A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition, Year 2, Round 5.
House: Gryffindor
Position: Year 3
Category: drabble
Prompt: 9. [Object] Bouncy Ball
Word count: 492 words
Warnings: Contains implied cancer/minor character death—nothing explicit.
For those who aren't as obsessed with Theo as I am, this story features Theodore Nott and his parents. According to the books, Theodore saw his mother die (hence why he could see Thestrels in OotP), but we don't know how. My headcanon (so, this could be AU, although technically it also fits in with canon) is that his Death Eater father did not murder her and that he actually really loved her. As such, her death could've been something natural-ish, like cancer. This is just one little snippet of a young child's experience of it (set pre-Hogwarts), rated T just to be on the safe side :)
I had trouble identifying whether or not 'bounce' was actually a sound or just a verb, but for the purposes of this story, the words are italicised for emphasis.
A huge thank you to my betas, Tsu (kurotsuba), Miranda (BetterYouThanMe), Shiba (Shibalyfe), and CK (Theoretical-Optimist), and to everyone who reads this! A huge thank you also to the organisers of THC for this season so far—I've been looking for something to get me excited about FFnet again, and I think I have finally found it :)
Bounce, Bounce, Bounce
"Filthy Mudbloods! What is this? Where are the potions?"
Theodore ducked under the table as his father slammed the lid back onto the box in front of him. He watched as the man snapped his fingers, and their house-elf, Toddles, popped into the room.
"Get this out of my sight," he said.
As Toodles carried the box away, the lid slipped off and something small fell out.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
With a quick glance to locate his father, Theodore crawled forward and snatched up the tiny rubber ball. He then stood and ran towards the door.
He froze, however, when he saw his mother standing in the doorway, a funny cloth wrapped around her head. His heart pounded as she looked at the ball in his hand, sure she would confiscate it.
"Don't show your father," she whispered, winking at him.
With a grin, he relaxed and slipped past her.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
Theodore smiled as the little green ball bounced higher and higher against the wooden floorboards. His mother had shown him how to throw it against the wood rather than the soft carpet.
He seemed to have gotten the hang of it, and he couldn't wait to show her how high he could now make it go.
"Toodles is here to fetch Master Nott for dinner."
"I'm waiting for Mother," Theodore said.
The elf shook her head. "Madame Nott is si—not coming to dinner tonight."
Sighing, Theodore threw the ball against the wall. "Fine."
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
Theodore ran after the little ball as it slipped from his hand and bounced through the hallways.
When his parent's bedroom door flew open, however, he stopped.
"Will you cut that racket out? Your mother needs rest," his father said.
Theodore peered around him into the bedroom. He could see his mother lying in her bed, potions cluttering her bedside table. The funny cloth was wrapped around her head again, but as she moved to look at him, part of it slipped, and he could see some of her hair was missing.
When his father slammed the door, Theodore shook his head and resumed chasing his ball.
"Shh, shh, it's going to be okay."
Theodore paused in front of his parents' bedroom, watching as his father clutched onto his mother's hand and uttered soothing words. His voice wasn't as harsh as normal, and when Theodore walked to his mother's side, the man didn't shoo him away.
"I learnt a new trick, Mother," he said, holding the ball out to her.
The woman didn't look at him. Sweat covered her forehead, and she murmured a few words he couldn't hear.
"Shhh, sleep now, Rose."
Theodore looked around the room—at the potion bottles, his mother's bald head, his father's tears—and took a step back. When his mother drew a rattly breath, he turned and fled from the room.
On his way out, his let his little green ball fall from his grasp.
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
