Green
A/N: This story was written for The Houses Competition. I am a Gryffindor, Year 3. This is for the Drabble category using prompt [Colour] Green. The final word count (according to Google docs) is 498 words.
A huge thank you to my beautiful betas: Tsu (Kurotsuba), Shay (ipsa dixit) and Di (cheadsearc) :D
I hope it becomes obvious throughout the drabble, but just in case, the 'him' is of course, Voldemort, and this is about Mr 'Belanus' and Mrs 'Rosalie' Nott (Theodore Nott's parents—I seem to have fallen in love with them haha). In my headcanon, Mr Nott was always rumoured to have murdered Theodore's mother, but in actuality loved her dearly. This is also an experimentation for me using a different writing style, so hopefully it's not backfired.
Green was the colour of his favourite curse—not Belanus'.
When he arrives home that evening, Rosalie is sitting at the dining room table. Her eyes flicker to him, but she doesn't say a word until he sits down.
"You're late again," she says.
The prepared excuse is on his lips, yet he finds he cannot lie to her; she already knows where he's been. She always does.
"The meeting went longer than expected," is all he offers.
Her eyes are boring into him. "Who was it this time?"
His cheeks grow hot—he hasn't murdered anyone tonight. He was serving their lord, making sure the world was a better place for their family. Why can't she ever see that?
Before he can tell her as much, Rosalie stands and leaves the room.
Green was the colour of her beautiful eyes—the eyes that held love for him, no matter how stupid he was.
She is tucking Theodore into bed when he walks into the room.
"I'm sorry." The words sound foreign to him, but he means it.
Rosalie doesn't turn to him straight away, her gaze on their now sleeping son. "You need to protect him."
Belanus places a hand on her shoulder. "I will always protect my family."
He is taken aback when Rosalie faces him. Her eyes are fresh with unshed tears.
"I don't just mean from him," she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He's not sure what she means but it doesn't matter; all is forgiven.
Green was the colour of the trees—the trees in the park he no longer visits.
"Are you sure you don't want to sit down? You don't look well."
Rosalie shakes her head and tilts her face towards the sun. The rays catch the copper streaks of her hair. Even so, she looks paler than usual.
Theodore clutches onto her hand and tugs her towards the pond. Belanus looks at a bench nearby, hoping that Rosalie will rest for a little while, but he does not want to ruin their outing.
Green was the colour of their robes—lime green robes.
He can see their mouths moving, but the words are not registering. No words except: "the treatment isn't working."
He wants to jump up and curse the Healers. They had promised that they could cure her, that they were going to stop the disease. Yet here they are, declaring her finished.
Rosalie squeezes his hand, and he stays seated. Her green eyes focus on his, and he finally understands what she's been trying to tell him: protect Theodore when she could not.
Green was not the colour of the spell he used—not against his wife, anyway.
As mourners pay their condolences, he knows what they're really thinking: that he killed her, like so many other women. Taking Theodore's hand, he leads the boy away from the graveyard and their gossip.
He will protect his son from everything, even if it means that the green will appear in his life again.