⌘Z (nott) wrote in afic, @ 2011-07-19 19:17:00 |
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When Edmund Nott's body was returned from the Ministry after the Battle of Hogwarts, Theodore's first reaction had been to look at it. Just look. His father, who'd always seemed so severe, so strong, looked almost vulnerable laid out on a plain white sheet. Almost like he was sleeping.
He had touched his father gently, then, a soft touch reserved for death; he'd never have dared in life -- Edmund was not the sort of man who appreciated gentleness in any form, particularly not from his son -- but now it seemed to matter a great deal.
Even at eighteen, Theodore's hand slipped easily into his father's palm, and it hurt, somewhere behind his sternum, a pressing, stifling weight that he couldn't breathe against. He'd known better than to want this in life, but knowing didn't stop the desire, not really; it just pushed it deep down, where it could take root and struggle into something more. Something he'd never accepted until this moment, when he held his father's dead hand. A small burn at the corner of his eyes meant it was time to pull away, and he let one finger trail down the ugly dark mark on Edmund's forearm.
He would never forget what really took his father away.
Edmund Nott was interred in the family mausoleum in Suffolk, beside his first wife. Theodore visited his mother at her grave, far from Suffolk, that evening.
The reception was not to take place until months later, when it seemed more appropriate. May was full of chaos, full of repairs and reparations. Full of people trying to make sense of what happened. June felt very much the same. Theodore probably wouldn't have made preparations for July at all, if family members hadn't started asking questions, and even then he was reticent. He didn't want to stand around and talk about his father. He wanted to forget.
So, in typical pureblood fashion, he found himself greeting guests as they entered the house. And then he found himself escaping to a corner with a glass of wine before he went completely insane.