Miracles don't exist || Theodore Nott

Chapter 33: Heavy silks

Your feet ache and the dress the seamstresses are anxiously fitting on you is heavy. The rich silk which feels soft against your skin. One of the ladies accidentally pricks you with a needle and you flinch. She starts to stutter out apologies as your aunt and Bellatrix hover nearby, glaring at the poor woman.

But you pay them no attention. Rather, you are focused on the Daily Prophet in your hands. There you are- the front page of the Daily Prophet standing behind Pius Thicknesse and next to Delores Umbridge. You look cold and heartless, a serious look on your face. You like what is expected of you by everybody.

Dolores — you're taking delight in calling that miserable toad by her first name since she can't do anything about it — has a satisfied smile on her face.

You don't even want to talk about Yaxley and Runcorn. Creeps.

What, however, saddens you the most is that your true identity was revealed with this arctice. Full name and all underneath the picture taken during the speech.

From left to right:

Albert Runcorn, Dolores Umbridge, (Y/n) Riddle, Heir of the Dark Lord, Pius Thicknesse, and Corban Yaxley.

It sickens you that they had to include the fact about who you're a child of.

You feel people look at you and you quickly put away the papers, focusing instead on the others in the room. "I'm sorry?"

"How does the dress feel?", repeats Aunt Cissy her question as she sits on a chase in the corner, her eyes slightly watery.

You look at yourself in the mirror. Smoothing your hands over the bodice of the dress, you frown. It doesn't really look like a you would have wanted to wear. But the Lord himself insisted that the fabrics must be in traditional Slytherin colours. Being prideful of our house and forefathers and whatnot.

"Good", you manage to croak out, not having spoken at all today. There was no need for you to. Every aspect of the wedding is already decided or is being decided by someone else.

Bellatrix raises one eyebrow. "Just good?"

You shake your head. "No. Great. I love it! It's just what I always dreamed of." You give the seamstresses your best and brightest smile. But you know it doesn't reach your eyes.

"May I be excused?", you ask to nobody in particular. You have to get out. Out of the dress. Out of the Mannor. Away.

Once you're released from your dress, you hurry outside. One part of the garden is off-limits to anyone except you and anyone you bring with you. You've heard Death Eaters discuss the place and that they have deemed it an honour to be invited by you to that corner of the garden. Ugh, as if.

When you finally reach it, someone's already seated on the stone bench located in the middle. You round the bench and go sit next to Draco, whose shoulders are sagged.

"How's Theodore?", he asks, not looking at you.

"He's fine. Getting his tux fitted right now."

"How are you?"

Now that is a loaded question. "Fine", you answer curtly, but both of you know that that is not true. You've been far from 'fine'. "Absolutely miserable. But I imagine that I speak for the three of us."

Your cousin looks at you. He is paler than he has ever been. Obviously has he not been eating and sleeping well. You know for a fact that if you didn't have Theo you would be in the same state.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?"

Leaning over, you rest your head against his shoulder. You sniff and swallow the lump in your throat. There is no need to answer Draco's question. Of course, you're not. Nobody is ready to unwillingly marry at seventeen.