Setting Suns

Prompts: (Underlined for everyone's convenience. I don't think anyone complained last season, but if anyone finds it distracting please PM me and I'll remove it post-judging.)

(2) (word) unpleasant

(4) (dialogue) "I really do like the pants."

(13) (word) tomorrow

July 24th 2012

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Belenus Nott pressed the tattered, striped robes against his skin, knowing it was futile to do so even as he tightened his arms around him. The bleak stone walls weren't going to get any warmer; the barred windows weren't going to suddenly keep out the howling wind blowing outside.

Training his dark eyes to a spot not two inches from him, he focused his mind on the steady drops of liquid falling from the ceiling as they created a small puddle of grey-green filth. Both sight and sound numbed the chill in his bones, allowing him to suppress the shiver he felt when a piercing scream sounded from a floor below.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up…" the prisoner in the cell to his right muttered, most likely cradling his knees in his arms and rocking back and forth.

Funny, Belenus was sure that the wretched man had died some time ago, for it had been days–weeks, months, it was hard to tell–since he had ceased moaning about his innocence. Perhaps he had missed the guards coming to replace the man with another hapless wizard who was too stupid or proud to be caught? Either way, it didn't matter, for they were all bound to rot in their own waste until the guards felt like giving the Dementors a feed–typical, they could forgive the beasts for abandoning their posts during the war, yet dared not give a second chance to their own kind. Loathsome fools.

Even as these thoughts penetrated his mind, the liquid before him froze. His heart, though he was surprised it was still beating at all, gave a painful twinge, as though an icy hand was squeezing it. Immediately, the dimwit next door took his own advice and ceased in his chanting, allowing the sound of approaching feet slapping against the flagstones to be heard.

Part of him knew, just knew, what they were doing. It seemed like weeks ago they had spoken of their intentions outside his cell, yet he wasn't sure if this was another one of their attempts to toy further with his mind. Now it seemed they had been telling the truth; they were coming for him.

Giving neither the Dementors nor the guards any kind of satisfaction by meeting their gaze, Belenus concentrated on the small puddle before him. They did not deserve the acknowledgement of someone like him. He may be a prisoner, but he was a Pureblood, nonetheless. He could hear the rattling breath of the Dementor just outside the steel door, coupled with the frustrated mutterings of the guards as they tried to undo the various curses that held him hostage. A strong white light penetrated the room, keeping the Dementor at bay, its presence causing his heart to squeeze painfully yet again.

Finally, with a loud clang, his cell door opened, and several pairs of polished shoes came to stand before him. Time stood still.

"Number 26478, it's time."

"Hola, how can I help you on this wonderful, sun-shiny day?" a woman asked, her chirpy voice doing nothing to help the headache Belenus sported.

Gritting his teeth, he suppressed the insults he wanted to shout at her. "There are no towels in my 'suite'," he replied, his tone making it clear that he thought the tiny, single-bedded hotel room was nothing more than a closet.

"Oh yes, you're the guest staying from… London, was it? Towels are an extra five pound each, I'm afraid." The receptionist smiled, revealing red lipstick smeared on over-white teeth. Ignoring his scowl, she continued, "We often get people here from the UK, trying to brush up on their tan, not many from London, though. Say, you wouldn't happen to know my old neighbour, Tiffany O'Lachlan, would you? She lives down on…"

Turning around with a huff, Belenus left the woman to prattle on about some Muggle or the other. Really, what was with the service in this place? It was bad enough that Muggles could use magic now – years must have passed and laws drastically changed since he was captured, for how else would the blasted creatures know how to change the temperature of a room? The only good thing about this place was that he barely had enough luggage to fill a trunk, allowing him to avoid interacting with any of these Muggle boys they called 'bells.'

He strode out of the small lobby, determined to not be late for lunch. Ex-prisoner or not, Belenus was a Nott, and Notts were never tardy.

"Nice pants," his son greeted him, standing as Belenus approached the table. His thin lips were raised in a half-smile, betraying the amusement he felt at his father's expense.

Belenus only grunted in reply, seating himself at the round, white-clothed table. The pants in question were a pair of hideous, uncomfortable and unflattering red shorts that he had been forced to wear to 'blend in with the Muggles.' As part of his release conditions, Belenus was not allowed to use any magic, and more torturously so, was required to experience what it was like to be a Muggle by changing everything about himself, including his clothing.

He was somewhat surprised that Theodore had the audacity to address him in such a way, knowing that he wouldn't have even dared jest of such a thing years ago. However, there were many more changes in Theodore that Belenus could see. Why, he had barely recognised the tall, handsome man in his thirties that had arrived to pick him up from Azkaban, knowing it was him only because he had the remarkable dark eyes he knew so well; he had her eyes.

"So, father–are you enjoying your stay?" Theodore enquired, nodding at the waitress who swiftly came and placed two complimentary sundaes in front of them.

Belenus stared at it in distaste, picking up the plastic spoon and stirring the already-melting ice cream. Perhaps it was poisoned, and he could end this miserable experience?

Looking up, he grimaced. "It's not what I expected."

Raising an eyebrow, Theodore calmly asked, "And just what did you expect of a holiday at the beach?"

Glaring at him, Belenus looked back at his sundae and dug his spoon into it. Carefully lifting it up, the white liquid dripping over the spoon's edges, he placed it in his mouth. Instantly, the cold shot through his front teeth, causing him to drop the spoon onto the table in pain. He never was one for dessert, yet he had not expected the sensation to be so unpleasant–not when all he had had to eat for years was stale bread and bland broth, if he was lucky.

Not noticing his discomfort, Theodore continued talking,"I must say, I was a little shocked when the first thing you requested was a holiday by the sea-side, especially in this particular area."

"Yes, well, when you've been chained down like an animal and didn't know if you'd ever see the sun again, a beach holiday seems perfectly reasonable, doesn't it?" Belenus spat, rubbing his tongue over his teeth in the vain hope that the pain would stop.

He knew very well that Theodore didn't buy this flimsy excuse; Belenus' favourite season was winter, and his enjoyment had always stemmed from work, work, and more work. The truth was, he didn't know himself why his first thought was to go to Spain, refusing to believe that his promise to his beautiful wife, Rosalie, from long ago would still hold sway over him now.

Theodore shrugged, taking a bite out of his own sundae. "I suppose you aren't going to visit the beach any time soon? You do know I will only be able to stay until Thursday, don't you? I promised Siobhan we would resume our own little break soon."

"Of course I will," Belenus said, knowing full well he would probably spend the next few days cooped up in his room. Taking a breath, he attempted to take on a more pleasant tone. "So, Siobhan, she's from Ireland, I take it? Good family? Never mind, I'll find out myself when I meet her, won't I?"

With one glance at Theodore's face, Belenus realised that meeting his son's fiancé wasn't an option. He couldn't say he blamed his son for not wanting to introduce him, nor her, if she was reluctant to do so. After all, 'convicted felon' wasn't a particularly impressive title, let alone was 'convicted murderer'.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Theodore pushed out his chair and stood up. "Perhaps we should head off, now. What would you like to do first?"

Attempting to appear unperturbed, Belenus mimicked Theodore's movements, pushing away his uneaten desert. Lifting his skeletal shoulders in an indifferent shrug, he asked, "Do you have any suggestions?"

The half-smile immediately returned to Theodore's lips and his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Let's start with a visit to the local fair they're having."

Belenus grimaced again, following as Theodore led the way out of the hotel café. Twisting his head back, his son added, "By the way, I really do like the pants."

Belenus winced as the delighted squeals and giggles of Muggle children pierced his ears, causing a pang in his heart as he remembered what he once could have done to them. They were oblivious to his annoyance, however, continuing to run around unsupervised with sticky, ice cream-covered fingers.

Striding as far away from them as possible, Belenus shielded his eyes and looked up towards where his son stood on a low, grassy hill, his arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently whilst he surveyed the horizon. Theodore had claimed that he was late in meeting Siobhan, yet was refusing to leave until his father spent at least some time at the beach–and enjoyed it. Theodore had always been the type of person, from what Belenus could remember, to finish a job, no matter how tedious it became.

The truth was, Belenus could understand Theodore's irritation. Ever since the delightful incident at the fair involving a young Muggle girl depositing her lunch all over Belenus after a ride, he had refused to leave his hotel room. Theodore had ranted on and on about him wasting his freedom; taking his second chance at life for granted–yet he didn't care. Too many days had passed, however, and his son's message was beginning to sink in; it was now or never…

Rolling up the hem of his pants and removing his shoes, Belenus tentatively dug his bare foot into the sand, spreading his toes out. The mixture of sea salt and fine grains stung the fine cuts on his foot, seeping in between the cracks of his heel and roughly scraping any soft skin he had left on it. Quickly, he lifted it back out of the sand, hastily wiping away the golden specks without too much success.

How in the world could Rosalie ever adore that feeling? How could she have freely spent hours walking around the sand, shoes off and a smile gracing her lovely lips? He recalled that his lovely wife–or rather, fiancé at the time–had insisted that sand was the best exfoliator nature could give. Even all those years ago he had thought of sand as nothing more than an inconvenience that worked its way into his robes. He even had promised Rosalie that he would buy her the most expensive creams and potions on the planet if she would marry him, just so that she would not feel the need to come to the beach. She had countered that she would only if he tried it one day.

Well, he had finally kept that promise and didn't know what the big deal was. Huffing indignantly, he walked closer to the shore, watching the ebbing waves with distaste. The water was much too blue; the black pebbles within it much too alike the bleak walls of his cell, too similar to the Dementors' wispy cloaks and the soulless dark eyes of his fellow inmates. The waves seemed like hands reaching, grasping at the sands, ready to pull him into their cold embrace. Nevertheless, if Rosalie was there, she would have laughed and pushed him in before dancing in herself. She would only laugh harder when the waves caused her to lose her own footing and come falling down by his side as ungracefully as a Pureblood witch with her upbringing could manage.

His breath caught in his throat as he stepped forwards into the blue, the sand falling away at his feet. He expected the water to freeze his very veins, but he found it rather soothing. Taking another step, and another, he found himself wading further in, unbothered by the waves licked at the hems of his shorts. It wasn't unpleasant, listening to the waves gently lapping around him, and caws of seagulls ready for a late afternoon snack. The tips of the waves glistened like jewels when they broke further out, and he began to understand some of the beauty in it that Rosalie might have admired.

The Muggle children nearby were finally being rounded up by a harried-looking woman, her brown hair twisted up into a bun, and several baskets and towels weighing down her arms. Her offspring barely acknowledged her, giggling with joy whilst they chased each other around her legs. Eventually, a badly sunburnt man approached with a grin on his face. The woman huffed when the kids ran to him and engulfed him in a hug and laughing as he tickled them. She shook her head, a smile appearing nonetheless, and shepherded them off towards the cars.

Unfortunately, when he gazed at the happy family, he did not see the wave rushing towards him until he was trapped in its pull. He stumbled as the wave pushed against his legs, causing him to propel headlong into the ocean. Spluttering, he hoisted himself up.

Shivering despite the warm air and glaring at a nearby seagull, Belenus stomped across the sand towards the hill. His legs ached ascending it, causing him to sit down and take a breath by the time he reached the top.

"So, what are your plans for tomorrow?" Theodore asked, walking to his side.

"Anywhere else but this dump," he snapped, irritated with everything.

Raking his hand through his hair, Theodore sighed exasperatedly. "Then, and I've probably now asked a million times, why did you come here?"

"I don't know, maybe I thought I'd actually get some peace and quiet for once!" he spat, growing angrier.

Instead of raising his voice, Theodore shook his head. In a tone so quiet it unnerved Belenus, he said, "Then stop wasting everyone else's time. I'm not going to continue lecturing you about what an ungrateful bastard you are being." Ignoring the appalled look on his father's face, Theodore continued, "Because it's just falling on deaf ears. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, your time in Azkaban would've turned you into an actual human being, but I can see I was wrong. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and meet Siobhan."

"Well good, I…" Belenus' retort died on his lips, knowing Theodore was, once again, right.

Instead, he turned his gaze away from his son, directing it out towards the horizon. The lad was absolutely right; he never could enjoy himself. He never could bring himself to frolick in the waves; never could do something to make his son giggle over.

Behind him, he could hear Theodore's rapid breathing, the only sign that betrayed the anger he must have felt. His son seemed to be hesitating, his feet pacing the sand, poised to leave. Finally, to Belenus's surprise, Theodore sat down beside him, looking out at the ocean.

"You know what mother enjoyed most about the beach?" Theodore asked quietly after a moment of silence.

Belenus glanced at him, not sure he had heard his son correctly. Was his reason for coming here really that transparent?

"What?" His voice could barely come out, a funny scratching feeling overwhelming his throat.

"Being able to spend her time with us, watching the sunset."

Belenus followed Theodore's line of sight, noticing that the once blue sky had been washed in tones of pink, gold, red and burnt orange. The tips of each wave glistened in the distance, sparkling like tiny diamonds.

As though the water had somehow caught his gaze and was reaching out to him, Belenus felt something wet trickle down his cheek. Hastily, he wiped it away with the back of his rough hand.

Clearing his throat, he managed to say, "It's not so bad," before he felt another tear slide down his cheek.

Either because he wanted to avoid adding to his father's overwhelming emotions, or to hide his own tears, Theodore kept his gaze on the horizon. His lips pulled into a sad smile, and he nodded his head, "Yeah."

Belenus found his own lips twitching upwards, remembering the many times he, his wife, and eventually, after many years, their son, spent sitting on this very same beach, waiting for the sun to retire for the night.

July 24th 2012

"Number 26478, it's time."

"What is he doing?"

One of the guards, a young man in his thirties, shrugged, moving towards the prisoner. Lifting his wand and casting lumos, he shone the light into the bony man's face. The man's eyes were dark, falling tears creating sticky trails down his grimy cheeks. What was more concerning, however, was the unmistakable smile on the man's face as he rocked himself back and forth.

"Finally gone loopy, I reckon," another guard snickered, aiming a small kick towards the prisoner. "Right, you lot get the Dementor over here. Time for this toe-rag's kiss."

A/N: This one-shot of sorts was written for the Quidditch League Season 4 Round 1 competition, Beater 1 Falmouth Falcons. The task this round was to write about a Death Eater of my choice going on a holiday. Many of you may recall I was a Chaser 1 last season, and swore never to come back. I can swear this was a last-minute (literally) decision, but I am looking forward to coming out with new stories that you will (hopefully) enjoy :)

A few things I shall point out for this fic:

1) I took probably too much time in actually choosing Nott Snr's name. I have always thought of him as being called 'Theodore' and passing it down to his son, like many prestigious families do. However, it did become a little confusing distinguishing the two within the fic, so I spent hours researching possible names and bugging everyone on FF to help lol. Finally, I chose Belenus, because it is a Celtic fire and sun god name (or so I've been told). In my head canon, Nott always believed he was better than both the Malfoys and Blacks, and since they (the Blacks) tended to be named after constellations, why not name Nott after the most dominate star in our solar system (the sun... even if it is a dwarf star... it's the most well-known star anyway lol) to show how much better he is? Plus, you have to admit, it sounds pretty wizardy, right? Anyway, I chose Rosalie because it is an older name and sounds very soft and pretty.

2) I realise that Nott was more than likely killed in the last battle, or if not imprisoned. Being an older wizard, he surely would've died pretty much straight away if it was the latter. However, since his fate cannot be proven, I have made him a survivor (being that he is a stubborn old git and would most likely, as a proud Pureblood, not want to be seen as weak).

3) I really do hope that his holiday was obviously an illusion he was having (the illusion being acceptable by the mods); if not, then I really should be questioning my writing skills lol.

4) Apologies for the dashes if they didn't turn out right- my computer doesn't seem to like to format them. Hopefully I haven't missed any when editing. Apparently, there is an 'en-dash' and and 'em-dash', one with spaces between and one without, but as far as I have been told both are correct. If anyone knows the difference, please let me know :)

5) Erm, there was a whole bunch of things I wanted to say, but, um, hi? Word count is 2963 words without A/N (oh, plus two words with title).

And finally, a huge thank you to my team-mates for beta-ing, including our beloved Captain Arty and my beta Beater Ari! Without their input, this would be so much worse lol. Go Falmouth Falcons!