Nott A Secret One Wants Heard

Theodore and Pansy Nott were arguing. It was rare that the couple argued, Pansy was an Iron Lady and Theodore was squashed perfectly beneath her thumb. He always let her have her way, let her have whatever it was that she wanted but the weedy wizard was growing tired of it. He was well aware that Pansy was simply with him for money and status and he was well aware of her multiple affairs, heck he was aware one of their children wasn't his, yet he stayed with her for the status. The audacity of not being married to a pure blood was something Theodore was keen to avoid and if that meant being walked over then so be it. Of course, Pansy was oblivious to this fact. In fact she believed her husband was only aware with one affair with Augustus Rookwood that had resulted in the conception of her youngest daughter Anastasia. Ultimately the one being fooled was Madame Parkinson-Nott. She was the one giving gold monthly to her son so that he wouldn't blab to his Father about the time that he'd caught her cheating.

Cheating no longer felt like a sin to Pansy. At first she received a rush from it, the adrenaline of being with another man, but now it was simply routine. A routine that Pansy was bored of but knew had to be maintained in order to be satisfied in ways that her dear husband didn't have the talent to do. Every affair was calculated and for once Pansy wanted to feel the rush again so instead of taking her latest victim to a room in the Leaky Cauldron she'd brought him back to their mansion, even led him to the bedroom where her and her husband slept. Theodore had been slow at finding her a new invisibility cloak and this was her revenge: Dirtying their sheets with another man.

Sadly Pansy's calculations had been inaccurate. Theodore had finished work early, returned to the Manor House and headed straight to the bedroom. Ten minutes later Pansy was being straddled by a corpse that had fell to the killing curse of Theodore Nott. He was done being walked over, finished playing the part of a weedy little man that had no power. A pure blooded man without power at that.

'What the hell were you thinking!' Pansy yelled as she followed her husband into the dining room, her black lingerie lightly concealed beneath a thin black robe. 'You just killed a man!'

'You've said.' Her husband replied, taking his dinner jacket off and throwing it on the back of one of the chairs.

'You killed a man! Left him lying there!' Pansy barked. 'Theodore, look at me!'

Theodore ignored her. Instead he strolled across to the fire place, grasped a bottle of scotch from the top and poured it into a small glass. He had killed before in his sophomore year of being a death eater but hadn't cast the killing curse since. It had felt good, more than good, great. It was refreshing and, ironically, had made him feel the most alive that he had done in years and Pansy's reaction had been priceless. Not only had he caught his wife in the act of adultery, adrenaline had over come him and he'd enjoyed it.

'Not only did you kill a man but you did so in our bed!'

'And you killed a man in our bed a long time ago.' Theodore retorted ominously, placing his drained glass onto the table. 'You sucked the life right out of me. Made me a puppet. Belittled me. Made me feel worthless and insignificant. I was chained to you. Acted like I didn't know about how much of a freak in the sheets with you. Tell me, is he pure blood?'

'Excuse me?' Pansy replied, slightly stunned by her husbands sudden outburst.

'Is. He. Pure blood?' Theodore teased, a dark glint glazed across his eyes. 'Oh dear Pansy, please tell me you haven't been pleasuring mudbloods and blood traitors. After all that I've done to uphold our pure blood name.'

'What you've done? You've done nothing! I'm the one who kept our name alive among the death eaters. I'm the one who has spread pure blood propaganda! I'm the one who has kept the very essence of what it means to be pure blood alive!'

'And you've done this in my money, Pansy.' Theodore replied in a scarily calm manner. 'This is my house. My money. My name. I could cut you off right now.'

An empty threat.

'You wouldn't. You need me.' Pansy retorted, a sly smirk spreading across her cheeks as she began to make her way around the table.

'you need me more than you think.' Her fingers now adjusting his tie. 'Without me you wouldn't have had children to pass on the family name. Without me-'

'Don't bring up our children!' Theodore barked, releasing himself from his wife and pushing her back. 'You know full well that I'm not responsible for them!'

'Don't say that.'

'It's true! You stole Anastasia from me! The only thing I had was being a father and when you went and got pregnant when we hadn't had sex for six months was the biggest shade you've thrown my way! Here she lives in our home. I bet you love it don't you, having your adulterous love child parade around the place.'

'Don't talk about our daughter like that!'

'Our, daughter? Pansy, I know I said I'd raise her as my own but do you really think I'd be able to? Knowing full well she is the grime off Augustus Rookwood? When every time I see her face I picture that man sticking his-'

'Enough!' Pansy called, the curtains beginning to blow as the summer breeze drifted in through open windows.

'I offered to get rid of her!'

'You know we couldn't do that, Pansy! The entire pure blood population knew you were pregnant how well it would have looked had we suddenly not had a child.'

'I offered to kill her, Theodore! Don't place blame for my mistakes on me because you're not happy with them. Solutions were given and-'

'And I'm not a monster! I wasn't going to let you have your own daughter killed. That wouldn't have helped!'

'You say that you're not a monster yet you haven't even tried to care for Anastasia! She's always come to me, cried about the lack of love you given her, cried about how you favour Alexander!'

'Maybe because Alexander is actually mine!' Theodore retaliated.

Summer had always been a time for spending with her grandparents and frolicking around Monaco with her friends. It was the season in which Isadora was given the freedom to live as she pleased, with funds unlimited. It was, after all said and done, Draco who had done the damage to the family, not Lucius. Her grandparents still had their gold locked up safely in Gringott’s. They were generous enough to gift her the ability to live in the manner she should have been accustomed to as a daughter of the Malfoy family. Now, though, it was all very different.

Reading out in the gardens was growing tiresome. In recent hours, the gardener tending to the flower beds had been the most interesting part of the day. They’d been exchanging private looks and shy smiles but hadn’t hastened to talk to each other. Isadora was privately nursing the hope that in the coming days he would speak with her. In lieu of that, though, it was time to go back inside. The back of her neck was smarting where she’d been licked by the sun and she needed to tend to it. So, with regret, she closed up the book and began to retreat inside.

When she entered the house through one of the side doors, the first thing that greeted her was a deafening silence. What followed pricked up her ears almost instantly. She stopped short of the room where the argument was going on and plastered herself against the wall outside, her book clutched to her chest. She was hanging off of every word. She felt breath catch in her throat and she wondered with a start if it was the truth. She had never heard Theodore so angry, though. It must have been the truth. And a man … he was dead.

It was that which drew Isadora away and she lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, peering curiously at the man who was folded over on the bed as though he was sleeping, perhaps. Glancing over her shoulder as Theodore continued to shout, Isadora bit her lip. She took a breath and stepped away fully, disappearing down the hall to another part of the house, sorely wishing that Alexander was around. She knew that this was knowledge that she shouldn’t have had. And rightly, Isadora began to panic.

What if they’d heard her?

Alexander had, like his Father, finished work early. It was only half past four and the boy should really be working until five but seeing as the office had been slack as of late the death eater had requested an early leave so that he could head to Nott Manor in time for the family dinner. It had been a while since Alexander had visited the house where he'd grown up. He'd been spending his days with Isadora in a cottage in Hogsmede, which, although wasn't perfect and what you'd expect of the heir of a pure blood family it was comfortable enough whilst the Malfoy was still at Hogwarts. When she graduated, when she was earning too, Alexander was thinking about moving into a property more grandiose.

'Hello?' Alexander called out, loudly closing the front door to attract any attention it may give. Isadora said that she would arrive earlier in the afternoon but whether she had was another question. He'd checked the garden before entering the house for she often liked to read outside, especially when the weather was glorious as it was today. However she wasn't there, instead there was the garden who coward away from Alexander's stare. Having worked under the boys parents for over fifteen years you'd think the man had learnt to shake off snide remarks the Slytherin had held towards him. Apparently not.

'Hello?' Alexander called out again, making his way along the hallway to the sound of voices, not really paying any attention to what they were saying.



'Let's continue this later, Pansy.' Theodore warned. 'I can hear Alexander.'

Pansy nodded, her lips purse and her eyes narrow. How dare her husband speak to her like that. How dare he make out that she was powerless, that she hadn't done anything to help keep their families status afloat. Yes he was wealthy and provided the name but Pansy was just as pure blooded as him and his weediness had only been a hurdle for Pansy to try and leap over to protect the Nott name. The truth be told, however, Pansy was scared. She knew Theodore wouldn't divorce her, she knew that he needed her just as much as she needed him, but now that he'd realised that Pansy was worried about what her husband could become capable of. Life could become rather difficult for Pansy and a difficult life wasn't something she was experienced in.

'Alexander, my good son!' Theodore called, heading over to the dining hall door where Alexander had entered, clamping a hand onto his songs shoulder. 'Good day at work? Must say it's been a while!'

'It was alright. Quite average really, Father.' Alexander replied with a shrug before smiling and embracing his Father in a handshake. Growing up Pansy had always been the 'man' of the house, or at least that's the way it seemed to onlookers but Alexander had always held respect for his Father. Granted he was a little weedy and a coward when it came to Pansy, but Theodore had loved his son, taught him what it mean't to be pureblood, taught him how to ride a broomstick, let him drink wine underage, allowed him to remain in the adult conversations when his sisters had gone to bed. The two had a Father-Son bond that couldn't be broken easily - not unless money were brought into question.

'Mother.' Alexander greeted, kissing her cheek and embracing her in a hug.

'I've missed you, Alexander.' Pansy smiled, masking any evidence of the conversation she'd just had like the actress that she was.

'Is Isadora around? 'I'm starving.' Alexander asked, taking a seat left of the head of the table where Theodore would sit, with Pansy on his right. That gave Isadora a choice. She could sit besides Pansy, or Alexander, and the Slytherin had no doubt that Isadora would choose the latter.

'She should be somewhere, son!' Theodore replied. 'Fungus!'

[/i]Crack[/i]

'Yes, Master?' The aged house elf asked with a bow so low that his squished nose dusted the stone floor.

'Find Isadora would you, tell her dinner is about to be served.'

And with another crack the house elf disappeared to find Isadora and then transport the dinner from the kitchen to the dinning hall, just as the elves would do at Hogwarts.

It definitely wasn’t shock. It wasn’t fear either. She was a Malfoy. They understood these things intrinsically, as though it was in their very souls. Death didn’t scare them. The deaths of others didn’t move them. The subversion of propriety scared a Malfoy more than an unforgivable curse. She had seen too much, heard too much – and although both fascinated her, she knew that it was beyond her realm of knowledge as the wife of the eldest son. It wasn’t something any of the children were meant to know. Indeed, it was probably something Theodore himself wasn’t meant to know at one point or another. But now … now the knowledge was leaking out and Isadora had lapped it up like something starved. Only, she wasn’t without feeling the burden of it and it worried her.

A crack behind her made her jump and she whirled around, nearly dropping her book in the process, to find an Elf stood looking at her with big saucer eyes. For a few moments the two stared at each other as though they couldn’t quite work the other out. Then, drawing herself up, Isadora lifted her head into the air and looked down at the creature snootily, begging herself mentally to continue on as normal. She knew what the time was. The sky was getting coloured with the sun as it set behind the trees and with the Elf before her it meant dinner was ready. She shoved the book into the creature’s hands and glided away from it, her skirt billowing out behind her and leaving the fresh smell of vanilla and freesia behind.

When she entered the dining room, she made a beeline – albeit a collected, smooth beeline that suggested nothing was amiss – for where Alexander was sat. Just as he’d thought, she had no desire to sit with his mother – especially now, but none of them knew that. Settling down in her chair, she brought a smile to her face, remembering all of the school points her mother had impressed upon her. She must always appear courteous and grateful, even if it was a lie. Everything must always appear to be fine, even if it wasn’t. Furthermore, if it wasn’t fine then she damn well had to find a way to make it so lest the whole family fell apart. Astoria clearly didn’t practise what she preached. Isadora knew she wouldn’t have been married into the Nott family (yet) if she had kept the Malfoys together.

“Good evening,” she murmured to the rest of the table as she spread the napkin over her lap. “Forgive me, I lost track of time out in the gardens. They’re very beautiful this time of year.”

And never, ever let them know what you’re thinking.

Pansy and her husband sat in silence for the next minute or so. Alexander, meanwhile poured themeach a glass of water, and one for Isadora who arrived only moments later.

'Hello, Isadora.' Alexander greeted, standing up to let her be seated and giving her a soft kiss on the top of her head before returning to his seat. 'How has your day been?' Although before his wife could answer the sound of another voice beat her too it.

'Hi.' Anastasia called, skipping into the dining room and closing the door behind her, choosing the seat next to her Mother. Alexander had forgotten about his sister. He hadn't communicated with her since he'd sent her a rather matter-of-fact letter telling her to stop bothering him, to not bother with Quidditch and act like a proper little pureblood. Unsurprisingly she didn't catch his eye.

It seemed Pansy had forgotten about her daughter too for she seemed to be caught offguard at the sound of Anastasia's greeting and his Father had clearly forgotten about her entirely given the fact he'd only asked Fungus to inform Isadora about dinner.

'Afternoon, Anastasia.' Pansy said, showing a rare smile to her daughter and placing her hand onto her daughters. 'What have you been up to? I didn't realise you were in?'

Alexander noticed a quiver to his Mother's voice and he had a good idea why. Clearly Pansy had been up to something she'd rather Anastasia not hear, which also explain her slightly ruffled hair and why she was only in a black robe. Granted it was a warm day but did the dressing gown need to be that sexy?

'Nothing. I've just been outside enjoying the weather.' She replied as she poured herself her own glass of water. 'Where else would I go, anyway? It's not as if I can go far we live in the middle of the countryside.'

'Don't backchat.' Theodore spoke a little more aggressively than usual.

'I wasn't backcha-'

'Enough.' Theodore spoke again, this time even more firmly and somewhat onimously.

'Come now, Theodore. She was only-'

'Pansy.' Mr Nott spoke, his head lowering and his dark eyes narrowing as they fired a warning glare at his wife who'd attempted to defend Anastasia. 'Now. Where is the food?'

As if Fungus had heard her masters calls the main course appeared before them: succulent pork loin chops drizzled in a tangy raspberry sauce accompanied with mash potatoes and streamed carrots and broccoli. Outrageously pretentious, especially given the size of the portion.

'It looks good.' Alexander commented in an attempt to diffuse the confusing tension. Maybe Pansy hadn't been up to no good and his Mother had been worried about Anastasia hearing something else, an argument maybe judging by the rare shots Theodore was firing.

'It looks like it wouldn't fill a rabbit.' Anastasia sulked, an eyebrow raised as her stomach rumbled.

'That's it.' Theodore announced, removing his napkin and dropping it down on the table. 'Anastasia, go to your room.'

'What?' She protested, her eyebrows now hiding somewhere along her hairline.

'You heard.'

'But I'm starving!'

'Well if you're starving then you wouldn't be so ungrateful about the meal before you. It's the finest pork. The raspberries freshly picked. The vegetables homegrown and I'm sure Fungus has lightly salted them to bring out more flavour. There are some people in the world that don't get to eat this luxury and-'

'Oh don't act like you care about anyone who doesn't have money to burn.' Anastasia retorted.

'OUT!' Theodore bellowed.

Anastasia didn't need to be told again. She kicked her chair back, purposely knocked over her glass, said something that caused her Father to withdraw his wand as she left the room red faced.

'Theodore no!' Pansy gasped, as she stood up in horror at the sight of the wand in her Father's hand. 'Put the wand away.'

He didn't.

'Now.' She added more sternly, this time her voice had no quiver. Pansy had witnessed, earlier that day, what her husband was capable of and now it seemed her daughter found herself in a potential firing line.

'Please, let's just eat.' Pansy said softly, slowly returning to her seat and picking up her knife and fork. 'The pork does look-'

'I can't do this.' Theodore sighed before following the path his daughter took only moments ago.

'Theodore.' Pansy called, standing up and watching him leave.

'What on earth just happened?' Alexander asked a little perplexed at the scene that had taken place before his own, very confused, eyes.

'Alexander, would you and Isadora take Anastasia back to your house please? I can send Fungus the meal in a food bag for you. I know it isn't the dinner that we planned but-'

'Sure, that, that's fine.' He nodded. Usually he wouldn't have taken any food in any doggy bag. He was a Nott and Nott's ate at tables with freshly cooked food not out of bags with rewarmed foods but there was something in Pansy's voice that his disarmed him. It was sincerity. Pansy was rarely sincere, usually she was laughing at her own lame jokes, boasting, trying to twist someones words but not now.

'Thank you.' She replied, an uncommon warmness to her eyes. 'I'll get Anastasia and then try and talk to your Father. Fungus.'

Crack.

'Yes, mistress?' Fungus asked with a low bow.

'Put the food in a container for Alexander, Isadora and Anastasia and then pack some clothes for Anastasia and take them to Alexander's house please.'

Please? Pansy never used her manners with the house elf... Something wasn't normal.

'Of course, Mistress.'

And with that Fungus had disappeared, the food vanished and Pansy swept quickly from the room calling Anastasia's name.

'You don't mind do you, Isadora?' Alexander asked. 'Something's clearly not going well for my Father. Nothing happened before I arrived did it?'


(OOC: Sorry for the long post, I got a little carried away.)

Though the affection was still strange and foreign, the chaste kiss washed over her in such a way that made her forget the events leading up to the dinner. She roused a smile for her husband, a small and private flash upwards of her mouth that was purely for him. When he addressed her she felt as though he was truly interested and she regretted having only the admittance that she’d not done much aside from reading to bore him with.

It was a double-edged sword, Anastasia’s arrival. True, it rankle with Isadora that she was spoken over and, indeed, she loathed that the girl could be so brash. At the same time she was almost grateful for the distraction but then also she couldn’t help but feel entirely put out by the presence of the girl whose legitimacy was only just being discussed so heatedly by her parents. To see her again in the flesh so soon was jarring and Isadora wriggled uncomfortably in her chair, making a show of sorting out her napkin if Alexander happened to look round.

Isadora lifted her head when Pansy spoke and studied the woman carefully. She too noticed the strange lilt that had entered into Pansy’s tone and Isadora’s eyes flickered over to Theodore as Anastasia replied. His body language betrayed every ounce of his irritation and Isadora was puzzled as to why he couldn’t compose himself. Then, she supposed that if she was him and one of her heirs was not her own but hers in name and in deed, she too would be struggling to compose herself during such a farce as the dinner. She didn’t know how Pansy could sit there, either, now she thought about it. But then, Isadora rationalised, she’d probably read the same book on etiquette that Astoria had done.

Reaching forward across the table, Isadora picked up her glass of water and swallowed her smirk with a mouthful of the cool liquid. She was beginning to get a funny feeling in her stomach. She half wanted to laugh aloud and declare all that she knew. She also knew that in the event of that, she may as well have thrown herself out of an upstairs window for at least her death then would have been of her own volition. She instead drank as deeply as propriety would allow and when she lowered the glass back down she drew up her napkin and used it to further stifle her expression as well as dry her mouth.

When dinner arrived, Isadora hoped that it would mark the last of the bickering. No such luck. When Theodore’s voice boomed through the dining room, the former Malfoy flinched, her eyes closing as she scrunched away from the sound. Anastasia fled and then there was Theodore’s wand. Isadora’s eyes zeroed in on it, her hand slipping down to feel for her wand where it was attached to her thigh underneath the skirt of her dress and she swallowed, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t have to disarm her own father-in-law. But he left too and then there were three.

Alexander vocalised exactly what was going through Isadora’s mind and when Pansy voiced her request Isadora found it within herself to nod, already making the mental note to freshen up the spare room with some clean sheets on the bed for the girl to sleep in. She swallowed and finally, when Pansy left, Isadora got to her feet, putting the napkin gently down on the table top. She exhaled the breath she supposed she’d been holding in her chest since she’d come downstairs and she briefly found herself wondering whether the dead man had been moved or not.

“I don’t think that’s a discussion for here,” Isadora murmured. “And no, I don’t mind.” She didn’t have a lot of time for Anastasia, mind you, but Isadora had no intention of departing without her in their company. With Theodore apparently as volatile as he was, it wouldn’t be safe. “We should go home.”

The pair were left alone for a few minutes and whilst it was just the two of them Alexander felt eased. He hadn't realised but his own chest had tightened as the scene before them had played out into the biggest drama the house had held since Anastasia had been bitten by a snake, at least that's what Alexander thought.

If Isadora's answer was anything to go by something had definitely happened before his arrival. There were multiple possible conclusions Alexander could draw from what had just happened, some including Anastasia but he doubted she was aware of them if she had been. His sister had arrived to happy-go-lucky had she directly centered and played a part in whatever it was that Isadora was holding back.

'Okay.' He replied, pulling her into his chest and kissing her hair once again. For some reason this felt needed. To feel the warmth of his wife in the midst of the argumentative air that plagued the dining hall. 'I love you.' He whispered in his ear before drawing away from her at the sound of the door opening.

Anastasia had returned, a sulky expression on her face as Pansy's hand, pressed into the back, led her across to where Alexander and Isadora stood.

'You behave yourself for your brother, Anastasia.' Pansy told her daughter.

'I'm not the one who needs to be told how to behave.'

'Come on, Anastasia, forget about what Dad said I'm sure he's just had a bad day.' Alexander replied, an awkward smirk gracing his face as his sisters eyes rolled before returning to the floor.

'How long will I be there?' Anastasia asked.

'I don't know.' Her Mother replied, crouching down so that she was now looking up at her daughters beautiful face, taking in her pouting lips, slightly squashed nose and her eyes. Those eyes weren't like Theodore's, even when they had angry, stray tears they were full of warmth and pulled at Pansy's heartstrings. It was painful for Pansy to gaze into those eyes, into eyes she loved and remember that she'd offered to take the life of the person for who they'd belonged. Never until now had Pansy realised how attached she was to her daughter.

'I love you.' Pansy told her daughter before standing up and kissing Anastasia lovingly on the head, Alexander watching, feeling slightly unnerved. Pansy had never shown this much love for Anastasia before. For him yes, but for his youngest sister? Never. Anastasia had always been the child left behind, the one who never received attention, the child who his parents acted as though she were the result of bad tequila. Of course Alexander had always pretended that this was something he didn't notice, he was now an well rehearsed at shrugging off Anastasia's questions about why his parents preferred him than her. 'You're reading too much into it' and 'That's not true' were two of the more popular answers.

'Fungus will drop by later with some clothes.' Pansy now spoke to Alexander and Isadora. 'Thank you.'

And with that Madame Parkinson-Nott had fled the dining hall in search for her husband who Alexander expected was in his study throwing darts at a portrait of his Mother.

'Shall we go?' Alexander asked, looking towards Isadora for some sort of confirmation. He was used to playing the older brother, offering advice when it was needed, dragging Anastasia along to pure blood parties when his parents were arriving at a different time but not he was assuming a role he hadn't yet done. The role of a brother who was becoming more of a Father. A role that Alexander had now idea how to play.

After confirmation from Isadora Alexander headed to the french doors that led from the dining room into the garden. The walk to the end of the driveway would have been tranquil with Isadora had Anastasia not been dragging her feet along muttering complaints about her Father under her breath. The setting sun was bringing out the richer shades of green that the hedges had to offer. Splatters of darkness decorated the flowerbeds where light didn't filter through the leaves of oak trees. Somewhere in the oak tree were birds singing and even the sight of the gardener finishing the last of the weeding wasn't an eyesore.

'Right, Anastasia stop whining and take my hand.' Alexander told her. 'Now we're off the grounds we can apparate to Hogsmede.'


'Here's some money.' Alexander told his sister, passing Anastasia his wallet that had no less than thirty galleons inside. 'Go get yourself some sweets from Honeydukes and a book or something to occupy yourself with for the evening.

Anastasia didn't say anything, instead she turned on her heels and headed off towards the heart of Hogsmede where she most certainly wouldn't waste money on a book that she didn't want to read. What she would buy she wasn't entirely sure but a pick n mix from Honeydukes was definitely a good place to answer the rumbles from her stomach.

'Lets go inside.' Alexander told his wife, walking up their own driveway and extracting the key from his pocket and entering their cottage where they were then thrown down onto a coffee table in the cosy living room.

'Right.' He sighed, pouring firewhiskey into a tumbler that held permanent residence atop of the mantle piece, just as one belong to his Father did at Nott Manor.

The soothing envelope of her husband’s arms tucking around her went some way to chase the swirling tempest of feeling from her body. The smell of his clothes, his cologne and just simply him settled the feverish pounding of her heart that was bringing an unwelcome flush to her skin. In spite of herself, she found that she was coveting a desire to stay there like that, her hands griping tightly to his shirt. The private moment lost its moment when his words brushed over the shell of ear and down her neck. She shivered a little and unwound her arms from around him as a funny sort of fuzzy feeling settled in her stomach. Her hands trailed on his sides and she lowered her arms, shooting him a soft smile as she moved to stand beside him with the entrance of Anastasia and Pansy once more.

For the second time in a few moments, those fabled three words were spoken and Isadora felt her breath catch in her throat. She stared at the exchange between the mother and daughter, wondering what it must have felt like for Anastasia. She had always wondered what it was like to feel that unconditional love. She had it in part from her grandparents but it wasn’t the same however much she liked to think it was. It was a stranger sort of removed love. Narcissa doted, as did Lucius, but it didn’t fill the gaps in her heart that her parents should have done. Love. It was a funny thing. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed Alexander to be sincere and yet all that they’d been through should have inspired some fond feelings for each other. She knew that they had. But was it love, on her part?

She wasn’t even sure she knew what platonic love really felt like, let alone romantic love.

When Alexander addressed her again, Isadora found herself nodding distractedly. She turned on her heel and followed him out into the late afternoon sunshine, hurrying a little to walk beside him. They reached the apparition point and then, before she knew it, she felt the familiar tug behind her naval and they split off, swirling into the sky, towards Hogsmeade once more. They landed outside the cottage and Isadora felt her knee twinge unpleasantly in dismay at the way her feet had slammed back down onto the cobbled street. She was utterly overjoyed to finally be away from Nott manor. The cottage actually felt like home now and though she’d loathed it to begin with, she enjoyed being within its walls. The Malfoy household certainly didn’t qualify and she didn’t think she’d ever be able to visit her in-laws again after this. The cottage was home. Hogsmeade was home.

Entering the house after watching Anastasia go, Isadora shut the door behind her and leaned down to take her shoes off. She picked them up and set them on the stairs to take up when she eventually went to have a bath and she slowly wandered into the living room where she found Alexander and the firewhisky. She broached the threshold and as she drew up to the mantelpiece she took a glass of her own and held it up, her lips quirking into a faint smile as she inclined the glass towards him. She doubted that any of them would be eating the pork now. It appeared, however, that whisky would do as a slightly perilous alternative to dinner. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be a pair of adult purebloods. She supposed she barely counted but she felt more put together than Pansy and Theodore. At least this house was stable. At least she and Alexander had no apparent problems. It was a kind of levelness that allowed for Anastasia to be there and to be safe there – such was Pansy’s idea, it seemed.

“Are you alright, Alexander?” Isadora brought her hand to his shoulder. Stiff and often unaffectionate though the blonde witch was, she made an exception to draw her arm down around the small of his back. It was for her own needs as much as his. She wanted him near. He made her feel less like she was floundering aimlessly in the darkness, especially in this moment. She was fairly sure she’d witnessed a schism in the family’s structural relationships and she wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to fill any sort of role that Anastasia missed and therefore required. She felt barely able as Alexander’s wife. She didn’t feel comfortable in the midst of Nott politics, either. She half just wanted to burrow somewhere with her book and some cocoa and camp out in the cottage for the rest of the summer to avoid the latter. It wasn’t over, she knew that much.

“They were arguing,” she whispered, turning in towards the mantelpiece to prevent her voice from travelling. Your father came home and found your mother in an … uncompromising position with another man and he … reacted unforgivably,” she widened her eyes and lifted her brows in a pointed look at her husband, imploring with him to extract her meaning so she did not have to say it. “They were arguing about that and about Anastasia’s …” she smudged her lips together in search of the correct word ambiguous enough to be said aloud. “Legitimacy,” she summoned the word finally with a deep breath, her eyebrows quirking up once more at him, marking a point he was meant to read into. “Your homecoming disturbed them.”

Isadora sidled across the room to where Alexander stood, his brown eyes fixed upon the her grey. He hadn't known Isadora long, they didn't talk that much but for him their relationship had grown. The pair didn't need to talk much to show that they liked each other. Isadora simply radiated an energy that Alexander found intriguing. Perhaps it was because they were both equally forced into the marriage, all they had was each other to make it work and so natural chemistry was born from that.

That showed with the concern Isadora showed. Her fingers gently found a place on his lower back and it eased the confusion, confusion she read well for she went into telling her tales of the events as Alexander listened, a hand still gripping onto the glass, embracing himself as each word shot a bullet hole into him.

Pansy Parkinson-Nott had been with other men in her lifetime, Alexander knew that, everybody knew that, the only person who didn't appear to know was her husband. Alexander had even blackmailed his Mother when he found her with a family friend whilst holidaying in Southern France. One hundred galleons a week were transferred into his vault once a month and in return Master Nott kept his lips sealed. Whether that would still occur now Theodore knew of Pansy's activities was another thing. Alexander hoped that his Mother would still provide payment, however, given the rage that his Father had shown that evening Alexander was sure even if his vault did appear to be one hundred galleons short a month he wouldn't interfere with his parents relationship, especially if the words Isadora spoke mean't what he thought they mean't.

Alexander was aware of his Father's allegiance to the death eaters and he had been since the age of eleven. The crimes his Father had committed, however, were not knowledge that the Nott heir had and it finding out about Theodore's death eater laundry hadn't ever been a priority. Sure he'd thought about what his Father may have gotten up to whenever a story such as Henry Yewbeam holding Hallie Cooper hostage ever came to light but Theodore seemed useless. He could barely stand up to his wife let alone commit such a sin. Clearly Alexander had misjudged his Father. Or his Father was finally breaking free from the shackles that Pansy Parkinson-Nott kept him in.

For a moment Alexander pondered exactly what his Father may have done to the man that had been pleasuring his Mother. Had it been a swift execution? A crime of passion? Or had Theodore took pleasure and played with his food to spite Pansy? The images of a writhing witch weekly model soon vanished from his mind at what Isadora said next.

They had been arguing about Anastasia. That made sense owing to how her usual cheek had resulted in a wand drawn shouting match. But her legitimency? Alexander was usually good at understanding Isadora's particular cues and choice of words but this had him lost.

'What do you mean?' He asked, placing the tumbler on the mantlepiece and pouring himself another shot of firewhiskey. 'What were they saying exactly?'

Isadora wanted to turn away, down her firewhisky and go to bed. She sorely wanted to be freed from this situation. She knew that this was something that Alexander needed to know and she knew it was something that she should have felt able to tell him but she couldn’t frame her words. She half wanted to box his ears and snap at him to improve his vocabulary, read a dictionary and come back to her with his own conclusions. Instead, she took another sip of the firewhisky and eyed him hesitantly.

“She’s not your father’s,” she revealed in a hushed tone. Her brows furrowed and she took a breath, glancing down at the amber liquid in the glass. “Your father said she was ‘the grime off of Augustus Rookwood.’” She couldn’t believe it. She knew there were all kinds of goings on in pureblood circles but she still couldn’t connect the man she’d annually watched play polo with the one that Theodore had accused Pansy of sleeping and reproducing with. It was strange to even consider Pansy that way.

Isadora swallowed another mouthful of firewhisky and put her glass down on the mantelpiece. Isadora crossed her arms over her chest and looked at her husband imploringly, trying to get to the bottom of what he was feeling just by looking at him. She wasn’t sure what she was seeing, though. Was it shock? She had no idea. Was it resignation? Was it just what he’d been expecting? It gave Isadora pause, indeed. What about her own family? What if it turned out in a few months’ time that she was illegitimate?

“She can’t know, Alexander,” Isadora whispered feverishly. “You can’t tell her. It’s not our place. This will upset everything she knows …” Isadora bit her lip and turned on her heel. “Do you want something to eat?” She asked distractedly, feeling the sudden overwhelming need to use her hands. She loathed the fact that her cauldron was downstairs. That was just what she needed in that moment. Instead she made a beeline for the kitchen, sufficing to begin making sandwiches instead.