When he closes his eyes he still sees her. Sees her broken form dead on the ground.
She had shoved him beneath the bed at last minute, she could have used those extra couple seconds to sweep away the ingredients (the potion wasn't strictly legal), instead she saved him (and he wasn't even grateful, too busy resenting the cramped space).
The man that sauntered in wasn't his father, and even now he can't for the life of him explain why that little piece of information shocked him.
He wore the bright robes and cocky smirk of an auror, and one glance of him was enough to tell he wasn't a very nice man (he also didn't have a clue about potions, but that didn't stop him from arresting his poor, dear mother for illegal brewing).
He spits in her face, and tells her exactly what he thinks of the aging whores of Death Eaters. And if little Theo weren't so terrified he might have whimpered.
His mother though, she does not whimper, she stands tall and proud and explains to him that her husband was old enough to be a Knight of Walpurgis, and all this Death Eater nonsense is for the young, and foolish.
The smirk drops to a scowl, as black as ink and as cruel as night, and, although she has not moved an inch he asks her why she's running.
He says that if she doesn't stop he'll have to forcefully restrain her, and Theo doesn't understand because her feet are still planted firmly on the ground, right beside his head.
Perhaps if he were older, braver, smarter, better, he could have seen what was going to happen, but he wasn't and he didn't and suddenly her graying hair is spilling by his feet.
Even at four he can tell that she's dead. And the auror's laugh still haunts his dreams.
So he grew up with his father, who was not a pretty or as kind as his mother. And he goes off to Hogwarts, and see's that everyone is like that auror in a way.
The Sytherins are arrogant but at least they're not filthy mudbloods like the fair haired, dark souled monster of his childhood. Still though, being by himself is better.
And when the time comes he takes the dark mark without hesitation, brave like his mother. Because what else can he do?
Revenge is a dish best served cold but Theodore Nott is tired of waiting.