A/N: I'm sorry guys – this was originally going to be a nice, cute, fluffy chapter where Theodore and Hermione were going to start getting closer and everything would have a nice and happy resolution. But then my heart went like NOPE and decided to just compile all of Theodore's personal problems and current mental state into one chapter. Whoops.
Oh by the way, I was thinking of maybe doing this story again, but from Hermione's perspective. It would be after I've finished this one, but I'm just letting you guys know that I'm thinking of it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Title: The Past Does Not Define Us
Rating: T
Pairing: Theodore Nott/Hermione Granger
Summary: "I'm sorry." Those two words shot like an arrow through his soul and Theodore found that there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling.
Warning(s): Mentions of child abuse and suicidal thoughts.
Reviews:
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx – Thanks again!
Chapter 9: Reluctance
A pure white blanket covers the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds, bringing along with it the cold of December.
Along with the cold come the annual galas – parties held by pureblood families to celebrate Yuletide (for Christmas was a muggle holiday and many of the old families chose to never celebrate it in such a baseless capacity). Unlike previous years, however, Theodore would be staying at Hogwarts (not in a manor where the library was a trap and the portraits watched his every move, nor with friends, as the Ministry was watching the families of those who had been closely connected to the Dark Lord); there would be no parties or galas for him this year, and he predicts, not for many years to come (not that he's entirely upset about that).
He keeps his head down when he writes his name on the list of students remaining at the castle and quickly escapes from the Great Hall before the jeers or whispers could reach his ears.
Hands in his pockets, his feet take him down the familiar halls, swiftly dodging students left right and center – it was a Hogsmeade weekend and the halls were crowded with students getting ready to head down to the village. The familiar silence that accompanied his appearance should be something he's used to by now, shouldn't it? As soon as he passes, the whispers start, as they always do.
"Isn't that one of those Death Eaters' sons?"
"Why isn't he locked up like his dad?"
"I've seen him hanging out with Hermione Granger."
"The Hermione Granger? No way!"
"You think he cast the Imperius on her?"
"That's the only way a Death Eater like him could ever get a girl like her!"
No, not again, not like this, not here – Theodore can faintly see his father's sneer in the middle of his mind's eye and inwardly, he begins to panic. No, he needs to calm down, but there were too many people and their voices were so loud. Normally he can deal with this, it's nothing different from what he usually hears, what he had once been told, what he is used to, but he's been spending so much time with Granger lately; why can't he bring himself to ignore it this time?
"I bet he's just like them; like father, like son, am I right?"
Like father, like son.
He could feel bile rising in his throat, constricting and making it difficult to breathe – there were too many people here, they were surrounding him, crushing him, closing him in with their accusations and he knows that nothing he says would be heard. No matter if he were to scream and shout, he knows that no one will listen to the son of a Death Eater, a murderer (cause isn't he one? He's apparently just like his father, after all).
Theodore manages to tightly shut his eyes and take hastily slow breaths, enough to make him swallow the hiccups and tears threatening to escape him as he makes his way through the crowd, past the entrance hall, down the twisting and narrow corridors, then up, up, up the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. The biting cold eats into his skin as he shoves the door open, the wind making his eyes water even more as he stumbles to the rail – to think, by simply climbing over it and letting himself fall, he would solve a lot of the wizarding world's problems.
He grips the rail with shaking hands, his knuckles white and his head bowed, breathing heavily.
"Why is he even still here? It's not like he has a future."
… No, he doesn't, not after everything his father had done.
"Why doesn't he just die? Things would be so much better without him."
You're useless, Theodore, just like your mother. You can never do anything right. What kind of heir are you? I would have preferred a Malfoy to a son than you – at least young Draco applies himself to the cause. And what have you done? That's right, nothing.
Useless.
Weak.
Coward.
You don't deserve to live.
You should just die.
"I… should just… die…"
It would be simple – he could easily throw himself off the top of the tower right now and let himself fall (just like Dumbledore back in sixth year, he thought humorlessly), but he found that he couldn't bring himself to move. He could see his breath forming in the air around him as he looked longingly at the ground, far, far below.
Even so, why couldn't he do it?