Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling. I just like to do inappropriate things with her characters.
Chapter 3 - Sun-Faded Photographs
The house wasn't nearly as bad as Theo had been led to believe, at least for the most part. After his initial walk-through with Hermione, they returned to his office to discuss the necessary details. The majority of the cleaning would be handled by a company he'd done business with in the past, and her compensation for taking on this task was twice what she'd been making at the Ministry. She'd initially refused the amount, thinking he was being too generous, until he had his accountant confirm that the wage was standard for his employees.
A week after she signed onto the project, she and Hugo moved into the house, and he resolved to give her a few days before checking up on her. He already knew, from Blaise, that the decision was a favorable one, the change of career (no chance of conflict with her husband, who was still at the Ministry) and the residence along with the wages would go a long way toward undermining the Weasel's trumped-up case against her. The next afternoon, however, he found her in his office when he returned from lunch.
"Why didn't you tell me it was part of Walden MacNair's estate?" she demanded, without preamble.
"Good afternoon to you, too, Hermione. I trust you're settling in just fine?" Theo ignored her temper, closing his office door before crossing to his desk.
"Walden MacNair, Theodore!" Her eyes blazed with fury, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild as if it had taken on a life of its own. It reminded him rather vividly of when they were at school, and it took an effort for Theo to remember he'd promised himself to be professional in his dealings with her. "He was a Death Eater!"
"I fail to see the problem here, Hermione," he replied calmly.
"He killed people! He was the Ministry's executioner for years!"
"I rather doubt he was in the habit of bringing his work home with him, so again I fail to see the issue." He knew that it was best to remain calm, to deal with her rationally, but it was increasingly difficult.
"You expect me to raise my son in a house where a known Death Eater used to live?" she screeched.
Theodore sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and finally said, "The Ministry has already been through it."
"But," she protested, though he didn't allow her to finish whatever it was she was going to say, holding up a hand to cut her off.
"Six times, Hermione. Six separate teams, Aurors as well as Cursebreakers, they've all cleared it of anything that might be considered even remotely dark. It's just a house." Part of him was offended at the implication that he would risk her safety (and that of her son) so casually.
"A house where a Death Eater used to live!" His restraint finally broke, and he rounded the desk, heading toward her. Arguments would serve no purpose, he knew, not when she was so wrapped up in self-righteous indignation. "What are you doing?" she demanded, as he took hold of her arm.
"Making a point," he replied, his voice still calm. "Brace yourself." It was all the warning he gave her before Apparating them both. Even with the warning, he felt her wobble against him when they arrived, and he held onto her until she'd regained her balance.
"Where are we?" Hermione pulled her arm free, then turned so she could face him, the better to focus her glare on him. It was the sort of expression he'd seen her use countless times on her friends, and he wondered if she was disappointed that it didn't affect him in the same way.
"A house where a Death Eater used to live. Come with me." Theo gestured toward an open door, then headed toward it. He didn't have to look back to know that she would follow him, her curiosity would insist upon it.
"Why are we here?" Curiosity, yes, but there was confusion, too, and he wondered if she could have possibly forgotten what little she used to know about him, about his father.
"Patience, Hermione. The answer to most of your questions is in here." In spite of the open door, it wasn't a room that Theo frequented, for a number of reasons. To the casual observer, it was just an ordinary sitting room, the decor quite obviously feminine, and a series of sun-faded photographs hung on the wall opposite the curtained windows. It had been his mother's sitting room, once, and her presence still lingered, at least for him. He'd often wondered if her memory had kept his father from redecorating, or if the man simply hadn't been bothered to care what the place looked like; most days, he suspected the latter.
She glanced at the wall, and he watched her face change as understanding dawned. "This is your house, isn't it?"
"Yes." He didn't look at the photographs, the captured moments of a childhood he often wished to forget; instead, his gaze settled on a place in the middle of the floor. "Tell me, do you sense anything out of the ordinary here?" There were no marks, no reminders, the house elves had been very thorough in their cleaning, but he still knew the precise spot where she had died.
There was silence for several minutes, and then she finally sighed, shaking her head. "No. Nothing."
"You're quite sure? No lingering after-effects of dark magic? Nothing to suggest this is anything more than a house?" He was pushing, and he knew he was pushing, knew he should back off with that conceded defeat instead of risking her temper again, but he wanted to make sure she understood.
"This is the point you're trying to make? No, I don't sense anything. Satisfied?"
He finally looked at her, caught her gaze, watched her irritation and impatience fade at whatever was in his expression. "This was my mother's room," he said, slowly, picking the words carefully because he wanted her to understand but didn't want her to pity him. "Her favorite room in the house. She used to sit in that chair, there, with the basket at her feet, and sew for hours." He nodded toward the chair closest to the windows, the floral pattern on the cushions more faded by sunlight than even the pictures. "There was a piano, over in that corner... it's gone, now, but she'd let me sit with her, while she played, even tried to teach me. My father hated it, hated all her mundane hobbies." His jaw tightened, at the memory, and he felt her hand on his arm, looked down to see the concern in her eyes.
"What happened to her?" Her question was spoken quietly, without an ounce of pity, which was probably why he answered it.
"She died." Theo gave himself a shake, looking away from her. "I was seven. I don't really remember what he was yelling about, but I remember he was angry. I'd never seen him so angry. I don't think she had, either, but she wasn't afraid of him. She should have been, but she wasn't."
"You were there when it happened." It wasn't a question, and still there was no pity in her voice, though there was something else he didn't want to think about too closely.
"At the piano," Theo said, with a nod. "I don't think he even knew I was in here, at first. I've wondered if it would have made a difference, if he'd have done it anyway or waited until I wasn't around. I don't think it mattered, one way or the other." He paused, waited for her to say something, sure that she'd have something to say, but the silence stretched, and finally he just sighed again. "I can still feel her here, sometimes, but I know that it's just me. There's nothing left, of either of them, just me and the house."
"Is that why you bought MacNair's house?" she asked.
"Part of it," he admitted, looking down at her again. "His estate has been tied up for years, solicitors trying to run down a family connection that didn't exist. I don't know if you got into inheritence laws at all, back when you were working at the Wizengamot."
"No, my focus was more on creatures and beings, although I did poke at some of the more outdated pureblooded laws. What I know of inheritence laws is limited to Harry's inheritence."
"Ah, yes, the Black estate. Very neat piece of legal work, that. The Malfoys are still licking their wounded pride over it." He smirked at her confused expression. "If Sirius Black hadn't willed the lot to Potter, it would have gone to Draco. Narcissa was a Black before she was a Malfoy, remember. There are plenty of other families who've intermarried with the Blacks here and there, but no one else's claim was as recent as hers."
She started to say something, but there was a chirping sound from his pocket, and he held up a hand as he pulled out the ornate pocket watch. "Ah, we've been here longer than I realized. Any other pressing issues with MacNair's house? No? Come on, I'll take you back, I'm late for a meeting."
This time, he held his arm out for her, and she took it, her expression wary. "This isn't over, Theo."
He Apparated them to the sidewalk outside MacNair's house, bent to kiss her cheek, and said, "It's just beginning." Then he left her standing there, and headed to his meeting.
