If Theodore Nott was a man with a lesser control of himself, he would have screamed. He would have screamed, cried, cursed, heaved, set the Great Hall ablaze and watched everyone burn, he would have run, and run, and kept running until he no longer recognized his surroundings.
As it were, Theodore Nott was a man with a ruthless kind of self-control. He folded the letter in his hands, stood up, politely excused himself and strode properly out of the Great Hall, not a hair out of place.
'-it has been decided, my s-'
'As the heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Nott of the Sacred Twenty Eight-'
'-your responsibility and du-'
'-bring honor and-'
'-by serving our Lord, most generous and rightou-'
Theodore did not stop walking, his feet tip-tapping on the stone floor, eyes downcast and unfocused, the sound of his footsteps distant and echoing; he didn't notice where he was going, or the tremor in his arms, the voices in his head drowning everything else out.
'The Ceremony will take place this summer. See to it that you are prepared.'
"He is not my Lord!" Theodore wanted to shout, "He is a madman, a loon, and you are a fool for groveling before him, there is no honor in being a slave!"
Grass replaced stone beneath him, there was rustling at his feet, and Theodore felt, distantly, himself stopping.
He was at the courtyard. It was dark. There was a light breeze.
To his left was the Lake. To his right was the Forest.
He turned right, and walked.
The Forest was dark, darker than the courtyard, the air colder, ominous, there was something in the darkness here that lurked. He wondered if there were deadly monsters here. He wondered if they would find him. He wondered why he wouldn't mind that at all.
The earth beneath him was steeping upward, gradually, the air getting colder. Was there a cliff at the top? He kept walking.
There was a flickering light at the end, behind the trees up ahead, and Theodore squinted.
He reached the top. He paused. The trees ended, then there was a small stretch of grass, and then the cliff side. He turned around.
The clearing was very small, cluttered with overgrown grass and night blooms, Nightshades and Moon flowers and Evening Primroses, dotted with fireflies, glowing and flickering. To the left, near the trees, was a pond. It was small, the size of a round little coffee table, and beside it, sat a girl. Luna Lovegood.
He stared. She was sitting with her knees to one side, the tips of her fingers touching the pond's surface, a jar full of fireflies in hand. There was a number of strange and mismatched items arranged in a neat line beside her. She looked up.
Theodore blinked. He shuffled his feet. His eyes flickered between the girl and the cliff side and back again.
She made no move to attack him. "What are you doing here?" He asked.
Her large eyes blinked at him once, twice, assessing, and then, "I'm celebrating." She said.
Theodore's mind went blank. Her eyes strayed back to the pond. There was a long pause before she spoke again,"What are you doing here?" Her voice was quiet and dreamy, like the question formed without her noticing.
He looked away. "Just... taking a walk."
She hummed. Her eyes lingered on the edge of the cliff for a moment. She gestured to the empty place beside her.
He hesitated, for a moment, and shifted, then walked towards her. "What- are you celebrating?"
"St. Birtwistle Day."
"Oh." He paused, before reluctantly taking a seat beside her. She picked three white feathers from her right and dropped them in the pond.
"What's that?" He asked.
"Offerings."
"Offerings?"
"For the Noxieflies." She answered. "They're migrating this time of the year. It's a long journey, you see," she said, then added,"we release the Noxieflies at St. Birtwistle Day, and wish them a safe trip."
Theodore Nott had never heard of the Noxieflies before, or of this strange holiday, but he was inexplicably drawn to the way she spoke, and her voice, so he listened. She spoke of the white feathers she gave, to grant them a peaceful journey, of the loaf of bread she held, so they wouldn't starve, of the long white thread, so they would never lose one another. She took his hand, and placed a white, small marble on his palm, and closed his hand around it. "For the strength to keep going," she said, and rubbed her thumb over his closed fingers.
Theodore swallowed. "Tell me more." He whispered, and she did.
She spoke about St. Birtwistle Day, about how she couldn't find any Noxieflies to release this year so she brought fireflies again instead, but that's okay, she said, fireflies and Noxieflies where cousins, inverts of one another, and they were always drawn towards each other, and did you know that the biggest Nargle infestation of the year always happens on Valentine's Day? It's very close to St. Birtwistle's, she said, the same month, that's probably why not many people celebrate it. The Nargles make them forget.
Theodore rested his back against the ancient tree behind him, and let himself get lost in her dreamy voice and nonsensical chatter, this strange, enchanting girl with her peculiar charm and intelligent eyes.
The news of his Marking Ceremony, the memory of his father's whippings, of a madman drunk with power, of a mother long dead and unable to protect, none of that existed, now, not as he and Luna released the fireflies and watched them fly and light up the darkness of the Forest on St. Birtwistle Day.
AN\ This was written for a contest on tumblr, held by user severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet. The prompt: holidays. I took the prompt and ran with it :P
Also, shout out to Colubrina for getting me obsessed with this pairing to begin with, you have my thanks.
Hope you enjoyed, and tell me what you think!