theodore nott is healing everyone but himself (ex_masker481) wrote in uprisingrpg, @ 2010-08-07 15:19:00 |
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Entry tags: | theodore nott |
Who: the Notts (Theodore and Tewdric)
What: family dinner.
When: Saturday night, 7 o'clock sharp
Where: Nott Manor
Warnings: TBA
Status: Incomplete
There was an unspoken agreement between Theodore and his father that they never actually spent the anniversary of Theodore's mother's death together. Whether it was because Theodore reminded his father too much of her on that day, or because they simply chose to memorialize and grieve her differently, it had never quite worked out. Theodore never took the day off from work either, or from school in past years; breaking his routine would have seemed wrong. He also never had too much alcohol: those were the things he didn't do. What he actually did changed every year, though they were often very similar.
This year, he'd woken early and had some time to himself to write and think, before attending to Bomba in the morning; then he'd gone to work. He'd had a few drinks to her honor with Blaise over dinner, even though that had hardly been the subject of the dinner itself. Then he'd spent the evening quietly, letting the wine leave his system, watching a candle burn down, just letting his mind wander nostalgically. At some point, he thought, he should really get a pensieve... in case the memories ever became less clear. But for now, they were still sharp in his mind, carefully preserved.
It was good to have that out of the way before going to see his father, even returning to the family home. Not that Theodore was the type to fall apart, but he still preferred to be as completely contained and controlled as possible. It was a bit like walking back into the past: pulling out his sober dinner robes to dress properly, making sure his appearance was to his father's standards. He smiled at himself briefly in the mirror before composing his expression, too.
Then he Flooed to his childhood home in Wales, carefully brushing off every tiny speck of soot from his robes as he stepped out. It was precisely one minute to seven.
"Father," he said with a small smile, holding his head higher than he did on a regular basis; a tiny sign of pride. "You've been well, I hope, since you wrote last."