WHO: Hugo and Theodore Nott WHAT: The elephant in the room. WHEN: 7th April WHERE: Tinworth WARNINGS: Violence, bad parenting.
The first time that Hugo had approached the subject, he assumed that the problem was that he approached it too lightly.
Over breakfast; “I think you and I need to discuss your future after this summer, and when you'll take the Mark.”
Theodore’s response was non-verbal disinterest, and he just put his headphones on and started watching something on that strange little screen that he seemed to like now. Hugo sighed, youths, and thought little of it. It was almost time to check his injury, and so he left Theodore to his own company.
The second time was a far more organic lead into the conversation. A discussion about school, with a little more participation from Theodore, included a casual reference to his hatred for Mudbloods. Heartened by this, Hugo took the plunge as though it were something entirely natural to talk about.
“Well, our pursuit of The Cause will hopefully mean that this sympathy for Mudbloods will cease in time.” Hugo looked proud, they were doing an important job and he didn't doubt his son’s support for a moment.
Until, that is, it looked like Theodore hesitated.
“Suppose so,” he was non-committal at best.
“Do you not believe in The Cause?” Hugo pressed, although it was only gently.
“Of course I do,” his son replied firmly, and Hugo realised that he must have assumed any hesitance on his son’s part. Hugo smiled proudly, and started to detail his plans to ramp up Theodore’s duelling training in preparation for his own test before taking the Mark.
The third time, after days of circling the subject, was the time that Hugo chose to properly confront the idea.
“I shall be inviting the Dark Lord to inspect you upon your return this summer,” Hugo announced at the penultimate breakfast of the Easter break. “I'm sure he'll find you to be a willing candidate, and I know you'll master whatever test is given of you. Dear Theodora was awfully inventive with hers, went far above and beyond.”
Theodore practically choked on his eggs in response, and once the coughing had subsided he sat up a little straighter. Steeling himself for something.
“Father,” he started.
“Hmm?”
“What if I don't want to fight?”
Dumbfounded, Hugo gaped at him.
“Because,” Theodore ploughed on. “It's not that I don't believe in your — our cause, it's that I don't believe in fighting it. I like my life, and Mudbloods can rot but I don't see the point in killing them when we've marginalised them enough that they'll get the message. Muggle-lovers are a dying breed already.”
His son was a coward, his son was lazy, his son didn't care. All of the assumptions that Hugo had thought would never apply to Theodore seemed to be true. Silently and slowly, as he heard Theodore continue talking about how he didn't need to prove his superiority, Hugo raised his wand.
Theodore yelled out as ropes suddenly bound him to the chair. His father stood, one hand clutching at the table to steady himself and ignoring the shooting pain that now came with such a sudden movement.
“You will be taking the Dark Mark this summer, and it will be a privilege to fight alongside your father. It will be a privilege for either of us to give our lives to the service of the Dark Lord.” Hugo instructed.
Anger and fear mingled on Theodore’s face. “You're already dying, old man,” he spat the words out across the table. “You can't make me do what I don't want to.”
Of course, there were ways. Perhaps putting his own son under the Imperius curse was too far, an ironic twist given the fact that Hugo himself had been using that very spell to protest his innocence. But no — first the boy had to learn to not be such a disappointment. From that he'd realise the error of his ways, and come to the decision himself.
But pain could be an effective teacher. Hugo raised his wand again.