I HATE YOU — dad! theodore nott x mum! f! reader
CONTENT WARNING: swear words/ domestic fluff/ mum reader/ family conflict
SUMMARY: tate has a very special lucky broom he relies on for every match. when you accidentally step on it, he loses his temper.
WC/ AVG. READING TIME: 2112 words/ 11 minutes
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“I'M SORRY TATE, it was an accident, i didn’t mean to break your broom,” you apologised for what seemed like the hundredth time.
your son, tate, was part of the youth quidditch team and played for england.
the team had their big match the next day and tate had brought his broom home to practice with for tomorrow.
in your hurry, you had not seen tate’s broom on the floor and accidentally stepped on it.
the broomstick was special to tate. it was the broom you and theodore had given to him when he was in his first year in hogwarts. it was also the very same broom that he rode on while trying out for the team.
till this day, he uses that broom in every single match he has ever played in. sure the team would have numerous brooms for tate to use for the match tomorrow, but the young nott believed that it was his good luck charm, that the team would only win if he rode it during the game.
“i’m truly sorry tate, i was rushing to help with tara and i didn’t see where i was going.”
you had tried numerous repairing spells but none of them seemed to work. the broom would jerk sideways or come to an abrupt stop.
“of course it’s about tara, again,” tate scoffed, “because every single thing is about little tara. oh tara’s crying, everybody drop whatever you’re doing and get to her immediately. what’s that? tara’s hungry? well sorry tate, your problem can wait. it’s almost as if your and dad only have one child, who unfortunately isn’t me.”
“you know your father and i love you both equally.” you frowned at the teenager’s accusation.
“yea right. i call bullshit.” tate rolled his eyes.
“if this is about your broom tate, i’m sure we can figure something out.” you reasoned with the boy.
the front door was pushed open by your husband, but the tension between you and your son was too thick that neither of you noticed the oldest nott’s presence.
he had gotten off work earlier than expected and was excited to spent the extra time with his family.
“figure something out? figure something out! my broom’s broken beyond compare and you want to figure something out?” tate exclaimed.
“could you lower you volume please? tara’s still asleep.”
“tomorrow’s the last game of the season, and you’re going to be the reason why we lose. you know what? i wish you were never my mother. i’m sure you do too because it seems like all you care about is you and your daughter. i hate you.”
and with that, tate stomped to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.
you felt tears brim your eyes by your son’s harsh words. he was right, you were a terrible mother and had broken tate’s broom, even if it was an accident. you never thought that tate felt neglected over tara’s birth.
you assumed that because tate was so old that he’d be more understanding that your time would now be more occupied due to having to attend to a new born.
you crumbled onto the floor and a heartbreaking sob left your mouth.
as theodore watched the scene unfold, a million thoughts ran through his brain.
at first, all he felt was fury. he was furious that anyone has dared to speak to you-his wife like that, to throw such malicious words at the woman he loved and worshiped.
he then felt ashamed. ashamed to have brought up such a son that he had thought it was okay to speak to his mother like that.
as soon as theodore heard your sob, he was sure his heart had cracked into two.
you dropped his things and ran to you, holding you to his chest.
“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry,” you apologised, albeit unsure of who you were really apologising to, but you did nevertheless.
“there’s nothing to be sorry of darling, you’re the perfect mother, perfect wife. you are everything a son or husband could ever want and more,” he consoled you.
you and theodore sat on the carpeted floor of your front room for a prolonged amount of time.
no words were spoken, only kisses on your forehead by your husband as you wrapped your legs around his torso and your shoulder around his neck.
having woken up in the wee hours of the morning to fix tara a bottle, you soon fell asleep on theodore’s tear soaked shoulder. your soft snores filling his ears.
theodore carefully placed you under the warm duvet and pecked your lips lovingly.
he cast a deafening charm on the master bedroom and tara’s nursery, that way he could still hear the both of you, but neither of you could hear what was outside of the room.
this kept theodore’s mind at ease that he would not wake his two best girls up.
having only walked into the last of you and tate’s altercation, theodore still did not know the full story.
he wanted-no. he needed an explanation for tate’s distasteful outburst and he demanded it now.
three firm knocks on the wooden door that was filled with stickers and posters.
“go away,” a muffled voice spoke from behind the door.
“tate otis nott i’m giving you three second to open this god damn door or you will not leave this house for as long as i shall live.” theodore warned.
honestly? you were quite the pushover. tate had you wrapped around his finger. all he had to do was batt his eyelashes and butter you up and you would do anything and everything for that boy.
he was your darling son and whatever he wanted, you would give, no matter how big the feat.
theodore on the other hand was more strict with tate, quick to discipline the son when he deemed fit. theodore would never dare to lay a hand on his son, but he would not be afraid reprimand tate if the boy was ever in the wrong.
there was an infamous corner of your house deemed the ‘naughty corner’. theodore would banish tate to that particular part of the kitchen and have him face the wall.
whenever you saw your dear boy standing with the adorable pout on his face, while theodore was not looking, you would sneak tate a fudge fly here and there just so his punishment experience would be just that bit better.
tate unlocked his bedroom door and before he could open it wider, theodore pushed his way in and slammed the door behind him.
“did i raise you to talk to your mother that way?” theodore seethed.
“she broke my broom, my good luck broom. my match is tomorrow!" tate folded his arms and flopped onto his bed backwards.
"i'd like for you to look at me while i'm speaking to you." theodore spoke cooly.
tate bit back his tongue so as to not let out a snarky remark and anger his clearly furious father even more.
tate sat back up with an inaudible sigh.
"you and i know damn well your mother would never do anything to you purposefully. where did you place your broom for her to break it?"
"on the floor in the front room," tate mumbled.
"don't mumble."
"on the floor in the front room."
"and where are you supposed to place your broom after you're done using it?"
"in the cupboards." tate answered.
"so you put your broom where you were clearly not supposed to place it and blamed your mother for what happened to it?" theodore pieced the pieces together in his brain.
"i guess...but still! it's her fault!"
"don't raise your voice at me. your mother works her fucking arse off taking care of you, loving you and that was how you repay her? who do you think cleans your trainers whenever they've gotten dirty? who do you think ensures you're happy and healthy, having all three meals every day? who do yo think does your laundry, even when it's gone all muddy and smelly? because it's not me and it sure as hell isn't you."
"your mother does so much for this family and you've hurt her. i've known her for twenty years and i've never seen her cry like the way she did today. i hope you feel ashamed of yourself. hell, you can talk your shit to anyone, but you will never speak that way to my wife ever again. do you hear me?"
"yes." tate looked at his feet guiltily, "i didn't mean what i said y'know. i love mum, so much. i was just angry."
theodore sighed and joined his son by the foot of the bed.
"and i didn't mean what i said about tara, i love my little sister too."
"to hell with your good luck broom. you want to know what your real good luck charm is?"
tate shook his head.
"who is the one person who has been to every single one of your matches. who cheers for you regardless of it be pissing rain? who always greets you with a proud hug when you've won? or a sad smile and an offering of your favourite ice cream when you've lost?"
"mum." tate replied, knowing the answer easily.
"she is your good luck charm tate, not your stupid broom." theodore placed a hand on tate's shoulder.
after the adrenaline had worn off, tate suddenly felt immensely guilty for the way he had told his mother off. the teenager remembered every sacrifice his mother had made for him and it taunted him.
"you know what you have to do tomorrow," theodore stood up and ruffled his son's hair.
the older nott removed the deafening charms on the two rooms and walked down the steps into the kitchen.
he saw his plate of dinner on the countertop, charmed with a warming spell.
"enjoy your dinner! love, your darling" a note was neatly written in your penmanship next to the plate.
theodore smiled at it and dug into his dinner. he had somehow felt himself fall more in love with you each and every single day.
tate woke up to his sister wailing in the room next to his.
he rubbed his face with his hands and stretched his limbs when he stood up. he quietly opened tara's door and picked the infant up.
he swayed her in his arms and cradled her.
you jumped out of bed and rushed to tara's bedroom, but when you saw tate protectedly holding onto his sister, you stood quietly by the doorframe.
tara quieted down and tate admired his little sister. she babbled messily and her eyes softened while looking at tate.
he felt his heart grow tenfold and regretted what he had said about the baby the day before.
"i'm sorry tara," tate whispered and leaned down to nuzzle his nose with hers, "i love you."
"i'm sorry about your broom," you spoke up, causing tate to shoot his head up to you.
tate noted your puffy eyes and swollen lips from crying the night before.
"don't apologise mum, i'm sorry. i'm sorry for saying those horrid things to you and the thought of ever hurting you makes me feel sick. i love you and i'm so grateful for everything you've done."
"it's alright tate, i love you." you side hugged your tall son and he kissed the top of your head.
"i won't be signing your hogsmeade slip for the next term." theodore joined the rest of his family.
"dad," tate groaned but not too loudly, afraid of waking tara who was still in his arms.
"don't worry tate, i'll sign them for you," you whispered to your son but theodore had heard.
"even after all these years you're still getting your darling son out of his punishments aren't you." he greeted you with a kiss.
"you knew?" you asked, referring to your secret fudge fly gifts whenever tate was in his naughty corner.
"the two of you aren't as sneaky as you thought you were." theodore wiggled your nose and you let out a laugh.
the very laugh that was the reason he woke up everyday.
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