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DORIAN Nott cursed whoever left his curtains open in his bedroom. Because of which, he ended up grabbing the extra pillow on his bed and using it to cover his eyes, wanting nothing more than to get another few hours of sleep.

He never got that, though, thanks to a six-year-old jumping right onto his bed and into him.

Dorian let out a groan, throwing the pillow onto the ground beside his bed and glaring at the intruder half-heartedly. "You can't let me sleep, can you?" he asked gruffly.

Delilah Nott—also known as Lilah by her older brother—looked at him innocently with wide eyes.

Eyes that were the same color as his—light green.

And hair completely unlike his.

While his was dark brown, hers was a very light brown that was made up of beautiful curls all around her head and framing her face.

He grinned right before leaning up and grabbing her, tickling her sides and causing her to let out giggles and playful screams.

Dorian had been only nine when his little sister was born.

And he remembered it perfectly. It was the happiest day in his life.

He never believed in miracles and a higher power. But when he held that newborn girl in his arms, he looked up and thanked whatever was up there for this beautiful miracle of finally having someone.

His whole life, Dorian's father had been around only a handful times. During all of his birthdays, his father was not available. When he got his Hogwarts letter, his father was not present and was away on a work trip. His father's whole life revolved around his job in the ministry.

Dorian had barely been told how to act like a "proper Pureblood" like his friends had been. Instead, his father had chosen tutors to train him and help him, but Dorian's constant rebellious nature made him ignore his tutors and do as he wished.

His father had not been present to teach him otherwise.

His mother, meanwhile, had long given up on him after realizing Dorian could not be helped and would always end up doing whatever he wished to do.

So when Dorian's sister was born, he vowed to become more present in her life than his father ever would be.

"Dadda!" Delilah smiled widely, showing off all her teeth as she pointed at the opened door of his bedroom. "Dadda is here!"

For a moment, Dorian froze.

But when her words registered, he immediately stood up and rushed to get dressed, rolling his eyes fondly at her giggles directed at him attempting to put on pants but falling right on his face.

Groaning, he stood and zipped up his pants, looking at his reflection in his mirror. He grabbed his hairbrush and brushed his hair.

He looked down, letting himself slow down and enjoy the moment when Delilah—who was way shorter than him—wrapped her arms around his legs, her head resting right on his stomach as she peered up at her older brother.

"Why are you..." she wrinkled her nose, an attempt to think of using a word she probably did not know.

"Stressed?" added Dorian, earning another confused look from her. He chuckled and ruffled her curly hair, causing her to shriek and pull away. "I'm not, Lilah."

He was, though. He was extremely stressed to know their father was home, for once.

And Dorian Nott rarely ever got stressed.

Already, without even seeing his father yet, he wished for a party he could attend to get drunk and lose himself in broom closets with a girl—the way he always did in Hogwarts. That was how he always distracted himself from his problems and his thoughts.

Sure, his friends looked down on his "non-pureblood antics," but they did not care enough to try to understand. At some point, the most they did was get used to it.

Delilah Nott crossed her arms the way their mother did whenever she spilled her juice over their expensive dining table, making him snap out of his thoughts and grin at her with love.

And when her brother held out his hand for her, she gladly took it and excitedly walked out of the room with him, a little skip in her steps.

She only slowed down when they reached the stairs, having to be more careful stepping down without that little skip in her steps.

She held onto her brother's hand the whole time—even when they reached the dining room.

Dorian stilled, realizing that his little sister hadn't been wrong. Not that he thought she was, because seeing their father there sitting at the head seat of the dining room could not be mistaken.

But he still had hope for it to be mistaken.

Hope that was crushed as he sat down, while Delilah sat beside their rigid mother.

Dorian glanced at his father, then noticed the envelope in his hands.

Frowning in confusion, he leaned forward to get a closer look. But when his father's gaze landed on him, he immediately straightened the way he knew he should.

"Your Ordinary Wizarding Level results," said his father as a greeting after not seeing his son for the past two years. His usual hard, cold eyes had not changed.

His dark hair was the same hair Dorian had, but he inherited his mother's light green eyes instead of his father's dark black eyes.

Delilah was an exact copy of their mother, with soft brown curls and light green eyes—but Dorian was a mix of both their parents.

The young boy's gaze landed on the envelope that had been opened being given to him by his father. He glanced at his mother, noticing her pursed lips—a sign of displeasure. He also noticed his father's unsurprised look, as if he expected nothing more from him.

Reaching out, he took the envelope from his father's hand gently and took out the result sheet. Dorian swallowed, looking at the results with barely concealed disappointment.

All his grades were A's—also known as Acceptable. Also known as the least passing grade. Any lower than that, and he would have failed.

All but one.

In Defense Against the Dark Arts, his mark was an O—Outstanding.

He remembered Professor Merrythought's delighted look when he conjured the Patronus. The Professor had been so delighted to see a Slytherin do the spell, to the point she raised his grade to the best mark.

"A disappointment," said his father coldly, snapping Dorian out of his thoughts.

The man curled his lip, looking at his son and heir. There were no hints of love, fondness, or anything of the sort.

There never was and never would be.

Dorian knew that, deep down.

His mother remained quiet, merely helping Delilah eat and refill her goblet with orange juice. Delilah seemed too focused on her food, and Dorian was glad for that. Her brows were hunched together in a look of confusion, though, as if she did not understand what was going on with her father and brother.

Granted, it hadn't been explained to her. Of course she would be confused.

His father leveled a cold gaze at the results in Dorian's hand. "I expected more, Dorian. I had assumed that you would finally take your studies seriously this year, particularly for these examinations. Clearly, you were too busy with other matters."

The knowing tone made the young boy shift in his seat and clear his throat. "I have been doing things worthy of recognition, father." He looked into his father's cold eyes, trying not to shrink from them and knowing exactly what the man meant. "I believe in Riddle's cause, and so far it has been going well."

The man merely raised an eyebrow. "The Mudblood that got killed was a result of his actions?" he asked.

Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then, he pointed out, "I am sworn to secrecy."

That was enough of a confirmation.

The man shook his head once, but a hint of satisfaction glazed his eyes. He stood in his seat, his breakfast untouched.

It was only then that Dorian realized his father was wearing a suit, as if he had somewhere to be.

He stood by the door, coat draped over his arm, eyes devoid of warmth. "I'll be leaving again for work," he stated flatly, looking at his wife. Though, no hint of affection lay there either.

The chill in his tone left no room for argument or sentiment, a stark reminder that duty eclipsed all else.

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, the door closing behind him with an echo that felt like a finality.

"Why did he even take a coat? It's literally summer," scoffed Dorian lowly, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, finally relaxing after his father left.

The room felt lighter and warmer after his father left, as if the presence of the man sucked all happiness and joy out. As if the man was a dementor.

Dorian's lips twitched, but he forced himself to not laugh.

When his eyes landed on his results, the stuck laugh quickly died out from his throat.

"I really tried," he said in a small voice, eyes on the results.

His mother finally looked at him, shaking her head in disappointment. "You need higher marks to make something of yourself, Dorian."

She was right, though.

A few Acceptable's were not going to get him anywhere far.

Dorian looked at her, watching as she put a spoonful of pudding into Delilah's mouth. Then, he stood, his breakfast completely disregarded.

"Where are you heading?" His mother glanced at him, brows furrowed.

"Out," replied Dorian simply, leaning down to kiss his sister's head before leaving.

When she giggled, he let himself smile as he left, choosing to ignore his mother's disapproving look following him.

Dorian had no intention of stepping outside at first; in fact, he had sought solace in the familiar confines of his home.

Yet, the weight of his father's presence, reappearing after two long years, loomed over him like a storm cloud, darkening his thoughts.

The results of his O.W.Ls felt like an indictment, a reminder of the expectations he had failed to meet.

In that moment of despair, he craved distraction—anything to pull him from the suffocating grip of disappointment and the piercing gaze of a man who had returned only to show his disappointment in his son.

Meanwhile, his mother did not even bother to take his side and notice his hard work. Not that he expected her to, though.

His mother was a cold woman—forced into the marriage with his father at a young age. Due to that, and the fact that Dorian looked like his father more than her—she did not bother showing him affection.

She showed Delilah as little affection as she could.

The Pureblood way of raising children was to raise them coldly and make them meet your expectations, which led to many generations of unhappy purebloods.

Dorian vowed to never do the same to his own children. If anything, he longed for a family he did not have but always wanted.

A family filled with affection, pride, and closeness.

Though, when he looked at the Nott heir ring on his finger, Dorian knew it would be impossible.

To not raise a child the Pureblood way, they would grow on to not act like one.

And that would be a bigger disappointment than his own O.W.L marks.

The marks he spent countless hours studying for.

Dorian, deep down, knew he lacked Riddle's ambition, Abraxas's relentless motivation, Cygnus Black's lofty expectations, and Antonin Dolohov's sharp intellect.

Each name echoed in his mind, a reminder of the standards he struggled to meet, leaving him feeling all the more inadequate

But he still tried. He really did.

And yet, he knew his marks were worse than all of theirs.