Duplicitous | T.N.

LI • A corpes' touch

Dear Aurora,

Your favourite fiend, huh? Really? ...So funny...

You know I thought we were closer than that, friends even. I guess the day you begged for my friendship in the hospital wing was all a simple fever dream, and you aren't actually secretly in love with me.

Also, the DA teachers come and go. What's the harm in a little joke every once in a while? Besides I don't find myself immature. It might surprise you but I'm not actually 'Downright awful' either. It's merely apart of the charm, love. You wouldn't get it.

Disregarding the fact you are certainly obsessed with me and in denial entirely, Slughorn will apparently not be the knew DA teacher. It will surprise you to learn that Professor Snape will be attaining that role and instead Slughorn will act as our potions Professor. Weird huh?

Speak to you soon, gorgeous.

- Your favourite. fRiend.

__________________________________

That was the last she heard of him that summer. After nearly three months of back and forth responses, enthralled with jokes and teasing, facts and stories, the letters stopped. Well, actually she sent two more after that, yet he failed to formulate any reply. Their exchanges of sweet letters came to a swift end. Just like that. Theodore was ignoring her, and she had no clue as to why.

• • •

From the other side of the world, Theodore finalised his last letter, swarms of warm content kissing at his faint glowed cheeks. His leather suitcases packed and full, stuffed with a series of his favourite designer clothes, shoes, watches and coats.

His jewelled hand tugged effortlessly on the rims of his Coco Chanel limited addition designer coat, he itched his woollen turtle neck and ruffled his overly styled head of brown waves. His father had insisted he dress his best for their arrival back to Europe.

Theodore wore no less than the very finest silks and fabrics the world had to offer. Uncomfortable in his attire the boy secretly loosened his wear whilst his father looked away. The man, too dressed superbly, had his eyes fixated on the moving figures of the London Daily prophet.

The man, snapped the papers shut between his outstretched hands and stared blankly up at his son from where he sat. The screeching of the leather chair echoed as the near elderly man pulled himself up from it. Theodore towered over his father then. Two years prior the young boy remembered dreaming of the day he'd physically out do his father, however taller and more fit Theodore proved to be, Nott Snr was not to be tampered with.

Clutching the cuffs of his sons shirt he tugged at his arm. Theodore grunted at his fathers show of brute force. Unbuttoning his sons sleeves the man rolled them back. "Look your best Theodore." The man repeated. It was all he said that entire morning, a repetition of the constant reminder to up his sons appearance. Theodore wouldn't have thought twice about it, if it wasn't for the very fact his father always ensured, in order for the boy to look proper, his sleeves must be rolled down.

What was different?

Travelling through boats and trains, fire and apparition, the Nott father and son duo arrived back to central London. They swerved their way through Diagon alley. Young witches and wizards backing away as the father and son staunched along the footpath. Theodore knew they weren't running from him, but his father. The man radiated a thick and dark aura, so menacing, it had children running from his path.