hackthis_archive | HP - Thousandth Man-verse - A Nott Don’t Come for Free

In the immortal words of

serialkarma -- Sequel, ho!

Thousandth Man-verse

A Nott Don’t Come for Free

Alice Wonderland's Guide to Rabbit-Holes, Portkeys and Other Travelling Devices Designed for the Modern Wizard likened travelling by portkey to “experiencing a slight tightening sensation around the mid-section, much in the same manner one might feel after enjoying a large meal or being hexed with the infamous Beauregarde Blitz.”

Someday Theodore was going to track down Miss Wonderland and hex her with the Beauregarde Blitz to convince her otherwise, because for him, there was nothing slight about travelling by portkey.

To say that he disliked the experience was something of an understatement. There were a great many things Theodore disliked -- spiders, sardine-flavoured Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, standing for the annual family portrait -- but none of those gave him the sensation of his large intestine exiting his body through his navel.

Theodore loathed travelling by portkey.

He wasn’t the sort who traveled poorly -- he had spent too many holidays abroad to have any sort of traveling quirks -- and yet he simply could not come to grips with being sucked into a great expanse of black nothingness. Both his parents and Blaise knew his feelings on the matter: portkeys required placing too much trust in the person who had crafted the spell not to be a dimwitted Hufflepuff or someone who spent their free moments sniffing poppy flowers.

Therefore, only someone who cared nothing for Theodore's feelings on the matter, someone sadistic and inconsiderate, would require him to travel by portkey.

Someone like Neville's grandmother or, worse, his godfather, Lucius.

So when Theodore popped back into existence with a rather spectacular crash, landing on his face on something with very little give to it, he wasn’t terribly certain whether to be grateful, sick, or to curse the nearest sentient being.

He did the next best thing -- he pulled out his wand and prepared to defend his life, for he was certain he was about to face great tribulation.

It took him a moment to comprehend where he was, and it was quite a shock to realise that traveling by portkey was now the least of his problems.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, Theodore took in his surroundings with confusion and dread. He had landed on a large grey and gold striped sofa that he knew all too well, and across the room, in the corner, sat a large, five-legged chair that he had stood before many times.

The doors to the sitting room crashed open with a great clatter, and Theodore jumped to his feet as a figure strode through the entryway.

"Father!" Theodore glanced down at his wand and immediately stuffed it back into the folds of his robes.

One did not point one’s wand at one’s father.

Theodore's father said nothing, instead fixing his heir with a paralysing glare; the nerve in Theodore's temple quivered in anticipation.

Alexander Nott was an imposing man. He wasn't blessed with great stature or grace, but he carried his stocky frame well, and his graying beard lent a sense of dignity to his visage. His voice was deep and low, but he wasn't a verbose man. He spoke when had had something important to say, but for the most part was rather reticent.

He was not given to overt displays of affection or emotion, and it was rare for him to raise his voice or become passionate about anything. When he was displeased it was generally conveyed in his tone and not in his manner. Theodore's father was generally firm, but fair -- it took a great deal of effort to rile his anger.

"You are six days late, Theodore." There was a spark when Alexander Nott stamped his wooden cane on the parquet floor. In the months after That Incident of Which No One Spoke, he had had his wand converted into a cane covered in archaic Aramaic runes, and on occasion it sparked when he was emphasising a point.

"When I summon you, I expect your immediate presence."

Theodore pieced his words together carefully. He hadn't spoken to Blaise in six days; clearly, he’d had the letter all that time. It was inconceivable that Blaise would have told Theodore’s father about Neville, no matter how vexed he was with Theodore, and he never would have withheld the letter if he had known its contents.

At the very least, he would have given Theodore a warning.

"I apologise for my tardiness," he said. "Your letter was delayed when it arrived -- and I was only just made aware of its existence."

"That's no excuse," Alexander said flatly. "When you are summoned, you are to appear. I do not accept 'waylaid owls' or 'ignorance' as an excuse."

"Yes, Father."

Glancing around the room surreptitiously, Theodore's gaze swept over the family portrait against the far wall. Both he and his father were still there, but Alexandria was missing -- and more importantly, so was his mother.

Theodore stood up as straight as possible as his father stepped into the room, and the doors closed behind him quietly. The sound of the lock slotting into the place filled Theodore with even more dread than his portkey travel.

"Sit," his father commanded, and Theodore perched on the sofa at once, every nerve in his body taut with concern. He watched warily as his father limped across the room, leaning heavily on the wooden cane in his hand. Since The Incident, Alexander Nott had not been able to walk unaided, and it pained Theodore to see a man such as his father reduced to hobbling around in the manner of an invalid.

He had never been a man of great vigor and physicality -- Theodore couldn’t even remember when his father’s hair hadn’t been white -- but Alexander Nott's mortality seemed more evident now, than before.

Theodore counted silently in his head as his father paced back and forth between the fireplace and his chair in the corner. His lungs felt tight, and the silence stifled Theodore's ability to breathe as though someone were sitting on his chest. At every turn, his father would fix him with a nonplussed gaze, and Theodore's breathing would become more laboured.

He could feel his clothing becoming rather uncomfortable and sticking to him in odd places, but Slytherins did not sweat. They did not perspire or glisten, or even get damp palms unless the weather was unpleasant and moist. They certainly didn’t believe in physical stress, unless the exerting was directly tied to something hedonistic or likely to acquire a large amount of Galleons and power.

Or a favourable Quidditch result.

It was not Theodore’s place to speak unless he was spoken to -- but never had his father ignored him in such a manner. There was only one thing that could vex his father so -- actually there were a great number of things, but Theodore could only think of one that would make his father so out of sorts.

Neville.

It was the Slytherin way to avoid all obstacles at any cost. What you could not go over, you went around or apparated through or destroyed with a well-timed Oblitteratus -- which was simply another way of saying that Slytherins did not work through things. They conquered and pillaged and destroyed -- then explored at their leisure, like Alexander the Great.

Patience was a completely foreign concept. If half the blood in Theodore's veins hadn’t come from a Ravenclaw, he would’ve been in something of a bind. In his mind, however, there was no other way forward -- he would have to take the offensive.

"Father, you summoned me by portkey -- is it Alexandria?"

"Your sister is fine," his father said, pausing in mid-stride and fixing his son with another piercing stare. "You, however, have a great deal of explaining to do."

So it was Neville.

Theodore had suspected that it might come to this.

"Father, I can explain --"

"Silence!"

Theodore froze. He could not recall an occasion in which his father had ever raised his voice, certainly not to him. Notts considered yelling a plebian attempt at asserting ones power, when, really, what was called for was a calm, composed demeanour.

Theodore eyes widened as his father pinched his nose and then continued onward with his pacing. Theodore clenched his hands in his lap and waited. At length his father spoke. "I don't know what's come over you, Theodore. You arrive tardy after I summon you, and now you speak out of turn. What am I to make of this -- this lapse in decorum?"

Theodore swallowed, but said nothing. His father continued speaking. "Would you prefer that I send a common howler to your school to express my feelings for all and sundry? Have you no concept of the disgrace that would bring upon yourself and the entire Nott family?"

"Father, I don't --"

"You will remain quiet until I give you leave to speak," his father said quietly.

The nerve in Theodore's temple began ticking rapidly.

"I was in Diagon Alley the other day, attending to business, when I had the misfortune to run into Emily Van Der Klempt. She approached me to inquire after your mother -- a suspicious thing on the face of it, as surely she could ask one of her relatives for news of Anora -- but then she mentioned that she had made your acquaintance. In the company of her grandson."

Theodore felt something moist in the clench of his hands. His palms were sweating. His body was betraying him. Even if he had said nothing his defense, the signs were appearing as plain as day.

When his father paused and pinched his noise again, Theodore nonchalantly wiped his hands on his trousers and let his arms fall to his sides. His body language now appeared at ease and relaxed.

Theodore exhaled softly but flinched when his father's cane came down with a thud, the rosewood and ostrich feather wand inside sparked against the flooring. "Theodore Marcellus Nott, I will ask you this once and only once -- Are you fraternising with one of them?"

Theodore could have lied. It was expected; nevertheless, any first year could see that lying would get him nowhere.

The most prudent avenue would be to just come out with it and cut his losses.

"Theodore, answer me at once."

Theodore had been raised as an equal and yet, he wasn't. He was still his father's son. He was still required to follow certain rules and regulations with respect to how Notts behaved. His father would be livid and disappointed, and Theodore would have to face the brunt of that disappointment.

It would be horrible.

Of course, strictly speaking shagging wasn't fraternising; it was shagging. Technicalities made all the difference.

Theodore hesitated, swallowed, and then answered. "Yes sir, I am."

Alexander Nott paused before the five-legged chair and clutched at the wooden cane with both hands. "You are what?"

"Shagging a Gryffindor."

The air was sucked out of the room with this one admission, and Theodore jumped to his feet when his father collapsed into his chair suddenly.

If he had given his father a heart attack with this news he would never forgive himself.

Crossing the room in haste, Theodore was stopped by the point of a cane to his sternum. There was a shower of sparks from the end of the cane, and Theodore staggered backwards with the force of impact, falling ungracefully onto the sofa. Not once in all his years had his father ever raised a hand to him; he had never even raised his voice until now, and being assaulted with a cane-cum-wand bloody well hurt.

Theodore gasped for air as his father sat upright, his white hair slightly mussed.

Alexander Nott's face was absolutely colourless, and then it turned pink with apoplectic rage. "ANORA!" he shouted; Theodore rubbed at his chest and winced.

*

Theodore wasn't the sort to underestimate people based on their physical characteristics; he'd been in Knockturn Alley and seen too many deformed people who could do the most fascinating Dark Arts, and yet the cane his father used had lead Theodore to believe he'd grown soft.

Clearly this was not the case.

Theodore was going to have a bruise on his chest.

He watched warily as his father got to his feet. He had never lived in fear of his father; he had loved him and respected him for as long as he could remember, but there was a brief moment when Theodore found himself consciously thanking Blaise for forcing the tergiversari to practice the Hickock Quick Wand Draw. Theodore could now draw his wand in under two seconds. He didn't want it to come to a duel, but clearly his father was furious, and Theodore would not be punished for doing what he wanted. It was what he had always been taught; and he wouldn’t change that -- not even for his family.

Instead of advancing on his son, Alexander Nott resumed his pacing. “This is your mother’s doing,” he snapped. “I wanted to raise you properly, but no. ‘We should raise them as equals' she said. 'They should have freewill,' she said. Bollocks to freewill! Look at this mess!”

Theodore wisely kept his mouth closed and let his father rail.

"This is completely unacceptable, Theodore. Bad enough you're buggering some boy, couldn't you have made it someone acceptable at least? You can't bugger a Gryffindor! The grandson of that woman no less? Do you know what she did to Regulus Black?"

Every muscle on Theodore's body seized up when his father paused and pointed his cane directly at him. His wand was just inside his left sleeve. He could do this to protect himself and Alexandria and Neville -- but the fallout would be earth-shattering.

Patricide was not generally condoned in the better houses. Of course there were a few cases -- that of Lucius Malfoy and his father, Ignacio, being the one in most recent memory. But Theodore would have to have iron-clad evidence of grievous wrong-doing -- like his father going to work for the Order -- and not only would that disgrace his family, but it would solidify his own fate with the Dark Lord. He couldn't claim to have done this for the Dark Lord and then not become a Death Eater.

The nerve in Theodore's temple twitched rapidly as his father continued railing, and then there was a great commotion from the portrait in the corner and his mother's voice echoed throughout the room.

“Alexander Marcellus Nott, what on earth are you raising your voice over, and why is Theodore home? Why is he not as school? What's wrong? Tell me at once!” There was a tiny snap as though someone had stomped their foot or broken something wooden.

Theodore’s eyes widened as he realised the noise was mother tapping the family portrait with her wand, and he exhaled deeply as his mother's visage filled the portrait in the corner.

Anora Nott's cheeks were flushed with color and her dark hair was pulled back in a severe twist; Theodore kept still as his father crossed the room to the corner.

“Anora, do you know what your son is doing? Do you know? He’s fraternising with of them. He's -- oh, Mordred, it pains me to say -- he's having relations with a Gryffindor! If word gets out --“

Theodore cringed slightly when his father gestured towards him with his cane again, but he relaxed slightly at his mother's words. “Alexander, you are being irrational. Our son is not given to being foolhardy -- word will not get out.”

“I am not being irrational. Your son is fraternising with the enemy!" Alexander Nott turned sharply towards Theodore. "Do you want to be killed? Is this what that crackpot is teaching you at school? I knew we should have sent you to Durmstrang!”

Theodore opened his mouth, but his mother spoke over him, her tone firm. "He is our son, not just mine, do not find fault with him simply because you do not approve of his actions. He is not a simple-minded fool. He has been raised well; he’s an adult."

"He's seventeen years-old." His father almost sounded petulant, and Theodore stared in fascination at the scene before him.

He had seen his parents converse this way many times since his mother's death, but he had never seen them row -- until now.

"Theodore is old enough to make his own decisions; he would never do something to bring disgrace upon the family. He's a descendent of Rowena Ravenclaw." His mother spoke with great certainty, and Theodore found himself nodding along.

"Oh, hang Rowena Ravenclaw!" his father snapped.

"Alexander!"

Theodore's jaw dropped open for a moment before he remembered himself. No one insulted the family ancestors. Ever.

Theodore's father shifted his cane from his right hand to his left. "Anora, please, this is not to be tolerated. Do you think the Dark Lord cares about Rowena Ravenclaw? We must think of the children here. I shudder to think of what could happen to Theodore if someone were to question his allegiance. What of Alexandria and her situation? This is not to be borne. I will not have this -- this must be rectified immediately."

Theodore sat up sharply when his father turned to him. "You must Obliviate this boy, this grandson, and anyone else who knows. I'll sort out Emily."

"You will do nothing of the sort." Theodore's mother spoke peevishly at the same time that Theodore managed to speak around the lump in his throat.

“I am not going to Obliviate Neville. Or Blaise.”

Alexander Nott's eyebrows climbed his forehead in horror. “Blaise Zabini knows? Have you lost all good sense? Great Salazar’s Ghost, boy -- whatever is wrong with you? Who are you and what have you done with my son!"

Over his father's shoulder, his mother's face grew very hard. "I think he’s shown marvelous sense, considering he’s attempting to protect the family name by keeping it out of the hands of that – that person."

"Strictly speaking, the Dark Lord is not a person.”

“We are not arguing semantics.”

“We are not arguing full stop. Protecting this family is my responsibility," said Theodore’s father.

“It takes more than one person, I think you would agree, Alexander. I would think you would be proud! What else have we raised him for? Do you really think Theodore would haphazardly choose someone?”

“But, Anora--”

"Do not ‘Anora’ me, Alexander Marcellus; you have brought this on yourself by keeping secrets from the children. I went along with it because I thought it was for the best, but clearly --"

There was an almighty clatter as the sitting room doors flew open for the second time, and Theodore jumped to his feet as all eyes were drawn towards Alexandria, her small figure filling the entryway. Dark curls swayed as Alexandria looked from her father to her mother. "I heard raised voices, why is everyone being so loud?"

Before anyone could answer, Alexandria spotted Theodore and ran across the room. "Theo! Theo!"

He barely had time to prepare before was being enveloped by four feet plus of excited ten year-old, and as Theodore stroked her hair something niggled at the back of his mind.

He could have sworn his father had locked the doors behind him.

It was of no matter as his parents carried on their conversation in lowered tones; Theodore sat down on the sofa and Alexandria climbed up next to him. "Have you done your recitations today?" he asked. "Are you minding Dottie and father?"

Alexandria nodded. "Yes, of course, but why are you here? I thought you were at school. Are you here for a holiday? Did you bring Blaise home with you? I'd like to see Blaise. I haven't seen him in quite some time, and I had a drawing for you, but I can't find it anymore."

Theodore knew exactly where the drawing had gone, but thought better of telling his sister what it had been used for. "Blaise couldn't come with me this time, but I'm sure he'll be sorry to know he missed you. Shall I tell him you said hello?"

Theodore had to struggle to be heard over the increasingly loud voices coming where his mother and father were still conversing. His father was motioning animatedly, and Theodore bit back a frown. "What did you do today?" he asked, hoping to distract Alexandria.

"I was just talking to --"

Alexandria's answer was drowned out by their father. "Anora, it's not to be tolerated. I will not have any son of mine doing such a thing."

"Papa," Alexandria interrupted; Theodore touched her arm and shook his head. She knew better than to interrupt when their parents were talking.

"Now is not the time, Alexandria," their father said dismissively.

"But, Father," Alexandria persisted.

"Alexandria," said their mother disapprovingly.

"Why won't anyone listen to me?" Alexandria slid off the sofa quicker that Theodore could grab her, and then it happened.

Theodore had never seen an ottoman go flying across the room, but fly it did, smashing into the wall several feet away from where Alexander Nott stood.

There was a moment when Theodore didn't quite understand what had happened since there were no wands out. His was still up his sleeve, and his father's cane was firmly on the ground, and his mother's magic didn't work in this world.

As though someone had drawn a sign, all eyes turned toward Alexandria, who had her hands on her hips and a line of concentration between her eyebrows. Their father got the same line when he was thinking too hard or trying a new spell -- except Squibs didn't send things flying across the room.

Theodore blinked, went to say something, and there was a massive poof of smoke from the fireplace.

The Scoggins Automatic Smoke Eater fan in the ceiling kicked on with a dull whir, allowing the smoke to clear quickly and noiselessly, and with the arrival of their new guest Theodore promptly forgot whatever he'd intended to say.

Alexandria, however, was the first to react.

Smiling toothily, she took hold of her robes and curtseyed. "Hello, Aunt Narcissa."

*

If Theodore considered his father an imposing presence, he considered his aunt almost a deity. Other people walked, his aunt glided. Other people spoke, but Narcissa Malfoy wove spells with her words. She was the most beautiful woman Theodore had ever seen apart from his mother, and Theodore had high hopes that Alexandria would come to emulate their aunt and mother when she grew older. He'd once heard Draco boast of the Veela blood in his veins and it seemed rather plain to Theodore that it came from his mother's side of the family as Theodore found Lucius rather coarse and brutish despite all his finery and pure-blood.

Theodore didn't have a lot of tolerance for Lucius -- few people did -- but even fewer were foolish enough to let that get in the way of keeping on his good side; and Theodore stood and nodded as his aunt removed her pewter travelling cloak and turned for somewhere to leave it.

Theodore was just stepping forward when Biddy appeared from nowhere with a pop, took his aunt's cloak, and then disappeared again.

Theodore remained standing as his aunt crossed the room, with Alexandria on her heels, to make her greetings. If she noticed the ottoman lodged in the wall, she said nothing. "Alexander, how delightful to find you at home. You've been missed greatly at our parties; you really must make a point of trying to attend in the future; and Anora, darling, you look lovely. Is that a new robe?"

Theodore's father flushed slightly as Narcissa kept talking, but Theodore couldn't help but notice how amused his mother appeared.

"I was just coming for my weekly visit with my goddaughter; I had no idea I would find everyone at home." Narcissa gestured towards Alexandria with a wave of her hand. "Speaking of everyone -- Theodore, whatever are you doing at home?"

"Visiting," he answered promptly.

"Visiting. My goodness, Draco doesn't ever visit. I suppose he's simply too busy with his schoolwork and Quidditch." It was obvious that his aunt didn't buy his excuse for a moment, but she didn't press the matter, which what was important.

If Draco were half as intelligent as his mother, Theodore would have been in trouble a long time ago. Not that Theodore considered Draco dense, but he certainly wasn't as sharp as Narcissa. Unless he was and was simply playing at being a spoiled, insolent brat. No, no one was that good an actor. All the same, Theodore would have to pay some attention to Draco when he got back to school -- if he ever got back to school. Perhaps if he could get a moment away he could owl Blaise -- who would quite possibly be frantic -- and maybe even Neville.

He wouldn't count on Blaise to tell Neville he was gone -- unless Blaise thought Neville had something to do with it, which would be disastrous.

Clearly Theodore had to make contact with Blaise before Blaise decided to take matters into his own hands. He began moving slowly towards the open doors of the sitting room, listening detachedly to the conversation between his parents and his aunt, and biting back a smirk at the way Alexandria was attempting to comport herself in the same manner as their aunt.

"Don't you agree, Theodore?" his aunt chimed in, and Theodore froze when his father, aunt and sister, all turned towards him at the same moment that the fan cut off, casting the room into an uncomfortable silence.

"Ah," he began, only to be cut off by a large crack! from the fireplace and the room illuminating with green fire once again.

The fan cut back on, and not one but two people emerged from the fireplace.

“A welcoming party just for us? And mother said we would be imposing,” a familiar male voice declared.

Theodore tamped down on the look of shock he could feel creeping over his face and instead smiled beatifically as a man and woman emerged from the Nott fireplace, clad in oyster-coloured travelling cloaks and almost completely free of dust or soot.

Tall and slender with masses of dark curling hair, appearances were never more deceptive than where the Zabini twins were concerned. At twenty-six, they specialised in seeming well-bred and unobtrusive -- but Theodore had been on holiday with them before. Rene and Mason had an uncanny knack for talking anyone into anything, and then watching the explosive results from far away and without seeming to have done anything wrong -- which was what was always important.

Theodore wasn’t terrible concerned with what brought them to Nott Terrace, but he had an inkling. His mouth turned up at the corners as Oriel Berangèr Mason Zabini crossed the room, and he leaned down so she could kiss his cheek.

"Theodore," Mason said, smelling of earl gray tea and blackcurrants. "You're getting more fit every day. The girls in your year must be beside themselves."

Before Theodore could answer, Alexandria let out a cry of excitement, running across the room and flinging herself into the open arms of Rene Zabini. "Hello, poppet," Rene said, patting her on the head. "My you're getting big -- is it almost time for you to start school yet?"

"Next year," Alexandria proclaimed proudly.

"Oh, well, then we really must prepare you for life at Hogwarts," Rene said conspiratorially. "Slytherins must be on their best behavior at all times."

"At all times," Narcissa chimed in, and Rene and Mason turned towards the people flanking one of the many family portraits. "Hello, children, whatever are you doing here?"

Rene unloosed himself from Alexandria's hold and stood up, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Uncle Alexander, Aunt Anora…. Aunt Narcissa. So many delightful people in one room -- are you having a party?"

"And we weren't invited?" Mason said. “Papa never mentioned anything.”

"That's very unkind of you, you know," said Rene.

"We wouldn't have wanted you to go out of your way," Narcissa said pointedly. “If you were perhaps on your way elsewhere…”

"Nonsense," Mason said brightly, linking her arm with Theodore's. "Since we're here, I think a party would be lovely."

"You never did mention why you were here," said Theodore's father, a trace of bewildered amusement in his voice. "Lisbon's not exactly Dover, now is it?"

"Come now, Uncle, surely you can't disapprove of children visiting home, after all Theodore's here, is he not?"

"Yes, well," Alexander hedged.

"We're delighted to see you," Anora spoke up. "I think Lorenzo and Gemma are terribly lucky to have you come up on such a regular basis, and I'm so pleased that Gemma had you call."

All eyes turned toward Theodore's father as though urging him to try and find fault with such a simple explanation, and when he couldn't, Narcissa nodded her head in satisfaction. "Now was someone saying something about a party?"

"A dinner party," said Theodore's mother thoughtfully. "That is a brilliant idea, Narcissa. Just give me a moment to see to the preparations in the kitchen."

"Don’t put yourself out on our account, Anora," said Narcissa.

"As though I would," Theodore's mother said with a laugh as she left her portrait. "It's not as though I'll be eating it."

Theodore watched his mother depart and it took a moment for him to realise that Mason now had a firm grip on his arm and was looking at him much in the same way a hippogriff looks at a ferret.

Mason Zabini was somewhat shorter than her brothers, but all the Zabinis had the same dark hair, fair copper skin and seductive manner. "How have you been, Theodore? It's been much too long since we've seen you."

"I just saw you this last summer in Firenze," he said pointedly as Mason smiled and stroked his bicep in a manner that made his stomach do a full turn. Thank Mordred Blaise didn't act this way on a daily basis or Theodore would've been done for ages ago.

"Yes, but there were all those other people, and Blaise insisted on monopolising your time so. He really does have a problem with sharing -- but now he's not here, so I can have you to myself."

Theodore swallowed as Mason smirked at him expectantly. A glance in the corner found his father deep in discussion with his aunt, a firm crease dividing his eyebrows, and he jumped slightly when Mason pinched him on the arm. "There's no place to hide now," she said, and Theodore was preparing an answer when Rene appeared before them, thankfully sans Alexandria.

"Oriel Berangèr Mason, cease and desist," Rene said with a laugh.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," Mason said loosing her hold slightly.

"This one is too young for you."

"Yes," Mason admitted, "but that won't always be the case, now will it?"

"Yes, but do you really want to fight Blaise for him -- especially after we've come all this way at his behest?" Rene's voice dropped towards the end of his question, and Theodore bit the inside of his cheek hopefully.

Mason looked at Theodore long and hard for a moment. "I would say yes, but a sulking Blaise is such an unpleasant idea that perhaps not."

Theodore's brain swam with this bit of information. If everyone thought he and Blaise were together, there was no reason to make them think otherwise. "Blaise sent you?" he asked.

"Do you think we left Lisbon because we missed the appalling weather?" Rene asked.

Theodore smirked, and the twins nodded imperceptibly.

In his periphery, Theodore watched Alexandria converse with their father and aunt, and a second later his mother reappeared in the family portrait, with a three year-old Alexandria in tow.

"Dinner is ready," Anora said.

"Shall we?" Alexander motioned towards the open doors.

"Of course," Narcissa nodded her head slightly. "Only, Anora, one thing before we adjourn -- why ever is the ottoman lodged in the wall?"

Theodore's mother didn't miss a beat. "We’re redecorating."

*

Theodore smoothed the napkin in his lap as he waited for the potatoes to finish spooning themselves onto his place. “That’s quite enough,” he said, picking up his fork as the potatoes moved onto Mason, who was sitting next to him. Across the table, Rene took another sip of his wine and whispered something into Alexandria’s ear. She giggled quietly as the bowl of peas raced past again looking for a taker.

“How goes the study of Ancient Portuguese Arithmancy, Rene?” Alexander Nott asked from the head of the table. “Is it true that the Portuguese once knew how to turn hay into gold and some over-zealous dwarf hexed the spell?”

Keeping one eye on his sister and the other on his father, Theodore marveled at how calm Alexander Nott appeared in front of company considering how vexed he had been earlier. Theodore found himself eating more than he wanted to keep from having to converse at all. His mind was far too occupied with thoughts of Neville and Blaise and Alexandria to focus, but his father seemed quite at ease.

“Something like that, uncle,” said Rene, setting down his goblet. “He didn’t actually hex it – he encoded it with a rather ingenious Crypto charm. You have to guess his name before you can get the spell.”

“Well, I don’t see anything particularly difficult about that.”

“It’s more complex than it seems,” said Rene.

“I’m sure Rene is very good at what he does,” Narcissa spoke up from the other end of the table.

“I don’t get it either, Uncle,” Mason said, “but they pay him a lot, so who am I to argue?”

Theodore chewed quietly as Rene explained the process of breaking equations using ancient arithmantic cryptography.

Theodore’s mother had once told him there were three sorts of wizards in the world -- those who did their magic by incantation or spell and those who did their magic by hand or wand. The majority of wizarding kind fell into the first two categories, but apparently there was a third classification -- those wizards who could do magic by thought alone.

Theodore had little experience with the latter class. Of course there were common, every day magics that everyone could do: Accio, Flooing, but Theodore had never come across a wizard who could do, say, an Unforgivable without the aid of a wand. He felt rather strongly about not wanting to see such a skill firsthand either.

And while these classifications were all well and good, Theodore began to suspect that there was a fourth class of wizard –- the sort of who completed their magic merely by suggestion alone... but as long as no one became alarmed by the bowl of peas doing laps around the tabletop, Theodore could dwell later.

The other dishes avoided the peas and the container never seemed intent on crashing into a guest, so Theodore let them go.

It was obvious to him that Alexandria had something to do with their constant locomotion, considering the way that she continually attempted not to look at the porcelain container whizzing by -- but Theodore suspected that much like their father, he was far too relieved with her obvious displays of magical ability to chide her for such juvenile, albeit quite refreshing, behaviour.

His sister was not a Squib after all -– but, in fact, a late bloomer. Like Neville.

It was the sort of news that changed many things -– and at the same time, changed nothing at all. There was still the matter of the impending war and the impossibility of sending Alexandria anyplace where she would be in harm’s way. Regardless of whatever falling out Theodore was having with their father, Alexandria would have to be their primary concern. Now more than ever.

Neither Mason nor Rene had been privy to the Nott concerns regarding Alexandria and chattered on with no regard for the wonder of the racing peas. It was their aunt who seemed the most unimpressed, as though she had never doubted Alexandria at all, and from her place at the other end of the table, Narcissa made polite conversation.

“Alexandria Anora Aglaia, young ladies of breeding do not race peas around the dinner table.” The voice of his mother roused Theodore from his contemplation, and he sat up straighter when he realised his mother had stepped into the still-life of fruit that hung on the wall at the head of the dining room.

“Yes, Mama,” said Alexandria, colouring slightly as the peas found their way back to the centre of the table.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure she meant nothing by it, Anora.”

“I’m sure she didn’t either,” Theodore’s mother said, “but that is no reason for her to do so when there is company present.”

“I hardly think we’re company.” Narcissa pushed back slightly from the marble dinner table that had been reduced to an intimate setting for six, and casually rested her arm on the table.

“It’s a matter of decorum, Narcissa, you know that as well as anyone. Speaking of which, Alexander, there’s something I must speak to you about, if you please.”

Alexander Nott rapped at his chair with this cane, and it turned 180 degrees so he could address his wife. “Surely this can wait until after our guests have left, Anora?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Very well.” Theodore watched intently as his father got to his feet and left, the sound of his cane tapping against the parquet flooring growing fainter until Theodore could no longer hear it.

He started when Mason patted him on the arm. “You can stop grinding your teeth now, I believe he’s gone.”

Theodore suppressed the urge to rub his jaw, and instead looked around to find four sets of eyes studying him intently. “I wasn’t grinding my teeth,” he said.

“Of course not,” his aunt said soothingly. “I’m sure it was simply stress from travelling.”

Theodore’s eyebrow rose slightly at his aunt’s words, but she smiled enigmatically and rested her chin in the palm of her hand as though considering something rather amusing.

Like him.

Theodore could feel everyone’s eyes boring into his skull, and thanked Mordred that no one practised Occlumency. At least not to the best of his knowledge

“Speaking of travelling,” Rene said, pushing his plate of food aside. “I had the damndest thing happen to me this evening. I had a date with this fabulous Portuguese woman, Lucia, good breeding, legs up to here -- Mother would be beside herself.”

“She would be beside herself with horror,” Mason interrupted.

“As I was saying, Oriel,” Rene continued. “I was all set to meet her for drinks, but when I threw Floo powder in the fireplace, my baby brother’s face appeared. Shocked the stuffing out of me. I can tell you that.”

“Yes, he seemed quite concerned about something or other,” Mason interrupted again. “He kept snapping that ‘he’ was gone and we had to find him because – well never mind why – but he must be found at once, because Blaise was ‘worried’.”

“Blaise was worried,” Rene repeated. “We’re talking about our brother. The one who listened when we told him jumping off the roof holding a broom was the best way to learn how to fly, broke his collarbone, and didn’t think anything of it.”

“When Blaise worries --”

“We worry.”

“Yes, well, it would appear that all that worrying was for naught.” Narcissa’s laugh was throaty and deep, and when Theodore glanced at his aunt he found her not looking at him – but at Alexandria.

“You weren’t worried, were you?” he asked his sister. “You should never worry about me. I can take care of myself; I assure you.”

“There was quite a lot of yelling going on.” Alexandria didn’t look up from pushing her carrots around her plate. “I thought it might be best if Aunt Narcissa helped.”

Theodore marveled at his sister as she tapped her plate and her carrots began spinning in a circle. He’d spent most of his life looking after Alexandria, and now, here she was, doing magic and sending their aunt to protect him.

It was very Ravenclaw of her.

“However did you get in touch with Aunt Narcissa?” Theodore asked suddenly, looking from his sister to his aunt curiously.

“I don’t think we need to explore that just at this moment, do you?” Narcissa spoke up before Alexandria could answer, and Theodore frowned. “I think a better question would be, how are we getting you back to school?”

Theodore rubbed his head, but didn’t answer. He couldn’t very well just disappear from the dinner table without seeing his father -– that would be disastrous.

“I think we can help with that.” Theodore looked over at Mason when she spoke.

“I can’t apparate yet,” he pointed out. “I mean theoretically I could but -–“

“We’d prefer not to have you spread out from Devon to Scotland if it’s all the same to you,” said Rene. “We were thinking of something else.”

Theodore glanced at the table as Mason set down what looked to be a round piece of -- “Moss?”

Mason laughed. “Look harder.”

Upon a second glance, Theodore realised the moss was actually a ring of some sort that had aged poorly. It looked quite a bit like a coin, but it wasn’t; and it had a six-pointed star on its face.

“I think the train costs a bit more than a Galleon, darling,” Narcissa said, peering across the table.

“It’s not a Galleon,” Rene said. “It just looks like one. It’s a ring with the Seal of Solomon. It’s quite amusing how the Muggles still think Solomon’s money and number of wives were a normal bit of history. Especially considering that he used the Seal to banish Lilith. Typical of them, really, to ignore the obvious signs of wizardry -- I digress. We picked it up during that holiday to in our third year. Father spelled it for us in our fifth year to use when claustrophobia overtook us.”

Picking up the ring, Theodore rubbed at the star with his thumb. It was cold and hard; it must’ve have an Obscuro of some sort on it to make it look like moss. Theodore had to ask the obvious question. “Why doesn’t Blaise have this? Does he even know it exists?”

“One never tells family anything,” said Rene.

“It's better that way,” Mason agreed. “Ignorance is bliss, harmony and not being disinherited.”

“Actually, we were going to give it to him –- but he annoyed me the day before he was to leave for Hogwarts so I never bothered. It’s yours now -– do with it as you wish.”

Theodore rolled the ring back and forth between his fingers. “How does it work?”

“You twist it three times around your index finger, counter-clockwise, and tell it where you want to go –- in French.”

“Puis je l'ai quand j'allerai a l'ecole?" Alexandria exclaimed.

Theodore considered her request for a moment -– giving Alexandria a ring of her own had some merit -– but this was not something to be used lightly. He would have to see.

"Peut-etre, nous devrons voir," he said.

“We shall see what?” Theodore started when his mother’s voice interrupted his exchange with Alexandria.

“We were discussing taking a joint holiday,” his aunt said helpfully, but his mother, apparently, wasn’t buying it.

“Of course you were,” Anora said with a knowing smirk. “Theodore, your father would like to see you in his study, if you please.”

“Of course, Mother.”

Theodore tried to ignore the heaviness in the pit of his stomach and the rubbery sensation in his knees, but he almost choked on his own tongue when Mason pushed her goblet towards him as he got to his feet.

“The condemned should always have a last drink,” she said. “And don’t forget the ring, just in case.”

As if sensing something were seriously amiss, Alexandria stood as well. “I’ll come too,” she said.”

“Not this time,” Theodore said, motioning for her to take her seat.

“But I can help,” she insisted, looking as serious as anyone twice her age.

“There’s nothing wrong for you to help me with,” Theodore said.. “If you really want to do something for me -- no more flying ottomans. Understood?”

Alexandria gave him a defiant look, but Theodore’s face remained impassive.

“Understood,” she said.

*

The Seal of Solomon hung heavily in the pocket of Theodore’s trousers as he stood before his father’s desk, digging his fingers into the palm of his hand to keep from fidgeting. His eyes kept darting between the books, who were murmuring amongst themselves, and the great assortment of portraits on the walls. Several portraits were empty and several more were sleeping, except for that of Theodore’s great-great-grandfather Eudoros, who was still swinging his ancient fists at an imaginary companion he’d been fighting for the last 218 years.

The heat from the fireplace behind the desk only seemed to emphasize how cold the rest of the room was, and outside the French windows, Theodore caught sight of the family Augury, Brunhilde, ruffling her wings before taking flight.

The potions brewing and popping at the workstation across the room, which Theodore had never seen his father use, played in counterpoint to the wheezing and creaking of his father’s chair as he shifted his weight.

The longer his father made him the wait, the more anxious Theodore became -– which was obviously the point. Theodore took a deliberate step back when his father set his cane down on his desk with a clatter and a rain of sparks.

The look on his father’s face was ominous when he looked up, and Theodore set his shoulders and stood up even straighter than normal. His wand was up his sleeve, and he discreetly slipped his right hand into his pocket and felt for the ring.

“Take your hand out your pocket, boy, there will be no dueling today,” his father said pointedly, leaning far back in his chair. He seemed dangerously close to the fire, and Theodore wondered briefly if he was about to go up in flames.

Blinking once, Theodore removed his hand with the ring half-on and half-off his finger. He curled his hand carefully so as not to disturb the ring or alert his father to its presence.

“Do you know the story of your great-uncle Desmond or my second half-cousin Claire?” Theodore’s father asked suddenly.

“No, sir.”

The chair snapped forward, propelling his father almost across the desk, and Theodore’s fist tightened around the ring immediately. “And with good reason!” Alexander Nott snapped. “It’s because there were Erased from the family books for ‘gross relations with unsavoury characters’. Do you know what I mean by ‘unsavoury characters’?”

Theodore had a good idea, but it seemed as though his father was on a roll, and he thought it prudent not to interrupt.

“I mean Gryffindors, boy! People opposing the Dark Lord or Grindelwald! Do you know what happens when people are Erased? They are never spoken of again; they’re Obliviated from memory. They cease to exist -– Theodore, do you want that? Do you have any idea how heart-broken your sister would be if -–“

“Alexander!” Theodore mother’s voice scolded from somewhere not in Thoedore’s line of sight, and his father’s face fell. “This is not what we discussed.”

“But, Anora,” Alexander began.

“You are trying my patience, Alexander.”

Theodore’s father cleared his throat and resettled himself in his chair. Opening a drawer on his right, he removed a slim silver box about the size of a pack of Exploding Snap cards, with etchings on the lid, and set it on the desk blotter.

Theodore watched as his father muttered under his breath and pink swirl of smoke began wafting away from the box.

The top popped open suddenly, showing the box to be empty, except that Theodore’s father put his whole hand in the box, and then his arm, leaning forward until his entire forearm seemed swallowed by the desk. Theodore watched in fascination, almost forgetting to keep a decent grip on his ring.

When his father pulled his arm out of the box, he had a small assortment of baubles which Theodore did his best not to stare at. His father set three items of the blotter, dropped the rest back into the box, and muttered something else under his breath. The lid snapped closed, and the box disappeared.

Theodore tensed as his father tapped his cane with his hand, and then spoke. “I do not approve of what you are doing, Theodore. I want to state that very clearly. I think it’s tremendously bloody-minded, very unbecoming a Slytherin, and I think it shall only end badly -–“

A painting behind Theodore cleared its throat, and his father paused.

“Having said that, however,” he continued onward. “You are my son, and it’s my duty to protect you, especially in times such as these. Therefore, these Digestible Portkeys are for you – I know your feelings on portkeys, but there are some things that cannot, or should not, be helped.”

Theodore looked at a small flickering, blue bag his father pushed across the desk; it was filled with grey stones.

“These are keyed to take you to the family home in Nice, do not lose them. Also they are not to be confused with these --” This time his father pushed a small, glittering green bag filled with white stones towards him. “These are to bring you home; should anything untoward occur at Hogwarts, you are to come home immediately.”

“Can I -–“

“I would prefer if you not bring any unsavory characters home with you,” his father said as Theodore slipped the bags of stones into his left pocket. “However, should it prove unavoidable –- then, so be it.”

Theodore thought it best not to tell his father that Neville had already been to Nott Terrace on more than one occasion. Discretion was the better part of not being Erased, and Theodore clenched the ring in his hand as his father pushed back from his chair and got to his feet.

Alexander Nott’s cane tap-tap-tapped as he hobbled around the desk and closed the gap between them, and Theodore stood rigidly as his father hung his cane on his arm and considered him with a frown.

“Your mother seems to think that you know what you are doing,” Alexander said pulling a long chain out of his pocket and looping it first over his head and then over Theodore’s. “So I will take her at her word for now. However, if this boy should prove to be a problem, I will take matters into my own hands -- are we clear, Theodore?”

Theodore’s mouth went dry at the thought of what his father might do to Neville, and he simply nodded.

“Right then,” his father said holding up a tiny silver hourglass. “I suppose we must get you back to school -- have you ever heard of a Time Turner, my boy?”

“No,” Theodore said hesitantly.

“Fascinating tool,” his father said flipping the hourglass once, twice. “It sends you back in time to re-experience events that have already occurred, so you can change the outcome. Not to be used to change the outcome of the Quidditch match of course –- but with any luck I can get out of this blasted dinner party. Not terribly good for those with vertigo though, I must say.”

Theodore watched in amazement as outside his father’s window, Brunhilde flew backwards to the tree, and indoors the portraits on the wall blurred through their naps and leavings. The fire grew and died, but when Theodore opened his mouth to bid his mother farewell, he found himself being sucked back into a black hole of nothingness.

The only thing that was worse than travelling by portkey, once, was doing it twice in the same day.

*

Theodore’s stomach jerked and rolled with the force of being pulled back into reality; he was slightly discombobulated for several seconds and he kept his eyes closed and stamped his foot to make certain he was indeed on firm, stone, ground. He took another moment to make certain that the roast and potatoes weren’t about to make another appearance, but his eyes flew open and he jerked his head to the side smartly as the sting of Blaise’s slap radiated through his cheek. “What did you do that for?” he asked rubbing his jaw indignantly.

“You’ve been off in the Gardens of Babylon for almost two minutes; I was getting concerned. I know I withheld the letter, but really, that’s no reason to channel our dear Draco. Do you want it or not?”

Theodore looked down at the envelope in Blaise’s hand with the smeared wax ‘N’ and the hastily scrawled address. “You know, I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to take that,” he said, letting his hand fall from his jaw.

Blaise stared. “This is a letter from your sister that you don’t want?”

“Yes.”

“Are you ill?”

“No, but I’ve got something that you want.”

Blaise eyes narrowed. “Are you having me on, Theodore Nott?”

Theodore chuckled as he took the folded bit of paper and ripped it up under Blaise’s incredulous stare. “Not only have I got something you want,” he said letting the bits of paper float to the floor between them. “But your brother and sister have given me the most delightful gift –- which I might share with you, if you’re nice to me.”

By now Blaise was clearly confused, but he followed as Theodore took his wrist and tugged him towards the door. “I am never nice. I do not associate with nice people –- what an appalling word -- they are a menace, and whatever is wrong with your head that you think you’ve seen Mason and Rene?”

“I don’t think I have -- I know I have,” Theodore said. “Now are you going to walk me to the Greenhouses so I can see Neville and tell you all about this portkey or are you going to sulk?”

Blaise stalled at the door, pulling his hand free from Theodore’s grasp. “What portkey? You abhorr travelling by portkey.”

Theodore smirked and showed Blaise the ring on his finger. “The one your brother and sister gave to me to get me out my house after my father found out about Neville. Also, it turns out that Alexandria has just as many powers as you and I.”

“You’re completely and utterly cracked.” Blaise shook his head, all disbelief, and he responded belatedly when Theodore snogged him lightly on the mouth.

“That’s for sending the twins to save me,” said Theodore.

“I wouldn’t send them to save a crup stuck in a tree,” Blaise protested.

Theodore kissed Blaise on the cheek. “And that’s from Alexandria -– who apparently isn’t a Squib at all. Now, come on, we’ve got a lot to discuss. Have you ever heard of something called a Time Turner?”

“I’m not taking you to see That Person, I’m taking you to see Madam Pomfrey,” Blaise insisted.

“Well, if I’m stuck in the infirmary we can’t take the portkey for a test, remember that.”

Blaise sighed. “That’s blackmail.”

“Of course it is –- what do you take me for?”

“Am I supposed to answer that?”

“No.”

“Right –- just checking. To the ends of the earth it is.” Blaise rolled his eyes.

“Must you be so melodramatic?”

“Have you met my family?”

“No, I think the question is have you met my family?”

-end-

Author's Notes:

+ Title is bastardised from The Streets A Grand Don't Come for Free -- I'm not a Mike Skinner fan, but I'm constantly being told that his songs remind people of me. I think I'm insulted -- but really I just laugh.

+ The Beauregaurde Blitz is named for Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

+ The three kinds of wizards thing I picked up watching Merlin on Sci-Fi. I only watched 15 minutes, but this stuck with me.

+ French translation provided by

serialkarma. Oriel = Old French ‘Angel of Destiny’; Berangèr = French, courage of a bear

+ Casting provided here

+ My girl,

ethrosdemon thought up using the Seal of Solomon as a portkey, because she is so fucking smart it makes my teeth hurt. Also, she trademarked being Erased. Show her love.

+ Beat into shape by the ever elusive, but always there in a pinch

ethrosdemon and the madness known as

lalejandra.

serialkarma is still suffering from a bad case of RL.