PRESENT-FIC: The Locked Door
DATE/TIME: 8 August 2007
CHARACTERS: Theodore Nott and Octavian Nott
PLACE: Ravenshold, Azkaban
RATING: PG+
STATUS: Complete
Theodore had not been in that place for more than ten years, and he had no desire to ever return. His footsteps echoed hollowly off stone walls as he followed the wizard in grey robes, thinking about the only thing that could've possibly brought him back.
In the days following the ball at Hogwarts, Theodore had taken to wandering the halls of Ravenshold, driven by...he didn't know what. Nostalgia, perhaps. He'd gone into the unused wings, still kept spotlessly clean by the three house elves, with portraits and furniture alike draped in black linen. Theodore had peered into the bedroom he'd grown up in, deciding quickly that there was nothing of him in it. It was cold and impersonal - it could have been anyone's.
The second floor of the North Wing was his father's - Theodore quickly passed the library that had so fascinated him as a child, the rooms which had held the precious Dark objects his father had squandered so much of their family money on. The glass cases now stood empty, the objects inside long since confiscated by the Ministry.
At the end of the corridor, however, was something that caught his attention. He'd been up here many times as a child, and though he hadn't in several years, the rooms were still familiar to him. That was, except, for the door at the end of the corridor. He was certain that it had terminated here, simply more fading wallpaper and dark carpet. Curious, he stepped closer. The door was solid wood, like the rest of the doors that lined the hall - it wasn't made to blend in or appear invisible. He tried the iron door.
It was locked.
Theodore withdrew his wand and aimed it at the lock. "Alohamora," he tried, but nothing happened. Curious, Theodore spent the next hour trying every spell he knew that might possibly be brought to bear in dealing with the door had it been locked, just physically stuck, or even a false door. An idea occurred to him, then. "Bitty!" He called, and a moment later, the most elderly of his elves appeared.
"How may Bitty serve Master?"
"Apparate inside this room and return, to tell me what's inside."
Bitty disappeared with a crack, but rematerialized in the same spot she had disappeared from a moment later. "Bitty cannot, Master," she said, flinching as if expecting a physical blow.
"Cannot?"
"The room will not let Bitty."
"Do you know what this room is, then?"
Bitty's lip trembled, and it was clear she was wrestling with something internally. Her large, rheumy eyes filled with tears. "Bitty cannot say, Master Theodore. M-Master Octavian--"
"Master Octavian is no longer your master!" Theodore shouted. He regretted the outburst. Trying to get through the door had frustrated him, and he hadn't meant to take it out on the elf. "You will tell me, Bitty. I am your master, now!"
"Bitty c-cannot," she sobbed. "B-B-Bitty is s-sorry, Master Theodore..." Great tears splashed to the floor as she knelt near his feet. "Please, Master....punish Bitty if you may, Master...it is your right but Bitty cannot s-say..."
Theodore sighed. It wasn't Bitty's fault. "No, I'm not going to do that," he said, knowing she couldn't help the magic she was bound to. "I just wish to know..." He thought of some possible way around the magic, his mad father's orders. Finally, it came to him.
"Bitty, please fetch Kitty for me," he told the elf, and she left him alone in the hallway with his thoughts. Bitty and Ditty were both bound to the Nott family, and therefore his father, for as long as he lived. Kitty, however, was Theodore's own elf, bound only to him. Bitty returned with Kitty, and Theodore immediately dismissed the older elf.
Kitty looked expectantly at her master. "I want you to tell me, Kitty," Theodore said, "what lies beyond this door." Kitty had the same torn expression on her face as Bitty had, but Theodore was quick to remind her that she was not beholden to him, not her father.
"Yes, Master Theodore," she said. "That is the Young Mistress's room."
Theodore stared, feeling the blood drain from from his face. "Who?" His voice was hardly more than a whisper in the stale air.
"Mistress Arathusa's." She trembled, backing a step away from Theodore as if he might strike her. Indeed, his hands shook with emotion.
When he did act, it was against the door itself. He pushed at it, beat with his fists, slammed his shoulder into it, forgetting magic, just wanting it to give, wanting to be let in. His mother. Panting, he slumped against it.
He knew then, what he had to do. And so it was that he found himself in that place he hated, that by imprisoning his father he had won his own freedom. Azkaban.
"Nott! Visitor!" The guard called as they reached the cell. Theodore took a deep breath and looked inside.
A pile of dirty grey rags slumped in one corner of the cell, and Octavian Nott raised his head at the impossible news that he had a visitor. His face was streaked with grime, his hair a matted and tangled mess. He grunted. "Is that you, boy?" He cackled a hoarse laugh and staggered weakly to his feet. "Not so much a boy are you, eh?" He smiled, gaps in his yellowed and broken teeth. "How long has it been?"
"Ten years," Theodore said. He wasn't there to make small talk.
"Ten years! And you leave me to rot in this hole without so much as--"
"Quiet!" Theodore cut him off, already trembling. "I'm not here to visit because I missed you. I want you to tell me how to get into Mother's room."
"Mother?" Octavian mocked. "I thought I told you never to mention that two sickle whore around me again!"
"You are in no position to tell me to do anything," Theodore shot back. "You've kept it hidden away all these years. Why?"
"I don't have to tell you," Octavian said confidently, a superior look on his sunken face.
"Why? What are you keeping in there?"
"I don't have to answer to you, boy," Octavian spat. "Worse son a father could ever have, you are, always slinking and skulking about the house like a mouse, creeping and sneaking, avoiding your father like the plague. No word in ten years and only now do you come and not even for me, but for that filthy harlot! The Devil take you, boy, because you're no son of mine."
"I never wished for you as a father!" Theodore yelled back at him. "You never gave a damn about me or Mother! I was only around to continue your name and she was--"
"--She was a WHORE!--"
"--nothing but a vessel to carry your child and once you'd done with her--"
"--A FILTHY TRAMP--"
"--YOU KILLED HER!" Theodore raged, the last word leaving his throat as a choked sob, the air going still and cold as for the first time he voiced aloud that which he'd only every vocalized through his fiction. He could feel the guard pulling him back from the cell, and Theodore shook his hands off, staring coldly at his father, ignoring the tears that leaked from his eyes.
Octavian Nott stared back for a long moment before a smile curled his cracked lips. "Always too damn smart for your own good, boy. So smart, you should be able to figure a way in. Now get out of here and don't come back."
Theodore very nearly flung himself at the bars to get at the old man. He could almost feel his fingers around the scabrous, ulcerated skin at his throat, finding his windpipe, clamping down, choking the very breath from him. He forced himself to turn away, to make himself leave that place. Cold comfort it might have been, but he never had to see Octavian Nott again.
CHARACTERS: Theodore Nott and Octavian Nott
PLACE: Ravenshold, Azkaban
RATING: PG+
STATUS: Complete
Theodore had not been in that place for more than ten years, and he had no desire to ever return. His footsteps echoed hollowly off stone walls as he followed the wizard in grey robes, thinking about the only thing that could've possibly brought him back.
In the days following the ball at Hogwarts, Theodore had taken to wandering the halls of Ravenshold, driven by...he didn't know what. Nostalgia, perhaps. He'd gone into the unused wings, still kept spotlessly clean by the three house elves, with portraits and furniture alike draped in black linen. Theodore had peered into the bedroom he'd grown up in, deciding quickly that there was nothing of him in it. It was cold and impersonal - it could have been anyone's.
The second floor of the North Wing was his father's - Theodore quickly passed the library that had so fascinated him as a child, the rooms which had held the precious Dark objects his father had squandered so much of their family money on. The glass cases now stood empty, the objects inside long since confiscated by the Ministry.
At the end of the corridor, however, was something that caught his attention. He'd been up here many times as a child, and though he hadn't in several years, the rooms were still familiar to him. That was, except, for the door at the end of the corridor. He was certain that it had terminated here, simply more fading wallpaper and dark carpet. Curious, he stepped closer. The door was solid wood, like the rest of the doors that lined the hall - it wasn't made to blend in or appear invisible. He tried the iron door.
It was locked.
Theodore withdrew his wand and aimed it at the lock. "Alohamora," he tried, but nothing happened. Curious, Theodore spent the next hour trying every spell he knew that might possibly be brought to bear in dealing with the door had it been locked, just physically stuck, or even a false door. An idea occurred to him, then. "Bitty!" He called, and a moment later, the most elderly of his elves appeared.
"How may Bitty serve Master?"
"Apparate inside this room and return, to tell me what's inside."
Bitty disappeared with a crack, but rematerialized in the same spot she had disappeared from a moment later. "Bitty cannot, Master," she said, flinching as if expecting a physical blow.
"Cannot?"
"The room will not let Bitty."
"Do you know what this room is, then?"
Bitty's lip trembled, and it was clear she was wrestling with something internally. Her large, rheumy eyes filled with tears. "Bitty cannot say, Master Theodore. M-Master Octavian--"
"Master Octavian is no longer your master!" Theodore shouted. He regretted the outburst. Trying to get through the door had frustrated him, and he hadn't meant to take it out on the elf. "You will tell me, Bitty. I am your master, now!"
"Bitty c-cannot," she sobbed. "B-B-Bitty is s-sorry, Master Theodore..." Great tears splashed to the floor as she knelt near his feet. "Please, Master....punish Bitty if you may, Master...it is your right but Bitty cannot s-say..."
Theodore sighed. It wasn't Bitty's fault. "No, I'm not going to do that," he said, knowing she couldn't help the magic she was bound to. "I just wish to know..." He thought of some possible way around the magic, his mad father's orders. Finally, it came to him.
"Bitty, please fetch Kitty for me," he told the elf, and she left him alone in the hallway with his thoughts. Bitty and Ditty were both bound to the Nott family, and therefore his father, for as long as he lived. Kitty, however, was Theodore's own elf, bound only to him. Bitty returned with Kitty, and Theodore immediately dismissed the older elf.
Kitty looked expectantly at her master. "I want you to tell me, Kitty," Theodore said, "what lies beyond this door." Kitty had the same torn expression on her face as Bitty had, but Theodore was quick to remind her that she was not beholden to him, not her father.
"Yes, Master Theodore," she said. "That is the Young Mistress's room."
Theodore stared, feeling the blood drain from from his face. "Who?" His voice was hardly more than a whisper in the stale air.
"Mistress Arathusa's." She trembled, backing a step away from Theodore as if he might strike her. Indeed, his hands shook with emotion.
When he did act, it was against the door itself. He pushed at it, beat with his fists, slammed his shoulder into it, forgetting magic, just wanting it to give, wanting to be let in. His mother. Panting, he slumped against it.
He knew then, what he had to do. And so it was that he found himself in that place he hated, that by imprisoning his father he had won his own freedom. Azkaban.
"Nott! Visitor!" The guard called as they reached the cell. Theodore took a deep breath and looked inside.
A pile of dirty grey rags slumped in one corner of the cell, and Octavian Nott raised his head at the impossible news that he had a visitor. His face was streaked with grime, his hair a matted and tangled mess. He grunted. "Is that you, boy?" He cackled a hoarse laugh and staggered weakly to his feet. "Not so much a boy are you, eh?" He smiled, gaps in his yellowed and broken teeth. "How long has it been?"
"Ten years," Theodore said. He wasn't there to make small talk.
"Ten years! And you leave me to rot in this hole without so much as--"
"Quiet!" Theodore cut him off, already trembling. "I'm not here to visit because I missed you. I want you to tell me how to get into Mother's room."
"Mother?" Octavian mocked. "I thought I told you never to mention that two sickle whore around me again!"
"You are in no position to tell me to do anything," Theodore shot back. "You've kept it hidden away all these years. Why?"
"I don't have to tell you," Octavian said confidently, a superior look on his sunken face.
"Why? What are you keeping in there?"
"I don't have to answer to you, boy," Octavian spat. "Worse son a father could ever have, you are, always slinking and skulking about the house like a mouse, creeping and sneaking, avoiding your father like the plague. No word in ten years and only now do you come and not even for me, but for that filthy harlot! The Devil take you, boy, because you're no son of mine."
"I never wished for you as a father!" Theodore yelled back at him. "You never gave a damn about me or Mother! I was only around to continue your name and she was--"
"--She was a WHORE!--"
"--nothing but a vessel to carry your child and once you'd done with her--"
"--A FILTHY TRAMP--"
"--YOU KILLED HER!" Theodore raged, the last word leaving his throat as a choked sob, the air going still and cold as for the first time he voiced aloud that which he'd only every vocalized through his fiction. He could feel the guard pulling him back from the cell, and Theodore shook his hands off, staring coldly at his father, ignoring the tears that leaked from his eyes.
Octavian Nott stared back for a long moment before a smile curled his cracked lips. "Always too damn smart for your own good, boy. So smart, you should be able to figure a way in. Now get out of here and don't come back."
Theodore very nearly flung himself at the bars to get at the old man. He could almost feel his fingers around the scabrous, ulcerated skin at his throat, finding his windpipe, clamping down, choking the very breath from him. He forced himself to turn away, to make himself leave that place. Cold comfort it might have been, but he never had to see Octavian Nott again.