The high-security ward at St. Mungo’s was the second-most depressing place in the Wizarding world, after Azkaban itself. Theodore took a deep breath before knocking on the intimidating door. A gruff voice on the other side demanded that he identify himself and his business. “Theodore Nott, here to see Roderick Nott,” Theodore replied, putting as much condescension in his voice as he could manage.
The voice was silent for a minute before the door swung open. The guard on the other side- who looked like he was at least half-troll- told Theodore to go down the hall to the third door on the right, “and be quick about it.” Theodore scowled at him as he walked past. My father is dying, and you’re telling me to ‘be quick about it.’ If I weren’t in a hurry, you hulking half-blood, I would hex you so badly your own mother wouldn’t recognize you. It was an empty threat of course; Theodore wasn’t stupid enough to hex an Azkaban guard when at least a dozen more were lurking in the rooms on either side of him. Hell, he wasn’t stupid enough to hex an Azkaban guard, period- no matter how much he wanted to. He’d leave things like that to dolts like Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe.
The third door on the right had another guard in front of it, just as troll-like as the first one. Theodore gave him his name and business before he asked, and the guard let him in. Theodore pushed a stray piece of stringy brown hair behind his ear as he entered. It didn’t matter very much now, he supposed, but he couldn’t bear the idea of not looking presentable in front of his father.
Roderick Nott was lying in the bed with his eyes closed. His skin was unnaturally pale, to the point that he looked almost blue, and his hands were twitching. Theodore stood beside the bed, unsure of what to do next. “Father?” he whispered. “It’s me.”
“Theo…” Roderick’s eyes slowly opened to look at his son. “It’s good…to see you.” His voice was weak, so unlike the commanding tones Theodore was used to hearing.
“Look at him, Theodore! Take a good look! This is what happens to a man who lets someone else control his life! If this ever happens to you, Theo, you will no longer be my son. Remember that!”
Theodore shook his head to clear it. Not now… The memories had faded away several days ago; this was not a good time for them to be coming back. “It’s good to see you too, Father,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrible.” Roderick managed a weak smile. “At least…at least it will be over soon.”
“Don’t say that, Father.” Theodore took Roderick’s shaking right hand. “The Healers will get this figured out, and you’ll be fine. Don’t…”
“If you say ‘don’t worry,’ I’ll disown you,” Roderick whispered, albeit harshly. “I’m dying, Theo. There’s nothing the Healers can do. I’ve been poisoned.”
“What?” Theodore could feel cold anger rising inside him. He forced it back down. “How can you be sure?”
“I’m sure. Theo…I’ve lost control. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes again. Theodore leaned in closer and squeezed his father’s hand tighter.
“Father? Father, don’t go. Not yet. Please, stay with me,” he pleaded, fighting the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes. “Father?”
Roderick would not open his eyes again, but he spoke; quietly and urgently. “Get out of this mess, Theo. Get out of it before you have no control left. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Father,” Theodore said obediently, as he had so many times in the past. He didn’t have to ask to which mess Roderick was referring; only one tangled, complicated mess had threatened the Notts’ control over their own lives.
“Go to your uncle Xavier. He can protect you. And Theo…”
“Yes, Father?”
“I love you.” Roderick let out one last breath, and then he was still. Theodore swallowed his tears and strode out of the room, keeping his head high.
“He’s dead,” Theodore told the guard outside. He swept past the troll-like man without waiting for a reaction. He had to get as far away from St. Mungo’s as fast as he could before the emotions he was hiding started to get the better of him.
“Don’t you dare start crying, Theodore. Notts never cry in front of anyone. Never.”
Shut up, Theodore told his uncooperative mind. Just shut up. He hurried down the corridors of St. Mungo’s, ignoring the Healers he bumped into on his way.
Draco Malfoy was waiting in the alleyway outside of St. Mungo’s. Theodore froze when he saw him. It was too late to pretend that he didn’t see him; the two boys had already locked eyes. Theodore forced himself to walk towards Draco, hating that self-satisfied face with its perpetual sneer and features that had all the Slytherin girls (and a few of the boys) falling over him, with every step. “What can I do for you, Draco?” Theodore asked, keeping his tone cordial and neutral.
“I heard about your father. Pity,” Draco said, though his voice made it clear that he thought it was no great pity at all. “Azkaban can be very…dangerous to one’s health, especially at his…advanced age.”
Theodore ignored the jab at his father’s age; he’d heard plenty of them, especially when his mother was alive. “Speaking of Azkaban, Draco, how’s your father doing?”
“Fine,” Draco said through gritted teeth. It was obvious that Draco didn’t want to be there; it hadn’t been his idea, Theodore was sure of it. And Draco only took order from one man lately.
“So, what does Voldemort want with me?” Theodore asked, glancing around to make sure there were no wizards nearby to overhear.
Draco winced when Theodore said the Dark Lord’s name; it was barely noticeable, but Theodore picked up on it. His father had winced the same way any time Voldemort’s name had been mentioned. It was a disgusting, servile reaction, and Theodore had long ago promised himself that he would never be afraid to speak the name.
“He wants to know - now that Roderick is dead- if you’re still loyal to him. Your father was one of his most faithful servants, you know, and he needs…assurance that you will follow in his footsteps.”
Assurance. Theodore knew exactly what sort of assurance Voldemort would want from him: absolute servitude, kissing the hem of that monster’s robes and cringing at the sound of his voice. He’d seen it often enough in the look on his father’s face after Roderick returned from a meeting. Theodore could feel the bile building in the back of his throat as he tried to envision himself groveling before the feet of his father’s “master.” He wanted to tell Malfoy to go jinx himself, but that would do nothing but provoke him and his allies. And he could not afford to do that. With his father gone, any protection he had as the son of an influential, even when imprisoned, Death Eater was gone.
“Tell Voldemort he’ll have his assurance tomorrow. I have to see to my father’s affairs.”
Draco stepped forward so that he was only a few centimetres away from Theodore’s face. “I’d watch myself if I were you, Theo. You’re nothing, only a minor supporter with no real influence. I, on the other hand…” As a way of completing his sentence, Draco rolled up his sleeve and covertly displayed the black brand on his arm. Theodore tried to hide his look of disgust.
“You’d better get one of these soon, or the Dark Lord might start thinking you’re a liability. After all, we don’t know how much your father told you…” He pushed his way past Theodore with his usual arrogance, tossing back one last comment over his shoulder. “If you don’t contact us after you’ve handled those pressing ‘affairs,’ things could go very badly for you.”
Theodore made his way home in a furious haze, wrestling with the feelings of disgust, grief, and anger that were close to breaking through his calm exterior. He’d been tempted to challenge that insufferable prick to a duel right there and just end it; an uncharacteristic temptation. Theodore had never been particularly quick to anger, but his emotions were understandably on edge. He had to be careful, especially with wizards like Draco Malfoy trying to take advantage of his weaknesses.
The encounter with Draco had only confirmed what Roderick Nott had told him; Theodore was not in as much control of his own life as he wanted to be. In fact, his life was very quickly careening out of control, and if Theo didn’t do something very soon he would have no more power over his own destiny than his father had. He could not let that happen. Voldemort would have his assurance, all right- assurance that any power he’d had over Theodore had died with Roderick.
Theodore forced the door to the Nott mansion open with a flick of his wand. As the slam of the door faded away, Theodore could hear the sound of house elves scurrying away from the sound. He shuddered. Theodore supposed it was irrational, but he couldn’t bear the idea of house elves; they reminded him too much of Death Eaters.
There were very few things in the Nott mansion that had any real value to Theodore. Most of it was just junk inherited from various relatives over the years. Theodore took two photographs from the walls on his way up to his room, but left most of the elaborate portraits and ugly vases where they were. There wouldn’t be room for them at Xavier’s house anyways.
Theodore’s room was organized in a disorganized sort of way. It was the only room entirely untouched by elf hands. When he was eight years old, still emotionally recovering from the death of his mother, he’d thrown a very heavy book at the house elf that was cleaning his room. From that day forward his father had forbidden the house elves from entering his room, so that Theodore would learn to appreciate having someone clean up for him. The plan had backfired; Theodore realized that he liked not having anyone else touching his things.
Heavy tapestries depicting scenes from Wizarding history in vivid shades of reds and blues hung on the walls, making what would have been a spacious room seem enclosed and secure. Theodore scanned them before choosing his favorite”a dramatic rendition of Salazar Slytherin’s departure from Hogwarts School”and removing it from the wall. He waved his wand and silently willed his trunk to come out from under his bed. The tapestry was the first thing to go in, followed by his books for Hogwarts (along with a few for personal reading) and an assortment of robes. The two photographs he’d taken from downstairs were placed carefully on top.
There was one more thing he needed to get. Enchanting his trunk to follow him, Theodore left his room and locked the door behind him. He felt no regret at leaving the mansion behind, although he did wish he had room in his trunk for a few more books. He directed the trunk towards the door, and shouted at the unseen but ever-present house elves that no one was to be let in until he returned. If he returned.
Roderick Nott’s private study was a small and insignificant room near the entry hall. Theodore hesitated before entering- he hadn’t been in there since his father had been sent to Azkaban, and even then, he never went in without his father’s permission. Father’s dead, he reminded himself. I’m the master of the house now, and I can go wherever I wish. He pushed the door open. It smelled clean, the house elves must have been there recently.
Theodore reached under his father’s desk and felt for the slightly raised bump that was the trigger to the secret drawer. Any of his father’s friends would have laughed at this Muggle tactic, which was exactly the reason Roderick used it.
“They’re blind to anything they don’t respect. It’s fine to hate, Theo”I expect you to”but never lose respect for the people you hate. That’s when you lose all control of your hatred.”
The drawer sprang open and Theodore removed its contents. He wouldn’t trust his trunk with this; he tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes. The door to Roderick’s study clicked shut behind him as Theodore walked for the last time across the entry hall. He couldn’t remember a time when the hall had been this quiet; it seemed that there was always someone at the mansion, a friend or a business associate of his father’s.
“Please, Mr. Nott, give me another chance. Just another few days, and I’ll have it for you. That’s all I need, just another…few…days.”
“Silence, you pathetic little worm.”
Theodore put his hands over his ears, as if that could somehow block out the memories. They seemed to have a way of popping up just when he couldn’t deal with any more stress in his life. I’ll deal with this later. Just keep in control long enough to get to Uncle Xavier. Then I’ll deal with this. Whatever forces were wreaking havoc with his subconscious seemed to listen, for his mind quieted again. Theodore grasped the handle of his trunk and walked out the door, leaving his home for what would be a very long time.
Control the Wind by Doctor Phoenix
Chapter Notes: A thousand thank-yous to my beta, Allie (dragonwings), slayer of superfluous semi-colons!