Don’t Worry, This is Only a Prologue
Theodore Nott returned to England six months after his father breathed his last in a cell in Azkaban. He landed on his feet in a portkey terminal in the Ministry though he lost his grip on his black travel bag, which landed with a soft thud next to his feet, and his stomach churned unpleasantly. Portkeys are really not my favorite thing. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and breathed in and out, slowly. His stomach settled and opened his eyes to scan the terminal.
It wasn’t as crowded as he had figured it might be, but he was surrounded by action. Wizards and witches appeared in the Ministry in various states of gracefulness. He chuckled softly when a gangly teenager stumbled and collided with a couple, nearly knocking one over completely. I didn’t handle portkeys any better at his age, to be fair.
He slung his bag over his left shoulder and strode over to the queue at the security wizard’s desk. The man was older, with short, sandy hair that was greying at his temples. His mouth formed into a thin line when he looked over Theodore’s paperwork, but he made no comment other than a frosty, “Welcome back to England, Mr. Nott.”
His father’s reputation clearly still preceded him.
Probably always will.
Theodore shot the man a polite smile and made his way into the atrium. It was much the same as it was seven years ago, though that grotesque statue was gone. In its place was what appeared to be a send-up of the original Fountain of Magical Brethren.
In the center of the pool, larger than life, golden statues of a wizard, witch, centaur, goblin, mermaid and house-elf. The wizard still cut a dignified countenance as pointed his wand at the ceiling. The beautiful witch no longer simply stood next to her counterpoint, but held her own wand aloft as well. The creatures no longer gazed adoringly at the wizard and witch, nor did they gaze at them at all: the goblin lovingly cradled a sword in his hands and the centaur was frozen in the act of drawing his bow. The mermaid drew herself up from the water, her head held high; the house-elf held his hands behind his back, but stood straight-backed.
Progress, he supposed.
I’m surprised it’s not a statue of Potter and friends.
He took a step forward and something soft collided with the back of his head.
“What the,” he muttered and instinctively brought a hand up to rub the back of his head. Before he could look behind him, a paper fox danced in the air in front of his face. He blinked and the paper fox floated forward and tapped its snout against his left cheek. “Alright, alright.”
He snatched the fox from the air and unfolded it to reveal a message in a familiar cursive: Hello stranger! Look behind you.
“You know, I had a friend named Theo once, but it’s been so long. I can barely remember what he looks like,”said a warm, Scottish accented voice. “He was a wizard and about your height and had black hair a bit like yours, I think. It’s the damnedest thing-“
Theodore spun around and pulled the laughing witch in for a hug. “Hey Daphne.” His lips turned up in a bright grin. “I told you that you didn’t have to meet me.”
“Yeah, I thought that was a rubbish suggestion and discarded it completely. Disappointed?”
He chuckled. “Not even a little.”
Daphne took a step back and Theo got his first good look at her. She was dressed in lime green St. Mungo’s robes. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a bun that had most likely started the day as sensible, but had turned inot a mess of escaping locks of hair.
“Did you come here right after work?”
She nodded. “I didn’t even stop for a bite to eat. On that note, you want to get dinner with me? My treat.”
He frowned. “I can pay for my own meal.”
She waved him off. “It’s been six years, Theo. You’re absolutely not paying for anything tonight. Come on, I want to catch up with you. Are you excited about starting in the Department of Mysteries?”
This was not an argument he sensed he would win so he decided to give in gracefully. “Fine, but I’m paying next time. And I’m not talking about myself the whole time. I want to hear about everything that’s gone on here.” He paused and then asked, “How’s Draco?”
The last letter Draco sent was almost a year ago now. Theodore had owled Draco to let his him know that Theodore would not be able to make the wedding after all. Draco’s responding letter was only one word long: Fine.
He, of course, had sent a gift to the happy couple and he had received a heartfelt thank you letter from Astoria. Theodore stopped trying to reach out after three unanswered letters.
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Draco is Draco.” She patted him on the arm. “I told him you were moving back. Maybe just give it a little more time.”
Right.
A few hours later, Theodore stared at the entrance of his ancestral home.The building had once been a Tudor era manor, but at some point during the Victorian era one of his ancestors decided to renovate the whole thing into a purely gothic nightmare. It was said that the then Mrs. Nott had been less than ecstatic about the change, and her portrait had been in a mood for years. Theodore couldn’t remember her smiling once.
Daphne had asked if he wanted her to come with him, but all he said was, “I have to do this alone.”
Theodore had flipped off the stone gargoyles standing sentry on either side of the gates without a second thought, and yet he paused at the front door. His legs felt heavy and wooden and he half wondered if they had taken root there.
After a long moment, he took a deep breath and turned away from the door. “Screw it, I’m not living here. I don’t need to see the mess inside.” The Nott family house-elf died over Easter break in his seventh year of Hogwarts. He hadn’t been around to see it but he reckoned the poor thing was the victim of his father’s temper.
After he evacuated the castle on the final night of the war, he had stopped in his house long enough only to pack his things and fly off on his broom. He had not felt the need to hire a new house-elf or human being to take care off the manor at any point in the last six years. Fuck, the place was lucky he was still debating whether he wanted to burn it down or not.
He flung his bag down and strolled away without another glance to the gardens behind the house. For the first time tonight, he winced at the sight of the neglected estate. The once well-kept gardens were overgrown and wild.
She had loved the gardens so much.
He kept walking until he reached a fountain and benches. The memories had faded over the years, but he remembered a time where he would play here under one parent’s at least loving supervision. Even after she was gone, he still stayed out here for hours some days because this was still the most welcome place on his family’s land to him.
He could have visited the cemetery and he would when he could stomach seeing his father’s headstone next to hers, as if deserved that spot. More than that, he did not go there first because he always felt her presence more here. Even if it was only his imagination playing tricks on him.
He sat down on a bench and closed his eyes.
“I’m back, mum. Did you miss me?”