WHAT HAVE I BECOME MY SWEETEST FRIEND EVERYONE I KNOW GOES AWAY IN THE END AND YOU COULD HAVE IT ALL MY EMPIRE OF DIRT I WILL LET YOU DOWN I WILL MAKE YOU HURT
“ i bloody dare you. ” he laughed, tossing the door open, gesturing lazily toward where absinthe was perched on top of a bookshelf, leather-bound parchment torn to pieces, some lining still stuck in her beak.
“ go on then ” ronan shrugged, let himself fall back onto his bed, black sheets untucked and in need of a wash ( one they might never get ) his hands were tucked behind his head, pillow tucked behind them, settling in to watch the boy attempt the impossible.
Theo’s face remained calm, it showed no sign of the shock he felt at the lack of
concern the other boy felt for his feathered companion. He looked from the bird,
to his neighbor as he lounged on the bed. ( “If you have no love for the creature,
why keep it?” )
She looked up, paying more attention to the object behind him than the man in front of her. She knew herself well enough to acknowledge right away that she’d cave in and let him pass, if only due to the bureau, but her distaste towards Theodore was holding her down, feet on the stairs, a statue. It was, of course, temporary. “I’m not shooting first.”
( “Surely the idea in a stand of is to shoot first...?” ) He chuckled lightly,
it really wasn’t much of a hindrance to him for the red head to be sat on
the stairs, and he had no doubt in his mind that she would eventually
move - even if he had to force her, but that was a last case scenario.
admittedly, if she wanted to be alone, there were better places to be. anyone walking up the stairs couldn’t help but trip over her, and she wasn’t inclined to do anything about that. not when there was loud music coming from her apartment - manami’s doing, most likely. after a day spent running errands a house elf could do, she was not in the mood to deal with anything other than some peace and quiet. which left her here ; sitting in the middle of the stairs, an accident waiting to happen. footsteps approaching gave her some warning, and rhia - in a moment of generosity - offered some advice. ‘ you might want to watch your step. ‘
What was it with people around here sitting on the stairs. This would make
the second time in a week that he’d stumbled across someone blocking the
way. ( “The ministry should start charging rent on the stairs, they’re clearly
much nicer than any of the damn apartments in this goddamn building.” )
Theo remarked, voice curt and clearly annoyed, he carried books under
his arm and his black cat Mortem follow at his heels.
“I won’t move.” Flora warned, without giving as much as a glance at the figure approaching her. The stairs were cold and the light way too dim for her to be there reading, but the residents of 8 Acanthia Walk were more than used to finding her in the almost darkness, sitting with a book, outside of her flat. The old cat beside her feet hissed, as if to solidify her words. Moros, however, could actually be a menace, but he immediately shut up when she started petting him, her eyes still stuck on the page.
Theo paused, left foot on the first step at the bottom of the stairs.
The large bureau that floated magically behind him stopped too.
The dark haired boy smiled fondly at the cat, but had already
learnt his lesson in attempting to greet the feline. ( “Well, seems
we have ourselves something of a Mexican stand off.” )
he hadn’t heard it, the first time. absinthe was screeching, tearing book after book off the shelf ( she wanted attention, but fuck if he’d give it to her now, the bitch ). the window was open, muggle traffic the soundtrack to whatever it was he was mixing today ; cauldron bubbling over a misty grey, blue swirls followed lazy, like an after thought. it was the second knock that caught his attention, sharper, louder, unexpected.
“ what– ” forgoing the pleasantries ( they’d all lived here long enough, now, to know ronan was quite the opposite of pleasant ) he cracked the door just enough, a smokey haze spilling out from behind him. “–do you want.”
Theo’s boss hated him, he knew it, though he’d never done anything to
deserve such resentment, not in his eyes anyway. He was always on time,
never complained and did everything that was asked at him. Yet his boss
still gave him shit, last night in particular he’d demanded he stay until he’d
cleaned the entire embalming room. At the end of his normal shift. It had
taken hours, Theo finally rolled in at just gone 3am - the last thing he needed
was an early goddamn wake up call.
He could hear that fucking owl screeching all the way on the top floor, so
he’d pounded down the stairs, fist hammered on the door till the boy he’d
known vaguely from Hogwarts opened the door. ( “I want you to shut that
fucking bird up. Or I’m gonna do it for you, and it won’t be pretty.” )
Theo’s mother had not been Theodore Nott Senior’s first wife, and it’s said the circumstances behind her death were just as suspicious as those behind his own mothers death. Nott’s first wife had been an arrangement made right out of Hogwarts, she a beauty from Beauxbaton Academy, they had been married for ten years before her accident with the leaky cauldron. But the potion maker’s family swore she took great care with her cauldrons, replacing them frequently and keeping them in pristine condition. Yet the poor woman had also been rumored to be infertile, and she wasn’t the first person to die under mysterious circumstances after inconveniencing Nott.
By the time a new arrangement was made, the procurement of a new wife, Nott was nearing his forties. The new Mrs Nott was barely twenty, young and ambitious, eager to climb in social standing and so she ignored all rumors about the dark cloud of death that followed her new husband around. That darkness, however, would eventually come for her, but not before driving her to the bottom of a bottle and towards the brink of insanity.
Mrs Nott had been a kind woman, and a good mother. Theo remembers very little about her, though he does remember her singing to him, fingers sweeping soothingly through locks of dark hair just like hers. Mr Nott often remarked about how much Theo looked like his mother, words often spat at him in vile disdain. Theo, however, took great pride in that fact.
He’d been nine at the time of his mother accident, old enough to remember that night clearly but not old enough to question it. He remembered how his father had feigned remorse, how he’d lied about finding his wife at the bottom of the stairs, about his involvement. He remembered how their friends had all but dragged his mothers reputation through the mud, agreeing with everything his father swore about her mental state and her drinking problem.
The only one to speak up in his mothers defense had been her own mother, who screamed till she was red in the face upon the news of her daughters death, and insisted that Mr Nott was a cold, calculating killer. She recounted stories that her daughter had confessed to her to anyone that would listen, about the real circumstances behind a series of mysterious deaths and how Mr Nott had been responsible for them all. But money and power can make even the truth disappear, and later than year Mrs Nott’s mother had a heart - attack... or so it was made to seem.
It was from that day forward that Theo learnt it was better to keep his mouth shut than to ask questions, which by now he had many. He kept his distance from his father, preferring to stay as far away from any of the secrets and lies as he could, only getting involved if his father called upon him - which he did, but rarely. Theo knew the importance of the Nott name, and his father had fingers in many pies, and when the Dark Lord rose again Nott returned to the master he had once served, and Theo followed obediently, but only because he believed in what the Dark Lord strove to achieve.
He had always feared his father, hated him with everything in him, but feared him even more than that. He doubted his father would ever go to the extreme’s he had with many others, but he’d been on the wrong side of a swift beating enough to know it was easier to do as you were told and keep silent. When the tower fell at the battle of Hogwarts Theo felt a sudden relief, he was finally free of his fathers tyranny but not only that, he felt a sense of justice for his mother and grandmother.
It was in that moment that he swore to turn his life around, be the man his mother would have wanted him to be, not the man his father was shaping him to be, and so he turned his wand against those he had vowed to serve beside. Pleaded guilty to his crimes but that he was acting under duress, and landed himself in the R- program.
Personality
Theo has always a mild, but obvious, curiosity regarding death and the dead. Even as a child he would ask in depth questions when relatives or anyone were to die, he wanted to know how, why, and what happened next - what happened to the body, was there anything else after this life, why did some people stay rooted to the earth as ghosts? When his parents ran out of answers, he turned to books for further knowledge, even took himself to visit mortuary’s and funeral homes to learn more. It was then that Theodore decided what he wanted to do with his life after Hogwarts, even though he had yet to attend, he’d take care of the dead - and he could live out that dream even in the R program. This fascination with death had always worried his mother, she feared her beloved son would turn out just like his father, but Theo doesn’t enjoy inflicting death - though he has undoubtedly done so in the name of the Dark Lord.
Theo always swore that he’d never grow up to be like his father, but as he got older the similarities seemed to grow more and more apparent, people would often point out that they shared common traits; a short temper, and a penchant for all things dark. Yet no matter their similarities the two continued to more or less ignore each other existences, barely speaking more than a couple of words to each other in a week, and mostly only ever to discuss matters regarding the Dark Lord. Though he has a temper at times he is not a violent boy, choosing rather to lash out with words than to strike physically.
Deep down Theo is probably softer than he appears, if his mother had lived he might have been a kinder, nicer person. But the lack of love in his life has left him hollow and cold. There is potential however for him to prove once and for all that he’s nothing like that man that raised him. He believes in love, that it’s special and it means something, even if he’s never found it. He may sleep around a little, but he always treats women with respect. They are diamonds and gold, precious in every way. He’d have to dig deep to find anything that resembles real feelings other than pride, but it’s in there somewhere.
Theo can be quite manipulative when he wants to be, a skill he learnt from his father though not really by choice. He had bore witness to the way Nott could work a room, bend the will of others, influence their thoughts with just his words. Theo managed the same feat himself at the battle of Hogwarts, and then again infront of the wizengamot at his trial. It’s not something he’s particularly proud of, but he’ll use it to his advantage from time to time, especially if it means maintaining even the semblance of freedom.
He is guilty, and doesn’t attempt to act otherwise. He knows he’s technically deserving of a punishment worse than this, so tries to make the most of it. He goes to work, keeps his head down - the only thing he continues to do that the Ministry might deem rule breaking is continuing to show an interest in, and collecting, dark objects and items.
Most the time, he keeps himself to himself, one of only two single occupant flats in the building he doesn’t have to worry about being disrupted, but can often be found sat in the communal garden area reading a book, or sat at his kitchen table with the door open. He may enjoy solitude but only because he knows others find him a little strange, otherwise he can be quite sociable.
Facts
Appearance: 6′4, well built, black hair, hazel eyes, Dark Mark, scar through left eyebrow.
The Unforgivable Curses are three of the most powerful and sinister spells known to the wizarding world. They are tools of the Dark Arts and were first classified as “Unforgivable” in 1717, with the strictest penalties attached to their use.
