Theodore Nott's Reluctance

Did he think of himself as a Death Eater?

Yes, yes he did. Unfortunately.

Well, his father is a Death Eater.

Yes, he was. But it is possible, he'd say, voice dripping with disdain, that he could be different from his father. After all, if the crossing over of homologous chromosomes ensures genetic variation among offspring, it stands to reason that he wouldn't be a carbon copy of Nott Sr.

But...Death Eater.

It's a name, he'd say. It's a title. The brand on his arm is a tattoo marking him as a member of one of the more exclusive clubs in Britain, a club he was also a part of. To his eternal shame.

It's also an ideology.

To which he would snort, and say that no, it's not. Death Eater-ism is not a thing. Blood purism, however, is.

And is he a blood purist?

His father is.

Is he a blood purist?

No, he'd admit. No, he isn't. Which is why he considered himself to be different from his father. But he would never, ever admit this aloud. Not when Nott Sr. was a high-ranking member in the Dark Lord's inner circle.

So he doesn't take part in the torture and destruction his club—and here there is always a condescending edge—initiates?

Here, Theo paused. He would always pause when this question came up.

No, he'd answer. Because his father had never been a good father and Theo had always strongly suspected that he had killed his wife. But, glaringly obvious flaws aside, he had always tried to shelter him from the worst of what it meant to have the Dark Mark on his arm. And now it was on Theo's, burned into his skin with magical ink. There would be no laser treatment for that particular mistake and no way to ever get it off unless he flayed off his skin. But, knowing what he knew of the Dark Lord, he would likely have to cut off the entire arm to get the mark off.

Unless, of course, the Dark Lord had managed to burn the tattoo so deep that its tendrils reached his magical core, in which case he'd never get rid of it.

Another unfortunate aspect of his exclusive membership was that the Dark Lord was a military dictator in all but name. Joining the ranks, even as the son of a trusted advisor, meant he would be sent out on whatever ridiculous raid that struck his Lord's fancy.

Mentally, Theo corrected himself. Not his lord. His father's certainly, but never his.

Which was why he was crouched by the front gates of his former school. And wasn't that an amusing thought. He, who has always competed with Draco for the top spot in Slytherin house, was a high school drop out. Amusing and infuriating in equal measure, he decided.

The silver Death Eater—or is it Knight of the Walpurgis now? Theo wondered, the pretentious titles grating on him—mask was hot and heavy on his face. The bloody thing was made of real silver for some unfathomable reason. And silver was the highest thermal conductor.

Why nobody had bothered innovating the masks to a comfortable degree was beyond. They were all magical, after all, so surely something could have been done.

"Wardbreakers," hissed the squad leader. "You know what to do. Just stir up enough of a fuss that Dumbledore and his cronies come to investigate."

"Chances are they'll only send out some weaklings to check," piped up one of the designated wardbreakers. Theo had no idea who they were and didn't much care.

"So we leave one alive to go crawling back to the old fool," said the squad leader. "Yes, sir," said the wardbreaker, who then turned his attention to the gates and began muttering to his partner. Theo caught something about matrices and foci and possibly something about a hippopotamus, but then again, Theo was sleep-deprived so that last bit may have been his ears playing tricks on him. Then the two Death Eaters pulled out their wands in tandem and began shooting spells at the gates. Theo tracked the impact sites. What looked like three standard conflagration curses hit the gates one after the other in a triangle formation, revealing the bright blue shimmer of a shield. "That was just a warm-up," said the second wardbreaker, and Theo could hear the smirk in her voice.

She rolled her wrist and began a series of intricate wand movements. Resolving to look for books on wards as soon as he got home—if he got home—he tried to memorize the combination. Flick up, down, tight spiral anti-clockwise, then a jerk backwards, a wide slash from left hip to right shoulder, then a descending arc. Her partner was mirroring her movements, spiralling clockwise and slashing from his right hip upwards.

The two of them were murmuring something. A chant, maybe? Theo had heard of chants being used in foreign magic and even some older English rituals but he knew they had fallen out of use at least a century prior.

At the conclusion of…whatever they were doing, twin gouts of bright red light shot from their wands at the gates. Theo and the rest of the squad watched in amazement as a rip the side of his forearm seemed to open up in the blue shimmer, the two sides being pulled apart by the red light. With the hiss and crackle of impending magical backlash, the wardbreakers' spell winked out and the rip snapped shut.

"There," said the male wardbreaker, satisfaction evident even if he seemed wearier than before. "If the Dual Crimson technique won't get Dumbledore off his ass, nothing short of the second coming of Merlin will."

"Get to the back if you want to catch your breath," their squad leader told them. The two Death Eaters obeyed, trudging to the read of the squad. Theo caught the tail end of their conversation from his position in the middle of the pack.

"'M'tired," the female Death Eater muttered, leaning sneakily on her partner. "You've been slacking on your endurance training," the other replied, poking her in the side.

"Oi, knock it off," said one of the other squad members sternly. Theo started at the voice. Someone had thought it was a good idea to send Travers with them? The man barely had any brain cells left to rub together after he escaped Azakaban. Sure, the man had skill, but…

At least he isn't squad leader, Theo thought, glancing at the man in question. Judging by the very recognizable hair, his father's lord had sent along Lucius Malfoy to lead the assault.

As if it was really an assault, though.

Theo wasn't stupid. The members of his squad were almost all teens and young adults, Travers the marked exception. It wasn't an assault team, not if the Dark Lord genuinely cared about making a dent in Hogwarts' defenses. No, there was a secondary objective, one which required Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds. Naturally, Voldemort had picked both expendable fighters and the ones most likely to garner sympathy or mercy from the Order.

Stupid. If Theo was loyal to anyone, it was Draco, Blaise, and Pansy. He would not leave them in the Dark Lord's clutches to save his own miserable skin.

"We've got company," said one of the Death Eaters sharply. Theo cast them a suspicious glance. Werewolf hearing, maybe?

A minute later, three figures came into view. Theo sucked in a breath. There was the distinctive white beard of his former headmaster and the lumbering gait of Mad-Eye Moody. And the third figure…well. Sirius Black, Azkaban escapee, strode beside the other two with the sort of scowl on his face that would make any child cry.

"Selwyn, Parkinson, you take the blood traitor. Travers, Nott, Johnson, you have Mad-Eye. Djels, Raleigh, we'll take Dumbledore," Malfoy said as the three approached.

"Lucius," said Dumbledore, as he stopped before the gates. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion and the twinkle was absent from his blue eyes, Theo noted.

"Albus Dumbledore," replied his squad leader, "You are hereby ordered by the Minister of Magic to surrender Hogwarts."

"Ah, but has your Minister forgotten the Hogwarts charter?" he asked mildly, visibly palming his wand. "In times of civil unrest, Hogwarts stands as an independent entity."

"You forfeited your right to independence when you accepted Mudblood refugees," Malfoy growled.

"Suck it, Malfoy," Black sneered.

Theo ignored the posturing adults in favor of watching two Death Eaters concealing themselves in the shadows. They're waiting for the gates to open, Theo realized grimly. They're the ones with the extra objective.

"This does not need to turn violent," Dumbledore said tiredly, and Theo weighed their odds. Three of the Light's best fighters against a squad of 10 barely-trained Death Eaters and one Inner Circle member. Of those, two specialized in wardbreaking and were running low on power, two had a secondary objective that would likely remove them from the bulk of the fighting, and one of them was a mediocre loose cannon—who he happened to be grouped with.

Theo did not like those odds.

Nevertheless, he flicked his wrist and gripped his wand. "Onwards and upwards," he muttered.

"I disagree, Dumbledore," Malfoy said. "Do it." At that signal, the two wardbreakers began a low chant and another series of wand movements.

Malfoy snapped out what looked like a Protego Horribilis as Dumbledore's face turned ashen. "Et conteret!" the two wardbreakers yelled, and the gates snapped in half with a horrendous screech of metal and magic. "Fan out," Mafloy roared.

Travers barreled straight towards Moody, cackling as he went. With a muffled curse, Theo followed. He had never had much formal dueling training, but he knew enough about duels that tag-teaming an opponent required truth and practice. Travers and Theo had neither.

With a burst of inspiration, Theo started Transfiguring. It had always been his best class, and when he dropped out, he had been learning those nifty inanimate to animate Transfigurations that McGonagall so favored. "C'mon, c'mon," Theo muttered, narrowing his eyes as much as he dared in the darkness of the grounds. He had only managed to make two jackals out of earth when suddenly, Mad-Eye was upon him, sending curses with a fevered glint in his one real eye.

Theo jumped back while sending his constructs forward and immediately put up a Protego. Should I put up a smokescreen? Theo wondered, before remembering that the ex-Auror's eye had x-ray vision.

But two could play at that game. He darted quickly behind Travers and took down his Protego. "Oculi augendae," he muttered, and put up his Protego immediately after. His eyes burned with the strain as his vision sharpened, lost focus, and sharpened again. He could feel his pupils dilating past where they would naturally. But at least now he could see.

Moody had dispatched of his jackals easily and was advancing on Travers, who was shooting off Killing Curses with more and more fervor. The ex-Auror just brought up shields of earth over and over again. "Expelliarmus," he said gruffly, not even bothering to raise his voice, and Travers' wand was flying through the air.

"Stupefy," Moody said then, and Travers dropped like a stone. "Incarcerous."

Theo stood, wand outstretched, trying desperately to keep his hand from shaking. His Protego was flickering.

I'm dead, Theo thought distantly. But he could not think logically past the adrenaline and the litany of That's Moody, holy shit, Travers is down, do we even have back up, shit shit shit—

"Take the mask off, boy," Moody said gruffly. With trembling fingers, Theo obeyed, and he let the ceramic drop to the ground. At least he could breathe now.

A strange expression crossed Moody's face then, and he visibly clenched his jaw.

With one last pathetic shimmer, Theo's shield charm dropped.

I'm dead.

"Stupefy," said Moody, and with a flash of red light, Theo knew no more.

End of Part 1

Et conteret: and shatter

oculi augendae: enhance eyes

A/N Summer vacation is like...a writer's best friend. Yeah, this chapter was pretty short, but it's basically an interlude. The set-up/exposition is done and from here, the plot is going to split in three different directions. Which means more consistent POVs! Yay! Which means more action! Yay! Which means more angst! Yay…?

BTW, thank you again for the recs, Guest :)