Hello, Whoever Has Found This! Quick note before you go any further: If for some mystical reason you ignored my description (shame on you), you WILL NOT understand any of the context for these shots unless you've first read my longer story They're Nott Twins. Nice try.
For those of you not satisfied with the fanon provided in TNT, Le Gasp! I'm kidding. I'M not satisfied with the fanon provided in TNT. HENCE this particular batch of nonsense. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter Content Warnings: Death (x3), Gore
Disclaimer: I own ONLY what isn't JK's. Which isn't much. And actually makes me no money.
September 1980
The night was dark and the stars were dim by the time Calla Nott finished her shopping in the only village within easy apparating distance of Nott Manor. She could have sent an elf for the skeins of wool and various seeds and bulbs sequestered in the bag swinging from her arm, but with Theodore teething and Thoros brooding, the fresh air was a welcome relief.
She fumbled through her robe pockets, fighting with the wind and her unbound hair to find her wand. The cry from one of the still dark cottages set well back from the road gave her pause. She wouldn't have noticed it at all, really, if she hadn't been hardwired to pick up anything from a whimper to a yelp since her Theodore Demetrius Creon had been born.
No lights flickered on in the little cottage's windows and Calla's scalp prickled. She tried to shake the foreboding off. Instead, the prickles spread to her neck and spine. Her legs stepped into the weedy grass of the front yard without her permission or even her full attention. Her mind was fully engaged by the little wooden door.
It swung silently inward.
The cries grew steadily louder.
Calla had her wand drawn and had stolen halfway toward the house when the woman collapsed through the doorway.
She was older than Calla Nott, though not by much, her mousy brown hair in total disarray and bloody near her left temple. The woman's skin was pale between the blooming bruises and her nose had been broken. Her shirt was in tatters over what looked like knife wounds, given the blood, but Calla only noted this subconsciously. The woman had captivating brown eyes. Eyes which were far too alert for the amount of blood on the doorstep and on the bit of rug Calla could see through the darkened entryway.
"Help."
It came out as a rasping croak. Like the breath had to fight to even escape the throat. The woman's thin hand was a manacle on Calla's wrist. Her heart thundered in her ears. She was shocked she could even hear the raspy voice over it.
"Hermione…"
The woman ignored Calla's attempts to quiet and calm her. She jerked feebly away any time Calla tried to wrap an arm around her or ease her against the door jamb.
For Merlin's sake! Calla thought, I know seven different ways to address a visiting warlock of unknown rank from France but I can't deal with one bleeding woman!? Her heart still pounded away, and she could feel the strange woman's blood seeping into her robes. With a mighty heave the bloody woman jerked Calla down to lock eyes with Calla. "Save my daughter," the woman gritted out between bloody teeth. "Save…" she was panting, her face twisting, "Hermione…" The woman passed out and thudded across the threshold.
Calla had never really dealt with bleeding women before. She'd never really dealt with any woman possessing eyes this sharp. But Lady Nott's mind fixated on 'daughter' and she swallowed her nerves and stood.
Looking back on the night, she was always annoyed she hadn't run upstairs the minute the woman said 'Hermione'.
Calla's dark hair didn't really stream out behind her in a flowing black ribbon like the books said, she nearly tripped over the huddled bleeding form at the base of the stairs, and she was positive the blood smears on her robes looked neither artistic nor dramatic, but Calladora Nott managed to get to the whimpering sounds in smallest bedroom on the east side of the little cottage anyway.
She was the last to arrive.
A shadowed figure, not at all nefarious like the types Calla read about in her novels, stood over the crib,. He had a crying toddler thrashing in his grip and he was swearing under his breath as he tried to pry little fists from the bars. Calla never forgot the sparks jumping from the toddler's dark, curly hair.
Well, she also had fairly vivid and nightmarish memories of the moonlight glinting on the bloody knife the man drew when he finally got the girl to let go, but when she recorded the 'ghost story' for her daughter later, she focused on how valiantly the little girl fought and how even her hair fought the bad, muggle man.
Calla had only been the Lady of Nott Manor for about six years when she found her daughter, but one can't live in a Manor like the Notts' without exposing oneself to some rather elaborate tomes on the process of dismemberment. Neither is one allowed to be Lady Nott without knowing basic, slightly brutal, proactive self defense.
The man lost the hand holding the knife to her first curse. He spun, dropping the little girl back into her crib as he did so, and lost the contents of his stomach… Well Calla couldn't be sure in the gloom, but in her books the heroine always cursed the evil muggle or sorcerer's so that his innards scattered with a certain degree of artistry over the thick imported carpets. They also somehow managed to achieve a fair amount of dispersion with the innnards, but to be fair this was her first time.
The man staggered a few seconds, a horrid gurgle followed by a moan falling from the darkness where the hood covered his face. He fell to his knees before her and she pushed all her fury over the bleeding woman downstairs, the shrieking girl in the crib, and the gall of this writhing worm of a muggle at her feet into the curse Thoros had taught her specifically for anyone who dared attack a Lady of House Nott.
The man exploded.
Calla, spattered in gore, wanted to throw up, then kill Thoros for ever thinking that spell was something a lady might use in self defense, then throw up again, then hold her baby close to her and never leave his nursery. The smell was overpowering.
The little girl in the crib no longer shrieked. No. She cowered against the bars and stared at Calla with wide brown eyes. The only sounds she made in that little eternity of eye contact were hiccups, whimpers, and snifflings. Her wild brown curls were clogged with blood and unidentifiable bits of her former attacker. She wore a long blue T-shirt as a night gown, it's logo indiscernible, and what looked like matching pants (they seemed to have been originally blue as well, at least) were wadded between the mattress and the bars in the far corner.
Calla approached the little girl slowly, speaking, practically singing, in the voice that never failed to soothe little Theodore all the while. "There, there, todo es bien, little one. You've had kind of a rough night, huh? I'm Calla and your mommy told me to keep you safe for her. Your name is Hermione, right, mi pequeña princesa? We must hurry and leave now, Hermione. But don't worry. I'll keep you safe, just like I promised." The wide brown eyes were wary. One of her chubby little arms had a choke hold on a stuffed unicorn, but slowly, the other reached for her. Warmth she had only experienced when stroking Theo's hair or cuddling up to her Thoros filled her chest, nearly smothering her, as Calla gently lifted the little Hermione into her arms, carefully tucking her cloak around the girl.
Calla glanced around and winced. The muggle police weren't going to like this… the Ministry even less so. Spinning on her boot heels, Calla Nott dashed downstairs, careful to shield the little girl from the destroyed and bloodied interior. Abstractly, her mind pondered how the intruder had been able to cause this much damage yet still keep the little cottage quiet enough to not raise any alarms. She pushed her ponderings to the back of her head as quickly as they appeared and whipped out her wand once she hit the cool night air in the little back garden.
The moon was black and the stars were subdued as they watched her cast various demolition curses before one final, and thorough, incendio.
When the muggle police and firemen arrived, the little cottage was a smoking pile of rubble. All evidence was lost.
So this is how our heroine met her mother. Didn't take me 9 seasons to explain, did it? Though, to be fair, it DID take like 13 chapters sooo...
Translation:
When Calla is trying to calm Hermione she says, "... everything is fine/good... my little princess?"
reviews? Gory little meeting, don't'cha think?