife and I have an heir, what might become of the child if they were not born magical, or male? That is, if either tragedy were to befall – would I dare to send my child out into the world, knowing the risks?”
Thoros probably didn’t expect that his son would notice the sudden flash of anger that crossed his eyes.
“Appropriate measures can be taken,” Thoros answered stiffly. “Sixteen is still young, Theodore, but one day you will learn a very important lesson: sacrifice may be necessary for the good of the family.”
Theo’s blood ran cold.
Sacrifice.
He took a long sip of his warm tea as it refilled itself, and visibly shook himself free of his thoughts.
“Yes, I understand, Father. Forgive me for straying off-topic.”
“You are forgiven. Is your curiosity satisfied?”
“There is just one other thing I hoped to discuss, Father. I wonder if you would inform me of the Dark Lord’s current intentions? If I am to follow him at your side, it will be to my benefit to understand his goals, and whether they have changed from the goals he held as a young man.”
Thoros didn’t bother to hide his pleased reaction this time.
“Certainly, Theodore. As you might expect, his goals align quite nicely with our own, which is why he embodies our ideal leader. Of course, he will undertake endeavours to remove tainted wizards from our society …”
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Theo didn’t allow himself to break down until much later when he knew for certain his father had left the Manor.
He bolted his bedroom door, then his bathroom door, and leaned over the sink to retch.
He splashed cold water on his face again, and again. He tried not to cry, but soon he couldn’t help it.
There had been plenty of times he wished to belong to a different family like the Greengrasses or even the Malfoys – who, despite other flaws, put family above everything else – but his desire to abandon his own bloodline had never been this strong.
Thoros Nott had been the same wizard Theo’s whole life. He was a strict, traditional perfectionist, and he demanded the same of his son. And even though Theo didn’t always agree with everything his father demanded, he mostly understood the man’s motivation and halfheartedly learned to live with it. Hundreds of years of wizarding history did not shudder to a halt because one young Nott heir wanted to think a little differently. Theo patiently abided by Thoros’ iron rule until he could one day claim the line for himself.
But it went so much further than he ever dreamed … Thoros wasn’t just traditional; he was capable of murder … murder of his own daughter–
He emotionlessly called it a sacrifice.
Theo gripped the edges of the sink tightly as her smiling face swirled around his mind.
Hermione.
The accident of birth assigned her a death sentence.
He released every notion that she might belong to some other family; deep in his heart, Theo knew. She WAS his sister. Apart from being a dead ringer for Isabelle, Theo even noticed some of Thoros in Hermione as he observed her from afar during the last few months, namely her stubbornness and fierce loyalty to her beliefs.
She must have been born first. If she’d been born second, Theo would still be the rightful heir and he would’ve grown up with a sister … a sister free of his father’s emotionless traditions.
He didn’t know how, but somehow his sister had lived. Somehow, she’d escaped the sacrifice.
Theo stared at his ice-blue eyes in the mirror and made two solemn oaths to himself.
First, he needed alliances.
The Dark Lord was back, and Theo knew he wouldn’t be the only Slytherin with doubts. He’d coerced plenty of information from Thoros last night, and he was ready to hatch a plan … he’d spend the next year making careful connections among other students he could trust, and together they could build contingency plans. If they didn’t figure something out, Slytherin house might not live out the decade, and he wasn’t confident enough in his own abilities to imagine surviving the war on his own.
Second, he had to make sure Hermione stayed as far away from his father as possible. Tradition be damned; Theo would protect her at all costs …
And that meant he needed to establish himself safely on Potter’s side.