Lover of the Light

Lover Dearest

Lover of the Light

Chapter Twenty-Three: Lover Dearest

Feeling guilty and miserable is not a foreign combination to him. Theodore Nott was conceived by obligation and rigid affection. He was brought to life by pushes of hatred, raised in greed, showered in indifference, and taught by pureblood history. Guilt and misery came naturally with the things instilled in him. And as he grew up, appearances became his best friend.

Guilt was damning himself for being born, especially when his mother and father pulled him left and right, shoving lectures and names down his throat, refusing to coddle him because respectable, pureblood boys never need the embraces of care. Misery was damning himself for being born, especially because his mother and father did not love him, because they never provided him with a protecting kiss at bedtime or words of praise to give him confidence.

Guilt transformed itself in teenage confusion, especially when he was taught to be a man, taught to want and need a suitable, pureblood witch to provide him with heirs and a hefty amount of gold, but never wanting any girl around him. Misery transformed itself in teenage confusion, especially because he was taught to be a man and he found that he would never fully be one because of his wandering eyes and erratic heartbeats whenever a handsome boy caught his attention...

Things, however, did not remain that simple. He was used to guilt and misery, they were his faithful companions, but then other emotions surfaced; blindsiding him as they forced their way into him.

He met Fate one night in Sixth Year. Misery had been keeping him company that evening as they both hid in a dark crook of the muggle section of the library. The aisle was hardly ever visited, especially during those days of worried knowledge that the Dark Lord was alive, but he'd chose to hide there for those reasons exactly. He'd known then that it was only a matter of time before his father dropped dead or found himself in prison. The scam Theodore Sr. had pulled on his fellow Death Eaters would not go unnoticed, and when that moment came, Theo knew he'd be the one to suffer for it. That was a responsibility—a burden—he would not be able to bear.

'A Slytherin in the muggle section? That's rich.'

Fate had made her appearance when she walked into the lonely section of books where Theo sat brooding with misery, bringing along with her a tall boy with damp, tousled dirty-blonde hair in his striped pajama bottoms and a black jumper. He had ire in his eyes, but a leer on his lips.

'A Hufflepuff in the Hospital Wing? That's normal,' Theodore had responded to the intruder, pointing the wand that'd been previously resting beside his extended legs.

The blonde had only scoffed. 'Nott, if I hadn't seen your ghastly wand-work in Defense today, I would possibly be scared. But seeing as you are terrible at being a wizard, care to piss off? This is my sulking spot at night.'

Theodore simply glowered back, keeping silent for a moment. What could he have said? His participation in Defense Against the Dark Arts class had been downright embarrassing that Snape had deducted points and threatened to have him kicked out of Slytherin House if he ever did measly work again. Theo had just sauntered off scowling and blamed it all on his father. The worry of what was going to come, fretting over their draining vaults, had been enough to block his magical abilities.

'Seriously, Nott, piss off. I've got a day's worth of annoyance to distress from.'

'Well, you can fuck off somewhere else, little Hufflepuff, because I'm currently occupying this spot.'

Two minutes and seven seconds. That's all it took for Fate to convince her blonde friend to take a seat on the floor of the muggle section of the library, rest his back against one of the shelves, and glance over at the Slytherin with less than half of the annoyance he'd been previously displaying.