don't say a word ; theodore

[cordelia danielle huntington]

The distant hum of birds carried its way over along with the breeze, catching the ears of young Cordelia Huntington who sat on her heels. Knee’s against the grassy lawn, the thin blades bound to cast imprints on her skin when she got up, the witch scratched her temple with the end of her brush as she examined her creation. Well, more specifically, her alteration. The ghastly mental pink frame was barely visible beneath the thick layer of black paint she had slathered on in attempt to camouflage the horrific colour, only a faint purplish sheen was created. That she could handle. With a small huff, Cordelia brushed tendrils of hair from her sharp oval face, blinking away sunlight as she raised her brown eyes to stare across the garden. The summer sunlight washed away all clear vision, casting a vivid glow through the distant trees which lined the lawn. If one were to go further through the thicket and trees it would take them down past the thinly streamed brook, through a wicker fence and across a few hundred yards of field. Land carried on for miles both ways of the Huntington household. It was secluded, peaceful and wonderful – the exact remoteness Cordelia cherished from youth.

But, as always, there was always someone to shatter the solitude.

Plugging the cork back into the glass bottle of her black paint, Cordelia tapped the top a few times for good measure before wiping her hands through a colour stained cloth that she frequently used when painting. It wasn’t the heavy shuffle of footsteps or whistling that caused her to look up, but the fact they had stopped a good few inches away from her. Lips pressed together, her wide eyes stared up and settled into a glare. A round head topped with fair strands of short hair and irritatingly jolly eyes peered down at Cordelia before turning to the bike she had just painted. Crossing her arms over her chest, paintbrush still clasped in her hand, Cordelia listened to the inevitable exclamation that escaped the man’s lips; “Ay,” He started with look of utter perplexity, “what have you done with your bike!?”

Standing up – as expected, with grass indentations etched upon her pale skin – Cordelia remained with her arms folded and cool expression in place, “I could ask you the same thing.”

The whole charade of Cordelia painting the bike in the first place all began with the fact it was not, strictly speaking, her bike. Her bike was perfect – a dark green Oma with cream wheels, heavily framed which made it easier for her to control as a anything lighter would mean she’d go too fast. Yes it had started to rust and the pedal would fall off at times, but in Cordelia’s eyes, this man had no right to throw it out and by her a completely new one. She had woken that morning and gone to the place she usually kept her bike - propped up against the alcove on the side of her house. However, today it wasn't there. Today, much to Cordie’s outrage, it had been replaced. Her response was not particularly the greatest way to react to a present, but it was simply the fact this bike was just…not right at all. The frame was thin and dainty, the seat a little too high and the handle bars had too much of a distance between them. Not to mention the fact it had been bright pink.

“Your mum said you would like it.” Retorted Leslie, a confident grin suddenly appearing on his face as if he thought he got the right answer to a question. Leslie Wigglestick. Yes the name was ridiculous and Cordelia was fully aware of that. She had been aware of it when she first was introduced to the man by her mother at the age of ten – the exact age of ten in fact (needless to say that was an eventful birthday and one of her least favourite pastimes ever; if not the worst.) He was her mother’s – dare she say – boyfriend and bane of Cordelia’s life. Far too chipper, much too jolly even in the foulest of situations and has a hugely irksome laugh that would cause the sanest of people to go mad. Needless to say, the ridiculous name suited the man greatly

“My mother also thinks I like Pixie Puffs and Pink Coconut Ice sweets.” Speaking swiftly, almost cutting off his words, Cordelia bluntly regarded the fact her mother would often only guess at what Cordelia likes rather than find out what it is she enjoys. Leslie seemed more intent on her bike rather than her words though; “It’s an ugly bike. This is my try to make it look better. Really, I’d rather have my old one back and break my ankle than be seen riding this... The shame would hurt a lot more in contrast.”

“You, little madam, need to perk up a bit and soften that sour expression before the wind changes.”

“I am not a little madam!” Scolded Cordelia, fingers tightly clutching her paintbrush as Leslie proceeded to chuckle and tuck his hands into his pockets. Strolling past the small girl, all too proud of his last comedic statement than effected by her painting the bike, he headed back up towards the large manor house. Resisting the great urge to kick the bike over and stomp away, Cordelia refrained, inhaling a large gulp of air and closing her eyes, consoling herself as she went over the same words that often occupied her mind like a mantra; one day, I shall hex that little man into oblivion and all will be better again.

[theodore isaac nott]

The bicycle ride to Cordelia's home had been a frustrating one for Theodore, well almost all of it was, half the journey was pleasant; no people sounds were caught, just the little whispers of trees and leaves that always made Teddy half smile, and there was the passing breeze that would cool down his perspiring forehead - he even saw two squirrels squabbling over who knew what, though their funny growls and quick menacing speeds amused Theodore. His travel had not been half bad at all if you'd ask anyone, however if to ask Theodore he would have said it was just dreadful - all because his pesky black cat kept leaping out of its basket. Thackery had jumped out three times whenever a mosquito or fly would pester the whiskers near his nose. Every time he'd swish his paw around and then suddenly hop out, Theodore would let his foot drag on the road (as he never really learned how muggles stopped bicycles properly) "You're making us late" Theodore would hiss at Thackery as he'd pick him up and dropped him carelessly back on the basket.

None of it amused Theodore, not even the time when Thackery fell to the ground and Theodore failed to notice, only to run over the cat's tail. Thackery was simply aggravating him that day. The only way that he was able to keep him in was by poking the feline on its bottom with a branch he'd pick from the ground. "Try it and you'll get it" he'd warn angrily.

The threats worked out well enough as Thackery kept still after some prodding. Soon enough they had arrived, and Theodore walked with his bicycle around the house. The house, or rather the inside, had always left him feeling….odd. He wasn't exactly sure why but he always felt better when he avoided going in and having to converse with anyone other than Cordelia. As he moved in closer he noticed Thackery sleeping inside the basket, Theodore shifted his left brow and scoffed. It was always strange seeing animals sleep, it was as though they weren't meant to - not in his opinion. But Thackery's odd behaviour only kept him for so long, when he overheard a few words going back and forth he smirked. However he tried to hide when he saw the older man walking. Over the course of some time he had gotten somewhat familiar with that Wigglestick fellow (as he called him) Theodore wasn't fond of him - to say the least. Nonetheless he never minded whenever the man would talk to Cordelia, as strange as his conduct seemed, it had usually granted laughter on his behalf. This time it was no disappointment either. Theodore smirked and echoed the last words "little madam" as he drew closer. The words had him snickering but he did take a break, only to repeat them again when he approached Cordelia.

"Afternoon, madam…little one, little madam" Theodore mocked and grinned. A moment later noticing the new item near Cordelia. "Oh you've got a new one" He studied the bicycle and fastened his brows closely. Appearing puzzled over the look, the colour to be exact, of the bicycle, he declared how unusual it appeared. "Looks abnormal, like a muggle painted it..well probably did, right" he spoke bluntly of course. It hadn't been that odd apparently as Teddy's eyes soon went to the sleeping Thackery. "Look he's doing that again, did he do that when you had him?" Theodore almost looked disgusted when he stared at the cat "It's unusual how they manage that, almost like they think they're…humans. I usually give him so black tea to make him stay awake, did you as well?"