Author's Note: Written for Round 7 of the QLFC
Team: Pride of Portree
Position: Beater 1
Beater 1 Prompt: The Wonderful World of Headcannons: Theodore Nott's parents, contrary to popular belief, were deeply in love – his mother 'Rosalie' [Fawley] not supporting the dark side, thus bringing out the good in 'Bellanus' (names optional)
Prompts Used: 1 (word) elegant, 14 (word) possible
Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2609
Let Me Sow Love
He had more than a few errands to run this day, as he did most days. Yet, of late, he made sure that he found time to saunter down Knockturn Alley. He always found a reason to stop into The Starry Prophesier.
Baldlice could not remember precisely when he had first set foot in the store, but he was sure it had not been cold. As he wrapped his threadbare woolen scarf around his neck and tucked it into his jacket, he knew it would not be long before the deep Autumn chill truly set in. He peered into the mirror for the third time that morning. What did he expect to see? Even if he applied a glamour, he wasn't going to be any younger. He considered his reflection for a moment. Should he soften his wrinkles? Perk up the colour in his cheeks?
"Tosh" his said aloud to no one in particular. His largely empty apartment practically vibrated with the sound of his own voice. It startled him.
He lived such a minimalist's life; the size of his dwelling was obscene for just one person. When he spoke out, as he just had, it was a stark reminder of the sparseness of his existence. A reminder that, for the first time in his life, he had hoped that his was a situation that might be on the verge of a change.
He turned up his collar and headed out into the blustery morning.
Until this past summer, he had no earthly reason to even know where the shop was located. Baldlice "Bellanus" Nott was not much for Divination or casting fortunes like a carnival gypsy, so his travels had not taken him to The Starry Prophesier before. However, he had found himself interested in reading some of the source material his uncle, Cantankerus Nott, had used when writing his seminal work, The Pure-Blood Directory. That desire lead him directly to this least likely of places.
In recent years, a quiet witch had taken to cultivating their research section and the store had greatly expanded its holding of books and scrolls. This fact had significantly enhanced its reputation as being more than just a curiosity full of idle trinkets and cursed Tarot cards. Nott had heard from a few in his circle of friends that it was gaining a reputation for obscure arcana, the likes of which they might be interested in obtaining. They being purebloods of a certain ilk. And they sought a full separation of their own kind from those with Muggle blood in their family tree. The purity of blood was paramount to this small, but growing sect of fanatics, and proof of the virtue of such beliefs was also highly desirable.
Upon entering the second half of the twentieth Century, the desire to codify and legalize this proposed separation and to even segregate parts of magical society, was growing under the leadership of a charismatic wizard whose followers bordered on religious zealots. The Nott family was caught up in the movement, not only because of the resurgence in interest in old Cantankerus' book, but because they were one of the twenty-eight families with verifiable pure-blood status as named in said book. Baldlice found himself the centre of a handful of matchmaking schemes, despite being fifty years of age and a lifelong bachelor. .
Nonetheless, he'd managed to keep himself clear of magical matrimony for the past decade or so, only to find himself heading back once more through gale force winds and whipping leaves to visit her.
Rosalie Fawley was not entirely oblivious to the older wizard who had, recently, begun loitering about the shop for hours at a time. When he first appeared, sometime in the early flush of summer, if she remembered correctly, he'd seemed to be in a hurry. He quickly perused the shelves and mumbled under his breath as he searched for a title he clearly could not find. However, when he was all but ready to finally seek her assistance, he took one look at her and stopped dead in his tracks. She, too, was frozen, if only for a moment. By the time she regained her composure, he was gone. The tinkling bell atop the door the only evidence of his swift departure.
She did not think much of it when he returned the next day. She continued assisting the customer she was previously engaged with as he thumbed his way through this and that, making his way closer and closer to her orbit. His odd and hasty retreat the day before had left Rosalie cautious, so rather than approach him directly, she found other things to do and gave him wide berth. She stocked books. She tidied shelves. She assisted another shopper. And another. And another after that. Still this older wizard only moved in her periphery, and after several hours and a few cups of tea, he left without saying a word.
They continued on like this throughout the summer, each watching the other, neither saying a word.
By the time Baldlice Nott walked into the shop that gusty October morning, Rosalie was anxious. She eagerly anticipated his visits and today he arrived later than normal, looking a bit worse for wear.
"I had thought you might not come today," she said, as Baldlice walked through the door. She glided elegantly toward him with a hot cup of tea in hand. He stood silently, as dumbfounded as ever by her simple, unassuming way.
"This will help with the chill," she continued, as if he had responded to her even though they had never spoken directly to one another before. "May I?" she indicated his damp coat.
Running his hands hastily through his windblown hair, he proceeded to unbutton his coat, briefly handing back the tea so he could disrobe. "Thank you," he said, his voice soft.
Rosalie quickly levitated the coat and scarf to a rack near the door, gave Baldlice back his mug, and returned to her books. He followed.
"I assume you have been looking for this," she said, handing him over a small, well-worn book titled Bloodlines; a Compendium by B. Prewett. Baldlice took the book from her and stared.
How is it possible? he mused, turning the book over in his hand. How did she know?
"I know who you are, Mr. Nott," she answered as if he had spoken aloud. "I know who and what you are. I thought you might find this an interesting read." She returned to her desk and made a note in her inventory ledger. She looked up at him, as he continued to gape at her.
"Was there something else?" she asked. She was staring at him with a look of amusement on her face.
"I…I just don't understand…" he stammered.
"How I knew what you were looking for?" she inquired. "Or how I read your mind without you knowing?"
His eyes widened. She smiled knowingly.
"People come here looking to have their beliefs confirmed. They want what they think to be true," she said, making a small motion to indicate the whole of the store. "Will we have a child? Am I going to get the promotion? Does he love me?" She rose slowly and leaned across her desk. "I tell them what they want to hear by already knowing what they want."
She pointed at the book Baldlice was still clutching. "You wanted that book almost five months ago," she stated. "Why you haven't asked for it is also not a mystery to me. What confounds me most is why you have spent so much time drawing this out? If it is your wish to see me, then why not just ask? I am polite enough, am I not? I certainly haven't discouraged you from being here, even when, perhaps, I should have?"
The hair around her temples started to curl as they loosened and came into contact with the fine sheen of sweat that was developing along her hairline. She was frustrated beyond words with this man. Why did he not just state what his intentions were?
She looked at him baldly. There was no denying he was older than she; perhaps twenty years or more. He was not particularly well-kept, either, but nonetheless she found him handsome which might have been the only reason Rosalie noticed him in the first place. He certainly was not her type; she was loath to be associated with the circles he traveled in. However, he was undoubtedly charmed by her, and that, in its own way, was very alluring.
The minutes ticked by, uninterrupted.
"Baldlice. Anglo-Saxon in origin; from the Old English meaning bold. Are you bold, Mr. Nott?" she asked.
He summoned his coat and scarf from the rack. "Lunch, Miss Fawley?" he asked as he headed to the door.
"I thought you'd never ask," she replied, wrapping her own coat around her shoulders and heading out into the crisp early Autumn sun.
Time passed and their lunches grew more regular. They passed the holidays in each other's company, and enjoyed watching the early blooms of spring come up through the snow on their walks. Rain drenched them and flooded the alleys in May as Baldlice took up habitual residence in the shop for hours at a time. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes he read, or pretended to read so he could watch her over the books' binding - studying the elegant, gentle way she handled the books. Her meticulous attention to detail. She was captivating in her exacting nature.
As summer peaked, the anniversary of his first visit to The Starry Prophesier approached. With it came a growing tension within Baldlice. He was restless, unnerved, and yet, he could not put his finger on it. Their time together had been delightful, but…
Could there be more? Was it possible? He wondered if he was hoping for too much.
He struggled not to think it in her presence; her ability to read his mind was uncanny. Yet, his awkwardness was something he could not hide.
"You have something on your mind, don't you?" she asked one late summer day. They were taking a stroll in the park after lunch. She had noted that the leaves were starting to turn, despite the August heat. The seasons were already changing again.
Bold, he reminded himself. "It is almost time for school again," he remarked, as casually as he could manage. "I imagine traffic to the alley drops off a bit around then."
"It does. Quite a lot, actually," she answered. "The people watching won't be near as good, I'm afraid," she smirked.
"Well, be that as it may," he continued, undeterred, "it should give you a bit more free time. And, I thought I might take advantage of that." It tumbled out a bit too fast, but he'd manage to say it, and that was a small triumph.
"I won't be as busy, if that is what you mean," she said, demurely. A slight blush had come to her cheeks beneath the modest tan she wore on her summer skin. Rosalie found herself suddenly nervous.
He reached out for her hand, and they stopped their progress. "I would like to take you to dinner," he said. He was by no means confident that she would accept, but he realized that his discomfort over the past weeks was more due to his own internal conflicting feelings. They were friends, but he was not sure he could live with himself if he did not declare that he wanted more.
"Dinner?" she paused, trying to look at his handsome face, but found her shoes much too interesting at the moment. "I'm not sure that is appropriate, Baldlice," she answered, finally.
He adored the way his name sounded when she said it. Only Rosalie even bothered to call him by his full name. He absolutely despised the atrocious bastardization that had become his nickname.
Bellanus. Ugh, he thought. What I wouldn't give to spend the rest of my days listening to her call me Baldlice…
"We have our differences, I know," he began, "but certainly over this past year, we have found much in common. And I do not think you so shallow as to be concerned with age."
Rosalie finally looked up. "No. Age is not the issue," she agreed.
He nodded. There was only one thing they could not seem to come to agreement on: the issue of blood purity in magical families.
"I will not support it," she had said many a time during their conversations despite her own family also being one of the few with pure-blooded ancestry. "I cannot envision a world where magicians are discriminated against just because they might have Muggle parents. Magic is magic." Rosalie had a way about her when she was speaking passionately; the color in her cheeks and the way her hands moved. He could not look away, even though his view differed.
Until now, they had mostly agreed to disagree on the topic, although Baldlice had to admit to being swayed by her logic, if only a tiny bit. Now, however, with his heart laid bare, it seemed as if this crucial conflict could no longer be ignored.
"I would not ask you to support that issue, Rosalie," he said gently. "I only ask that you respect my position as I respect yours. As we have already been doing throughout our friendship."
"I'm not blind to what is happening around me," she answered, her voice seeming small. "The world is changing. Your leader, whatever you call him, is charismatic and powerful. He is making quite a stir, and has many followers. Do you really think that there will be a choice left to me in a few years?"
Baldlice moved closer to her, carefully placing his arm about her shoulders. "Yet, you would still rather go it alone than allow me to be there for you?" he asked.
"Being with you will only draw me closer to the eye of the storm," she said keeping her eyes downcast.
They stood in silence there on the path near the pond, while the sun disappeared behind a cloud, shrouding them in a sudden shadow. Rosalie drew nearer, winding her arm around Baldlice's waist, her head effortlessly coming to rest on his shoulder.
"All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle," he whispered. When he looked back on the moment, he had to admit, it was inspired. He had no idea where the quote had come from or why it came to him in that moment, but it had been the most important of his life.
Rosalie pulled her head back to look up at him, astonished. "I didn't know you were familiar with the Muggle philosopher, St. Francis of Assisi"
"I have come to be familiar with many things now that I hadn't been before," Baldlice replied, looking down into her face, his hand coming up to gently sweep the hair out of her eyes. "I have learned that I am not too old to listen, to see the world in way that differs from my own," he continued. "To find value where once I had only seen detriment. To find something where once I thought only nothing existed".
His eyes drifted away from her to look out over the gardens they stood in the midst of. Here, too, between them, there was a garden; it was small and it was just taking root, but it was growing nonetheless.
"Be my light," he whispered.
She squeezed herself tighter to him, knowing she would be.