|Penned in Vain
Author: chromeknickers PM
"How vain is it to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live?" - A collection of Post-Hogwarts drabbles featuring the Slytherin loner, Theodore Nott.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Humor - Theodore N. & Luna L. - Chapters: 20 - Words: 12,142 - Reviews: 118 - Favs: 16 - Follows: 10 - Updated: 04-24-11 - Published: 09-24-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6348869
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The following is a collection of Post Hogwarts drabbles featuring the Slytherin loner, Theodore Nott. A new prompt will be issued every other week, and I will try my best to keep a consistent theme. The prompt and challenge are listed below.
A New Beginning
The dream was always the same: barefoot on white shores with the wind howling at his back. The ocean roared behind him, enticing him, but he could not turn. Instead, he could only look ahead to a worn cobbled path that led to a clearing. Beyond that stood countless rows of crosses and tombs – crooked and bent, but uniform. In the midst of this graveyard rose a greying mausoleum, looming over him with its sepulchral shadow. Littered at his feet were not flowers but tattered pages torn from ancient tomes yellowed with age. He need not look up to read the inscription etched in marble. Instead, he knelt before the mocking monolith with arms spread wide in supplication as the sky darkened in anger and a bell tolled in the distance. Then the dream ended, and he woke up. Alone.
Standing bent under the shower-head, he let the scalding hot water pelt down his back, easing the tension. But nothing could relieve the stress that his body carried. The weight of the dead was a heavy burden borne only by those who could not move forward, and Theodore Nott was a man tethered by obligation.
He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a soft towel, meticulously drying himself off before he headed to the bedroom. Crisp linen, pressed and perfect, sat atop an equally immaculately made bed. With deliberate movements, he attended to his funeral attire, methodically dressing himself as he rehearsed the eulogy in his mind.
There was no need for speeches, as he knew no one else would be attending. Theodore had heard the biting words whispered behind his back: "I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it." Childish. Insensitive. But were they right? His father had lost whatever respect and renown he had years ago, after the war. No one cared that he had died an old man, sick and insane in prison. No one cared that his son was now alone – was always alone. There was no sympathy for his father or for him. But Theodore understood filial duty, regardless that his father was not a good man. Duty, like action, was perfunctory, and he would honour his father.
After the funeral, though, there would be no more obligations. And, Theodore absently wondered if the dream would then change. Would the cemetery only be a rolling meadow in the distance where children laughed and gathered flowers? Would the ocean finally be exposed to him – wide and infinite – beckoning him towards a new beginning?
He had no answers, but even in that, he had found hope.
Prompt #1: Cemetery
Challenge: Include the quote by Mark Twain: "I didn't attend the funeral, but I sent a nice letter saying I approved of it."
Word Count: 443