#oc: bedelia nott

[rose-lunaire]

anne. she/her. this is my masterlist.

hannibal:

will graham, hannibal lecter, bedelia du maurier;

marvel cinematic:

tony stark, steve rogers, thor odinson, loki laufeyson;

harry potter:

cedric diggory, draco malfoy, theodore nott, mattheo riddle;

my requests are: open!

i read all messages, feel free to send me a prompt or a vague idea. i prefer fluff, but anything goes, really. keep it reader-insert, no character x character or oc.

[decennia]

.the family nott (a funeral march in eight)

synopsis: a look into the history of theodore nott and his tumultuous relationship with his father and the devastating loss of his mother.

word count: uncharacteristically high, 3.3k

warnings: descriptions of violence, torture, death eater things, death.

Cantankerous Nott IV had not only been a handsome man in his youth, but an especially ambitious one. And although his beauty had wilted away as it so often did on a visage as cold as his, the ambition remained.

His courting of Bedelia Delacour had meant to be a frivolity, a way to amuse himself during the unbearable stretch of time in which he'd been building his campaign for Minister for Magic. She'd only meant to be a way to alleviate his tension, and to look pretty while doing so.

She had garnered a fair share of fame herself before catching the eye of a man as elusive as Cantankerous. Fresh out of the gilded marble cage of Beauxbatons, Bedelia had come to London in pursuit of her dream of being a famed actress in the Wizarding World, and her big break came when she embodied the role of Helga Hufflepuff in Aphelion, a play detailing the forbidden and, until recently, forgotten romance between Godric Gryffindor and Catalonia Slytherin. A breakout performer, Bedelia Delacour became a household name overnight and landed herself on the cover of Witch Weekly within the month. And above all else, she was favoured by Rita Skeeter.

Cantankerous Nott had already been a considerably older when he set his sights on Bedelia, but, as easily as a flower petal in torrential waters, she was swept away by ice chip eyes that seemed to warm for only her, and a sly smile that set her soul alight.

Being a relation to the Veela born, Bedelia had almost always been overlooked by suitors in favour of her more enchanting cousin. She had no Veela blood of her own, and although she had been beautiful, eyes would turn to glass as they passed over her.

But not Cantankerous. His notions for blood purity extended to even that of Veela, and to him, Bedelia far exceeded the beauty of Apolline Delacour, who had been stated to be the Jewel of Pyrenees.

Theodore had been, for lack of better words, an accident; an unintention, a misfortune.

Bedelia had only just reached the height of her stardom, and Cantankerous had been preparing to run for Minister one last time after his loss against Harold Minchum. It had looked promising, as Millicent Bagnold was relatively unknown, and had been said to be particularly flighty with her resolve.

To save face, Cantankerous insisted Bedelia step away from the stage. And Bedelia – young, scared, and malleable under a touch as iron as Cantankerous' – complied. It broke her heart to do it, and as quickly as she had shone, Bedelia Delacour's light died.

The first words spoken about the ordeal were by Rita Skeeter, who, although had been friends with Bedelia, knew that a story like this would cement her name as Queen of the Quills.

Skeeter had grown hardened and embittered by the disregard shown by her peers. Had she not been such an academically driven mind, had not such a way with words of intricately woven prose, Rita was certain she would've been a Slytherin.

She'd wanted to do good before. She'd wanted to make a difference, be on the front lines of this blood soaked war, wanted to tell stories that mattered. And had The Daily Prophet not been so eager to distract the masses from the horrors that waged right outside their windows, perhaps she would've been.

But they wanted distractions, and so the Queen of Quills was born: the gossip monger, the lyrical liar that was Rita Skeeter. And if she wasn't to be famed, she was sure as hell going to be notorious. She'd make her difference.

She'd been kind – as kind as she could be – to Bedelia in the article. To Cantankerous, she'd vilified him to filth. There were many people Cantankerous would come to blame for his third political defeat in the century – the thought of it being a fault of his own being unfathomable to him – but none quite so much as Rita Skeeter.

The scandal was the talk of the Wizarding World for weeks. They'd been right, The Daily Prophet: the people needed distractions, and they clung to this one like fang in flesh.

The politician, the young actress. Their names stuck to everyone's tongues more than protection spells.

The proposal had been more of a business transaction than anything else. They knew that the only way to protect their names, their families, their disintegrating reputations, was by holding it together with a band of bejeweled metal and some uttered vows of devotion. It seemed almost easy.

When the announcement was made – very publicly – the story changed. It became a secret love, a hidden romance. The novelty of scandal had worn off and Cantankerous and Bedelia faded from the public's mind once more, now nothing but an afterthought. New scandal came to replace the hole they left behind quickly enough: the Rosier and Sallow union, a prophecy foretelling the fall of the Dark Lord made by the descendant of famed oracle, Cassandra Trelawney. The anniversary of the death of Isaiah Moody, dredging ill-kept secrets to light with the flick of Rita Skeeter's quill.

There was very little doubt that Cantankerous Nott truly loved Bedelia Delacour in his own twisted way. But there was absolutely no doubt that he didn't also resent her and his son with every fiber of his being for having stolen his last chance of glory from him.

No one was certain how Bedelia felt about Cantankerous towards the end. She had been in the profession of pretense, after all, and, following her passing, although the general perception had been nothing but a loving and doting wife, the staff of the Nott household would tell of a different story.

Not only did Bedelia and Cantankerous keep to separate rooms, but to entirely different wings of Nott Manor. Every waking moment was spent with Theodore, whom she loved above all else.

It was not lost on Cantankerous, the way she would stiffen, hand twitching towards her wand when he would come too close to their son. The way her jaw would clench, her eyes darting to his exposed forearm and that disgusting, writhing stain of the Dark Mark.

It was the loathing that cracked his stone heart, however. When he would come home late, not with lipstick on his collar, but with blood spattering his skin and the adrenalised sneer of a battle won – and another Order member dead; it was the reproach on her tongue.

The most words she'd spoken to him in over a year, and they were sheer venom. Monster, murderer.

He hated that he craved her, craved to hear her voice, feel her touch; even if they were snarling, were clawing at him, hoping to make him hurt.

Many things could be said about Cantankerous, but he would never harm his wife, nor his child. No, a hand would not be laid upon them. Lessons were learned through an uttered curse and the piercing screams of the household staff. And although her voice and touch were desired, no matter how abhorrent, he was still a prideful man.

So prideful, in fact, that it was speculated that the death of Bedelia Nott was a direct result of the wounding of that pride.

She'd tried to leave him once, and never survived to try it again.

The war had been long over by then. Bedelia had withdrawn from Cantankerous entirely; no longer did she have any condemnations to lash him with or will to fight him. He was a ghost to her every bit as she was a ghost of herself.

For Theodore's sake, they sat together for every meal. Conversation, however, was stilted – Cantankerous attempting to coax a response, any response, out of Bedelia, only to be met with a blank stare and silence.

Theodore had grown to be six by then. Bedelia had schooled him in both French and English, and had introduced him to art and culture, ballet, music, theater. Unfortunately, any bond he endeavoured to forge with his father was often disregarded in favour of another attempt to goad a reaction from Bedelia, and so the pair were nothing more than strangers.

It had been when Theodore became seven that Cantankerous realised the only way to Bedelia was through their son. She'd snapped at him – the first words he'd heard her say in six months as she refused to even voice herself to Theodore when in Cantankerous' presence – when he'd suggested Theodore be sent to Durmstrang, and Theo – so taken by the first sign of interest in him from a man called father in only blood and name – had almost agreed.

The Nott family were unlike many others of the old blood and money on the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Where the Malfoys and Mulcibers and such kept house elves in their employ, the Notts owned muggles. Loyal, obedient, shackled in an eternity of indenture to the family Nott.

Bedelia had awoken to the sounds of agony. It was a girl's screams, she had realised with a sigh of selfish relief. She didn't know what possessed her to check on Theodore, but a mother's instinct was seldom wrong, and impossible to ignore. To her horror, she found his bed cold.

Her heart had been in her throat as she approached Cantankerous' study, the blood roaring in her ears almost enough to drown out the sound of the pain-struck wails. Almost.

The girl stopped, and she heard a boy's sob. Her boy.

"Again," Cantankerous said, voice void of emotion, but brimming with command.

"Please," begged the child. He could barely make it through a word without stammering. "I don't want to do it again."

Something flashed in his father's eyes then, and his teeth bared in a snarl. "I said again."

The study doors fell to ash under Bedelia's wand as she stormed into the room with a fury paralleled only by the leveling of ancient empires.

She'd been no stranger to the cruelty Cantankerous could be known to administer, but what she saw made even her falter, halting her steps.

Cantankerous stood, scopic hands holding Theodore firm in his place. He stood, towering, glowering, menacing. Theo had shrunken into himself, eyes red, bloodshot. He shook uncontrollably, wracked with sobs and fear, trembling under his father's cold touch. In his little hand was Cantankerous' wand, shakily pointed at...

The girl couldn't have been much older than Theo himself. Bedelia recognized her vaguely; she was the daughter of one of the chefs in the kitchen.

"Maman," Theo choked out, tears falling profusely. "J'ai peur, maman."

I'm afraid.

And Bedelia could see why. The girl lay on the floor, pale, slicked in sweat. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, revealing only the whites – heavily marred by the ruptured, red blood vessels that snaked their way across them. She lay, twitching, gurgling on the blood of her torn vocal chords, her fingernails mutilated and bloody from clawing at the wooden floors. Her blood slowly filled the grooves as Bedelia watched, horrorstruck.

"Again."

Cantankerous had been speaking to Theodore when he said it, but his eyes were firmly on Bedelia.

"No," Theodore said. His rebellion was met with strong fingers digging into his shoulders, and his whimper of pain felt like a brand to Bedelia's heart.

Under his barbarous touch, Theo complied to his father's wishes as Bedelia found herself unable to move.

"Crucio," Theo whispered, and the night was alive once more with the sounds of agony, only this was no scream. The noise the young girl emitted was hard to describe, and even harder to hear.

They left that night. A well aimed stunning spell on the endless tormentor that was Cantankerous sounded almost too easy, but in all his years wed to Bedelia, Cantankerous never once thought she would ever raise her wand to him. Perhaps she wouldn't have before. For Theodore, however, she would; she did.

They took nothing with them when they disappeared into the night.

It took Cantankerous a month to find them.

The opals had sat on her dresser in their velvet case, awaiting her return. They watched her, almost in a mockery, when Corban Yaxley dragged her into her old room, the stagnant air riled by her agonised breath. They had belonged to Cantankerous' mother, and her mother before that. The necklace was not of a design that accommodated comfort, and the metal and stone never warmed no matter how long they sat upon flush skin. Bedelia had hated them, but she knew better than to make Cantankerous ask twice, especially now that young Theo was back under that accursed roof.

Her body had been found by Theodore.

When questioned by investigating authorities, Cantankerous played the part of griefstricken widow almost flawlessly. No one knew the cause of death; as the opals had been carefully removed from their lethal clutch around Bedelia's neck and been disposed of to be taken to a safe in Gringotts until the ordeal had blown over.

Speculation, under the deft quill of Rita Skeeter, detailed a secret affair and a vengeful lover, hexing the young Nott bride in the night for returning to her husband's side. Perhaps she'd fallen prey to a rare blood curse, as Bedelia was often known to be a delicate creature. Others who knew Cantankerous' true nature would say murder. And they wouldn't be wrong, although all anyone knew for certain was that it had been no accident, and there had been no mercy, for Bedelia Nott would be buried with a closed casket.

It had not been a part of Cantankerous' plan that the jewels would go missing, that the cursed necklace would land in the hands of Muggles. He had entrusted them to one of his staff on its secret voyage to Gringotts, along with several other priceless heirlooms to avoid suspicion. The conclusion that they got greedy, took a look, took something that wasn't theirs, was easy enough to draw up. But they had never returned and the Nott Opals had been lost.

It took nine years before Theodore Nott would lay his eyes upon the hexed jewels once more, surprisingly, in Hogsmeade.

He never forgot the look of them, never forgot the suspicion that there was more to them than decoration, that there was something odd about the fact they had not been on her body when it had been carted away to the morgue at St. Mungo's for further inspection. But the looming presence of his father – a glacial monolith with those storm swirled eyes – kept him quiet.

Cantankerous never had to confess for Theodore to know what he'd done. And that was the day Theodore Nott decided he hated his father.

It was the Hexing of Katie Bell that confirmed what Theodore already knew. He'd always known it was Cantankerous' doing, but he never really knew how; and when he saw her there, floating in the air, gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly, and the necklace, discarded, glinting in the snow, he knew. There was something wrong, something eerie... Katie Bell's hair had whipped at her as if by a fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. Six feet above the ground, Katie had let out a terrible scream. The same torn scream of a young girl in anguish, a scream that tortured Theodore's every waking hour, scarred into his mind, still ringing in his ears. The same scream he'd heard from his mother, alerting him to her death.

And he knew. He knew that although Cantankerous Nott had survived wars and monstrous men, he would not survive the monster he'd made of Theodore.

It wasn't as if Theodore's hate of his father was unwarranted; far from it, for he had earned it with the blood of Bedelia, and later, with the blood of Althea.

And although he vowed to never visit his father in Azkaban after his arrest following his involvement in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, he did, just once. A confrontation, a moment of catharsis; though Theodore knew that all it would do would merely rip open Theodore's heart once more. His wounds had not healed, they never would. But he'd been almost okay. With Althea. And his father had taken that from him, too.

As a minor, he'd been staying with Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and it was she who took him to see Cantankerous upon her visit to her husband. She'd appeared overjoyed, having believed Theo had finally worn down and conceded to her numerous attempts of reconciliation. He hadn't the heart to tell her he hadn't, for she'd been nothing but lovely to him.

Cantankerous' relief was short lived. Any fantastical notion that Theodore had changed his mind, decided to pay the hefty bail and whisper away the charges with a falsified alibi, dissipated.

Theodore was loathe to admit it, but although he wished he could be everything his mother was, it was his father he took after more. For when he spoke, with that soft, whispered calm, darkened by the tint of rage, he sounded like him. "I want you to tell me about these."

The opals he produced from his pocket did nothing to him; they wouldn't. The curse placed upon them could sniff out his lineage, and the deterrent to thievery saw no use in stopping his heart. If only it could discriminate between blood and name, too.

Cantankerous knew then, what Theodore had truly been asking of him. And the usually ever-so meticulous man unraveled. The Dementors had done their damage, and his son would be the killing blow. "Theodore, please-"

"Did you kill maman?"

There it was; the unspoken question given voice.

He needn't respond, for his face betrayed him. His jaw slackened, eyes darting to the cell beside him, cautious of eavesdroppers. But it was hard to hear quiet things in Azkaban; not with the pained howls and the roaring wind ripping through the echoing stone. He reached through rust-riddled bars, extending a hand to placate the subdued wrath of his son.

Theo jerked back as if his very touch was poison, lip curling in disgust. He pocketed the opals once more, tucking them out of sight of a waiting Narcissa, and the weight of them in his pocket wore more so on his heart. "Your trial is tomorrow," he stated, fixing his tie. "I'll see you before the Wizengamot."

And so he did.

Hollowed out eyes, gaunted face; Cantankerous was a shadow of himself as he sought out the familiar visage of his son. And there he was, sat in the front row.

As they listed Cantankerous' many sins and judged him for them, Theodore rose. A hush befell the crowd.

He approached the bench. And from his pocket, he produced the string of opals.

Draco Malfoy's breath hitched, his own attendance having been a show of support for his own father, who had been next in line for the court proceedings. He recognized that necklace. Harry Potter, who would pass by a photograph of them on the front page of The Daily Prophet would recognize them, too. He'd seen them, years ago, in Borgin & Burkes, behind a glass case that implored him to not touch, for it had been responsible for the deaths of nineteen Muggles to date.

"For the death of Bedelia Delacour." The name sounded foreign on the young Nott's tongue; he'd refused to say it for a decade. As he dropped the necklace with a heavy thud before Alastor Moody, he turned.

The last words Cantankerous would hear his son say, and they were the ones that would seal his fate.

The doors shutting behind Theodore Nott was a thundercrack, and Cantankerous Nott IV recieved the Dementor's Kiss a week later.

Theodore did not mourn. He'd mourned all his life for one parent, and the other was less than deserving.

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[decennia]

THE FAMILY NOTT

finn cole & ben daniels as cantankerous nott iv

léa seydoux as bedelia nott †

thomas doherty as theodore nott

[decennia]

If they had a kid Theodore and Althea?

(this is straight up fifty shades of late, but when inspiration strikes...) following their graduation, theodore and althea moved to romania in pursuit of althea's dragonology tutelage under charlie weasley. theodore, during that time, was working on the recreation of the time turner for ministry use. upon their return to london, they proceeded to have three children, each about a year apart in age.

name: Christopher "Kit" Joseph Nott

significance: Kit was given the name "Joseph" after Althea's father, Joseph Abbott

gender: male

general appearance: Kit was originally born blond, but his hair grew darker over time. During his years at Hogwarts, he sported an overall polished, dark look, his now black hair perfectly complimenting pale skin and tailored black suits (the spitting image of his father). He has his father's blue eyes, and overall bone structure. However, once graduated, and Kit began his pursuit of his blossoming Quidditch career – resulting in much time spent in the sun – his hair grew lighter, and the palor of his skin was replaced with a golden bronze. He would never admit to it, but he had also heard that his crush at the time, Freya Fawley, had a "thing" for blond guys. It took the whole summer to correct the damage done by the second-rate potion he had half-heartedly brewed in secret under his bunk in the dorms.

personality: Kit is very enigmatic and outspoken, charming as ever, a real smooth-talker. He is constantly the centre of attention, whether he wants to be or not. He is, by all definitions, the "cool guy." He was extremely popular at Hogwarts, with a near spotless record — the only time he ever got in trouble was when he was getting his younger brother out of it. His flaws, however, fall within elitism: never blood or money based, but rather based off of Slytherin pride. He's extremely competitive with the things he finds interests in, and is a complete romantic.

house: Slytherin, and very proud

special talents: Kit is an incredibly good Beater in Quidditch, perhaps owed to him being ambidextrous. What he lacks in potions, he makes up for in transfiguration. He also used to be his sister's dance partner when they were younger, and so he is quite agile and graceful on his feet. Sabine likes to joke that he owes her at least half of his hefty Quidditch salary, because if she hadn't forced him to dance with her, he would've never had any semblance of athletic prowess.

who they like better: Kit prefers the company of his mother. Althea, also having been a Quidditch player, takes great delight in flying with her son during his brief visits home, and discussing winning strategies.

who they take after more: When Kit first arrived, everyone assumed he'd take after his father, given the spitting image he portrayed. It didn't take long for them to realise it was his mother he took after more; it was the smile that betrayed him. So often did Theodore Nott wear a subtly mocking smile that warned everyone to stay away, that when he had cracked a genuine one, people found themselves stumbling in shock. Not Kit; no, every smile was genuine and quick, and had a warm presence about them.

personal head canon: Albus and Scorpius were literally the bane of Kit's existence during his time as Slytherin Prefect, and later, Head Boy (somewhat undeservingly won through the popularity vote, which had left Roland Goyle furious). He had never taken his duties seriously until he discovered what little shits the duo could be, and he made it his personal mission to put them in their place before he graduated. For the safety of Hogwarts.

face claim: Dominic Sherwood

name: Sabine Bedelia Nott

significance: Bedelia was Theo's mother's name, of whom he was incredibly fond, prior to her untimely death.

gender: female

general appearance: Sabine has the same impish face and wide firebrand eyes of her mother. She has long tresses of chocolate brown, although also briefly dabbled in being blonde upon discovering photographs of Bedelia, with whom she bore little resemblance in everything but passions — in that, they were perfectly matched. She is shorter than both her brothers, much to her chagrin. She has a slender, dancer's build, and is quite strong and athletically capable.

personality: Sabine is extremely aware of boundaries, and tends to respect them to the point of coming off as aloof or cold. In actuality, she is incredibly warm and kind, although she has been known to be quite teasing. She has whip-crack wit, and is the funniest out of her siblings. As the middle child, she sometimes falls to the wayside while Kit basks in all the glory, but she is never bothered by this. She prefers her small friendship groups to the larger crowds her older brother attracts.

house: Sabine, like Bedelia Nott (neé Delacour) before her, attended Beauxbatons. It was her own decision to make, but she will never forget the silent joy and pride that swam in her father's eyes when she had told him her choice at the age of ten. However, if she were to go to Hogwarts, she would've been a Gryffindor.

special talents: Sabine, like Bedelia, is a performer. She learned ballet from a young age, and even managed to persuade Kit into helping her. She is incredibly persuasive when she needs to be, and more often than not gets her way. She can speak four different languages fluently, of which French is one.

who they like better: Sabine is totally a daddy's girl. She adores Theodore, and the feeling is very mutual. She of course loves her mother too, and they get along perfectly amicably, but Theo is Sabine's favourite.

who they take after more: Sabine takes after Bedelia most, but given that is her grandmother through Theodore, I will simply say Theodore.

personal head canon: Sabine attended Beauxbatons the same time as Dominique Weasley. She and Dominique grew close, being second cousins. Their friendship group was made of four, the other two being Thomasin Dumont and Henri Allaire.

face claim: Ella Purnell

name: Wendell Lorence Nott

significance: "Lorence" had been in reference to Lorelei Abbott, Althea's muggleborn mother, who had passed during the Second Wizarding War. Wendell is of German origin, meaning "wanderer."

gender: male

general appearance: Where Kit preferred to keep his hair neatly groomed and often cropped short, Wendell kept his honey blond hair long and unkempt. He is perpetually tired, and perpetually in a state of disarray. He, too, has the same eye colour as his father, although it is on the lighter side; more of a baby blue. Wendell is quite a slender, reedy boy, and is not much of an athlete, but rather an academic. He either wears a look of total boredom or pleasant surprise; Sabine likes to say those are his only two emotions.

personality: Wendell is quite shy and soft spoken, preferring to keep to himself. He is quite difficult to get out of his shell. He never looks for trouble, although trouble often finds him, much to the annoyance of Kit, who often has to put his own neck on the line to get Wendell out of it. The only time he's ever loud is if he's discussing his passions, or if he's lying – which is always his biggest tell.

house: Hufflepuff

special talents: Wendell's best subject is Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he is so incredibly talented, he's been likened to a young Rathin Patil. He is also great at singing, not that he'd ever tell anyone. He also has a photographic memory.

who they like better: Wendell prefers the quiet company of his father, simply for the comfortable silence they can sit in for an entire afternoon, without either one feeling the need to break it.

who they take after more: Appearance wise, he follows quite closely to the sunshine that is his mother. However, the withdrawn and loneresque aura he exudes screams "angsty Hogwarts years Theodore."

personal head canon: His closest friends are Piper Macmillan and Calliope Corner. Of the Delacour-Weasleys, he and Louis are the closest.

face claim: Charlie Plummer