Author's note: This is the first time I write Theodore Nott and I have to admit, I'm pretty excited because he's been in many great fanfictions. I also tried to make a headcannon for Theodore Nott that is canon compliant and epilogue compliant except that it twists some events around. Disclaimer: Also of course I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters and make no profit from writing fanfiction. Only the plot is mine :)
[Slytherin House prompts used: (colour) silver; (emotion) intrigued];Slytherin character: Theo of course; Lucky Duck Biweekly challenge: #9. Flourish and Blotts]
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*~*~*~Of Pumpkin Lattes, and Things Lost Past*~*~*~*~*
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Theodore Nott doesn't want things. He gets them.
So when he is confronted with his reflection in the Mirror of Erised, he is suitably conflicted.
For beside him stands, not a pureblood, but a mudblood. A very famous one. With bushy, brown hair and wide brown eyes that are at once all too seeing and yet too narrow-minded.
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She'd never think of him as anything more than the Death Eater from the war.
Why didn't he forget her too?
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He strolls down Diagon Alley with his hands buried in his pockets. The corduroy of his jacket blends in with the dusky hues of the grey slabs and ancient marble buildings of the crooked, busy street. Among the crowds, he is both classy and casually dressed, typically wrapped in his favourite shades of silver, grey wool and dark blues. The cold air of late September blows through his long, auburn brown hair and he turns as he sees a familiar figure step into the threshold of Flourish & Blotts bookstore.
He smirks to himself. She's almost too cliche at times, choosing to frequent and do everything expected out of a bookworm and busy-body law reformer at the Ministry.
If he reached for her hand now, he feels certain he'd find her fingers and palms stained with ink.
He only resists the idea for two seconds more, before he follows her into the store.
~o~
Hermione Granger is a very busy woman. Very busy. And very adult-ish and responsible. With a whole load of SPEW, muggle and magical animal rights to resolve, a world to reform and a Ministry's outdated system to make law changes to.
There is no way—no way—she has time to step into Flourish & Blotts to read some trashy novels or scintillating tales of local gossip in Witches Weekly.
She's not that frivolous, she's not.
She smirks to herself as her leather heeled boots trod against the familiar old wood of the beloved bookstore—filled with her favourite smell of old pages and lattes—and finds her favourite spot to read by a corner. She sinks into the cushioned armchair, which is right by the fireplace and in front of the "Witches Novels and Magazines" section. She shouldn't be here, not when she has a toddlers Quidditch game with Rose to pick up and letters of protest to write to the usual corrupt Ministers, but she smiles as she crosses her legs and rests her tired feet out for awhile.
There's never really any harm in reading for a bit.
She could use the little escape too from her family, home, Ron and the kids, to rest for awhile.
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If she's honest, she comes here entirely too often. And the proof is that, without even asking, Blott's shopkeeper conjures one of her pumpkin spiced lattes right beside her little table without asking. He knows exactly how she likes it, and then he leaves her in perfect piece and solitude. The only sound is the crinkling of the pages as she turns them and the crackling of the gentle fire as it warms her up.
Fall is cold. Yet it makes being indoors that much more precious. She warms her fingers by the fire and sighs in contentment.
She's picked up a magazine that would make her embarrassed if anyone saw her reading it at work; one of the articles is about the libido of first-born wizards and fertility and heirloom spells. It's an odd topic, obscure, and yet completely fascinating. She devours the whole magazine shamelessly, glad that no one is looking over her shoulder.
Though she wonders, secretly, how Ron would compare to one of these first-born wizards and their heirloom spells...Hmm.
~o~
Theo's steps are nimble and almost impossibly quiet against the ancient floorboards that should be creaking and whining loudly under the 185 pound, 6ft2 frame of Theodore Nott. But he's graceful as a cat. Without the whiskers and adorable tail. So nimble, in fact, he could probably sneak up behind a person and kill them without ever being noticed (and that's without the use of silencing spells). If he were into killing sorts of thing. He could make a perfect assassin. Again if he were into that sort of thing.
No, he is proud to say, Theo is much more selfish; he never does a thing that doesn't serve him and his personal gain. Almost like a politician, he never says more than necessary or admit anything that might hurt him. His wounded pride is probably why he's avoided this for so long too.
Right now, there is a lot to be gained and he is haunted by the way her hair falls into her eyes and as she reaches out a hand, to push it back in place, her fingers are covered in splotches of ink—
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She hasn't changed a bit, in some ways, and then both being nearly 30 years old, they have changed in irreparable ways.
He wonders, does she have stretchmarks under her sweater now, where he last kissed her on her stomach when they were both 15 years old?
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He sits down across from her, just plops down the wood bench—it's meant for books not people—and stares at her.
"Hello."
"Oh my goodness," she nearly kicks over her cup of pumpkin latte as she notices Theodore Nott, her oldtime classmate and onetime lover, sitting across from her.
~o~
A/N: Should I continue, what do you think? ;) Anyways, I am loving the fall weather, it's a very nice time with the leaves and spices...and Theo stories
xoxo