Chaotic

Prologe

Theodore Nott has always felt out of place even in his own home. His father was always out on a business trip, or in search of their missing Dark Lord and thus, leaving his son in the company of the many house elves that worked at the Nott Manor. At a young age, he blamed himself for his mother's death and often found himself in an abandoned room where his mother's portrait was hung. He would talk to her and sometimes cry out of loneliness, though at the age of eight he learned not to show weakness. 

 He learned that even the dead have a great impact on your life, so therefore, he covered his mothers portrait and swore to never visit her again. So, why is it now, that after all the sorrow that he poured into the abandoned room, did he find himself there again? How come the six years of distance did nothing to keep him away, and why does his  heart swell with burdened happiness at the mere sight of a painting. Merlin, he cussed, how come a woman I never met make me an emotional wreck.

"I made a promise to myself to never visit you again, but I can not control the urge, the need and the desire of seeing you. Even though I never met you, let alone raised by you, I still need a mother." He whispered croaky through tearful eyes. "How can I miss someone I never knew?"

As always the women in the painting never spoke back, unlike most magical portraits that move and talk as if they're still alive, his mother's, however, was painted by a Muggle artist and therefore it lacks the magical ability of movement and speech. If only magic is capable of bringing back the dead. His wish fell on deaf ears. The echoing footsteps of an approach-er broke him out of his reverie, furiously he rubbed his face to remove the evidence of crying, a distasteful weakness of his. Long, pianist fingers brushed through his hair in frustration. 

"I thought, I would find you here." The deep voice belonging to his father spoke from behind him. Turning he dipped his head in greeting. 

"Morning, father." His voice cracked. If he wasn't a pure-blood and a master at keeping a composed poster, he would have shifted nervously under his father's intense gaze, no matter, he kept a straight face and cleared his throat. "The weather seems to have shifted to the worst, and it feels like my throat had become as dry as sand." Flawlessly, he lied. 

"I'll make sure to contact Snape for a potion. Nevertheless, let's not keep our guests waiting any longer. Shall we?" Without waiting for a reply, his father walked away with him trailing behind. Of course, Theodore knew exactly who the "guest" is, only a fool would leave the man to wait. 

The Nott manor is currently swarming with Death-eaters, some positioned at the doors, others marched about, while the inner circle sat silently around the dining table, a long marble-topped table situated near a large fireplace. Three chairs were left unoccupied and the atmosphere tense. No one knew what to expect of such urgent summoning of their Lord. Is it time to attack the Potter brat and Dumbledore? Has the time come for their Lord to finally avenge his family? No one knew the answers as they awaited his arrival and the Nott's. 

The candles around the room flickered before burning away; the fireplace blazed though no one entered; a cold wind blew and the temperature dropped.

The Dark Lord has arrived. 

At the entrance to the dining hall, two men in black cloaks and skeleton-like masks stood guarding it. Theodore's eyes glanced coolly at them, studying how they stood board and tall with their wands out and ready to strike any intruder that dares to enter. He almost pitied the Light; almost. If they thought they could win in the upcoming war, then they have not witnessed how ruthless and brave the Dark side are because we are not fighting for wizards only, we are fighting for and with the entire Dark community; demons, vampires, werewolves, etc,  and all that were shunned. 

The doors creaked open as father and son strode into the chilly room. Only a word could describe such atmosphere which is apprehensive. He caught his fellow roommate and best friend's eyes, Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy heir sat with an air of pomposity, though Nott could not help but notice how unusually pale his best friend is. His father came to a graceful halt, before kneeling to a tall, imposing man in emerald robes. Theodore followed suit. 

"Ah, so the host and his heir greet us with their presence." The man drawled, turning towards the still kneeling figures. Crimson eyes narrowed at the younger Nott. "Raise." 

Elegantly they stood up. "My Lord its a pleasure to finally have you back." Theodore tried his hardest to not cry out of pressure, the Dark Lord's eyes upon him felt like someone started building a house on top of his shoulders. 

"Enough with the flattery, Nott. We are all gathered here for a special reason." The two quickly but gracefully made their way towards their seats, however, Theodore wasn't as lucky as his father. The Dark Lord's hand touched his shoulder. 

"We are here to reunite my family, and it gives me no greater pleasure than for you to welcome my son, Theodore Riddle."

The house on his shoulder is nothing compared to the burdened weight that left his lungs struggling for air. His heart thundered loudly, just when I thought my life is starting to get simple, and I'm finally gaining enough courage to not cry, my pitiful life fell apart at this revelation and I'm not able to lift a simple finger to prevent it from collapsing. 

My life's full of surprises.