Chapter Text
Dungeons were supposed to be dark, even Theodore knew that much. Yet, there was something about this particular side - a certain coldness - that the long, narrow candles wouldn't dare tackle. Where the Slytherin common room had a constant hearth, the Potions classroom was hidden away in the shadows.
The flames flickered dangerously as Professor Snape marched to the front of the room, his robes billowing behind him. The indistinct chatter died down immediately as the Slytherin Head of House unfurled some parchment.
"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
The candles at the front of the class blinked out. Wisps of smoke rose feebly and dissipated pitifully into the air. A round-faced Gryffindor coughed slightly – Longbottom, if he remembered correctly - and was immediately on the receiving end of a glare thrown by Snape.
It shut the boy up instantly. And while the rest of Theodore's housemates sniggered at the boy, Theodore had more self-control. Though some might argue a full-blown smirk was worse. Theodore certainly wasn't one of those people.
Longbottom had his face in his hands, and the dark-haired girl beside him patted his shoulder awkwardly whilst her friend – at least he thought she was since he'd seen the two of them giggling together – sneered at the Slytherins, and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.
As for The Boy Who Lived, well, he got the grilling of a lifetime thanks to Professor Snape. Admittedly, it was harsh of Snape to interrogate him on topics that weren't supposed to be covered until Fifth Year, what with Monkshood and Wolfsbane, and all (Theodore's father had made sure to give him nothing but the best education).
Regardless, it was rather amusing to see the Gryffindor boy squirm in his seat throughout Snape's interrogation. And Snape ignoring the muggleborn girl, desperately waving her arm, beside Potter was the icing on the cake. What the classroom lacked in aesthetics, was covered by sheer entertainment.
"Today you'll be making a simple potion to cure boils," said Snape once he was done questioning Potter. "Although it seems that for some of you-" He glanced at Longbottom, "-it will prove to be rather challenging."
"Three galleons says he blows his cauldron up," whispered Draco.
"Six galleons that he blows someone else's cauldron as well," said Pansy.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Daphne roll her eyes at the two Slytherins. Off to the side, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to having a duel with their quills. Crabbe jabbed at Goyle's hand, flicking the quill out of the boy's fingers, and onto Tracey's desk. She pocketed Goyle's quill with a shrug, much to his dismay.
Snape paid them no attention and continued as though nothing happened.
"You will be working in pairs today," he said.
Hushed whispers filled the classroom, unsure eyes meeting with their acquaintances – it's not like you could be friends in the space of a day. Well, maybe the Gryffindors were stupid enough to do exactly that.
As for him and his fellow Slytherins, that wouldn't be a problem because they'd practically grown up together. No worries about having to meet new people and certainly no worries about befriending the wrong sort.
"This is going to be a breeze," said Blaise from beside him, and then raising an eyebrow. "We are working together, aren't we?"
"Obviously," replied Theodore.
He shuffled to the side and began placing his schoolbag on the floor when Snape slammed a hand on the desk.
"Silence!"
The professor didn't shout the words, no. They were a venomous hiss directed towards Potter and Weasley. The whole class stilled. Theodore's bag hung from his index and little finger, refusing to let it drop. He could feel his fingers turning blue as the bag threatened to fall.
"I will be choosing the pairs," he said softly and then began rattling off the groups.
Theodore's bag fell as the professor read out the names. He stiffened, preparing himself for the inevitable thud and the consequent stares. But nothing happened. There was no sound, no nothing.
"Mr Nott, you'll be working with Miss Brown," he said.
As he spoke, a small card with his name appeared on the workstation. In front of Blaise's former spot – the boy had been paired with Malfoy– was a card with the name Lavender Brown in loopy gold writing.
"Over there Miss Brown," murmured Snape, his wrist flicking towards the empty spot next to Theodore.
A girl with soft brown hair trudged towards the open spot and threw her bag on the table with a huff. She kept glancing at the dark-haired girl who'd been paired with Daphne.
"So you're Nott," she said, her nose wrinkled. "Well, I'm Lavender."
There was a tinge of disappointment in her words, mixed in with some irritation. Well, the feeling was mutual.
While Blaise and Draco were enjoying themselves, Theodore was stuck with an insolent Gryffindor. The Gryffindor girl seemed to think she was better than him. What an idiot.
Theodore nodded stiffly, before turning to the chapter titled 'Cure for Boils' in his copy of the book. The ingredients they needed were already on the table, and the recipe was only a few lines long so hopefully they'd be done quickly.
"So," said the girl, "What are you doing?"
He was clearly weighing the dried nettles since that was the first step in the book. So naturally he ignored her. If she had any sense whatsoever, she'd start reading the recipe.
But then again Gryffindors lacked common sense. At least that's what his mother used to tell him.
Maybe it'd be best if the girl didn't help him. They'd be done faster if he did it himself, and it's not like he wanted help from her. No, she'd just ruin the potion.
"Hello?" She waved a snake fang in front of his face. "Can you hear me?"
Theodore glared at her but didn't bother responding.
She shrugged and began tapping the fang on the table. "I can't do anything to help if you won't even tell me what you're doing."
Once he was done with the nettles, he poured them into the cauldron making sure to get every dried flake off the scales. He placed the cauldron on the small forever-stove which had already been lit.
"Should I do anything?" asked Brown.
No.
But he didn't bother with a reply, because he wanted to be out of the class as quickly as possible. And talking to the idiot Gryffindor would just slow him down.
"Can you even talk?"
Do you ever shut up?
It's not like he could ask that. Well, he could, but it wouldn't be very proper of him, would it?
He glanced over at the girl, who now sawed at the fang with a small knife. What on earth was she doing?
"You're supposed to crush the snake fang," he hissed at her. "Not cut it."
The girl pouted, dropping the knife on to table petulantly. It slid towards the cauldron, the blade hitting the pewter with a clang.
"Five points to Slytherin," came the voice of Professor Snape, "for your alertness, Mr Nott." He then sneered at Brown, who shrunk into her seat. "And a point from Gryffindor for failure to read simple instructions."
"There was no need for that," muttered Brown as Snape sauntered towards a spillage near Longbottom. "It's not like I ruined the potion."
"I think it'd be best if you don't do anything," he said tightly. "You've done enough as it is."
She crossed her arms. "I haven't done anything."
And it would be best if it stayed that way. He'd rather not end up with a melted cauldron like Finnegan.
The girl's eyes welled up. Was she crying? A tear rolled down her cheek.
How awfully dramatic.
But he'd rather not have to deal with a tearful classmate, so he said, "Can you please pass me three porcupine quills?"
Brown nodded and slid them over, and Theodore added them to the cauldron.
"You can stir the cauldron."
"How much?" she asked, glancing at him.
"Anti-clockwise six times," he said, without looking up from the pestle and mortar. "The quills should become a sort of green-ish colour."
For the rest of the lesson, they worked in a sort of stiff, yet harmonious silence with Brown asking the odd question- or so. Even with her help, they'd managed to finish fairly quickly. He reckoned he could've done it a lot faster himself.
But alas, they managed to leave the classroom early, which allowed for a rather long session of Exploding Snap in the common room between the Slytherin first years. To make matters even better, Snape had taken him aside at the end of the lesson and told him that he'd be working with Daphne from the next lesson onwards.
Theodore would've preferred to work with Blaise, but he'd take the small wins. The sheer elation after being freed from that idiotic Gryffindor kept his spirits high even after finishing dead last in all eight games of exploding snap that evening.
Theodore didn't really need to run across the corridor. It's not like he had a lesson to get to, or a detention to attend. He simply wanted to get a good spot at the Slytherin table for dinner. And so he resorted to sprinting all the way from the library to the Great Hall.
In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best of ideas. Even though the library was only on the first floor, it had its own designated wing, so actually getting out of the library took longer than getting down to the Great Hall. And it's not like he could run in the library - he'd rather not face the wrath of Madam Pince, thank you very much.
Detention in the first term of school would be rather disappointing. At least that's what his father had told him.
While he didn't get detention, he somehow managed to trip on his own robes in the corridor.
He stumbled to the side, his shoulder barging into the tiled wall. It throbbed with pain, and the boy knew it wouldn't be long before a bright purple bruise bloomed there - the colour of the hyacinths his mum used to plant. It was nothing a simple healing potion couldn't take care of.
Theodore pushed himself off the wall with his uninjured arm, brushing his robes down in the process. He caught a glimpse of some torn fabric as he turned around, loosely hanging off his robes.
Theodore couldn't walk around like this. He was a pureblood, one of the elite. He couldn't parade around in ruined clothes like a Weasley.
He'd have to get out of here quickly, undetected and-
"You dropped something."
Theodore's blood ran cold at the sound of the voice. Of course, the corridor wasn't empty, because why would anything ever be easy for him?
He refused to turn around. Refused to take the bait. The stupid Gryffindor girl was going to taunt him.
"Er, Nott?" Brown said uncertainly.
He carried on walking, ignoring the girl completely. It's not like they were in a lesson, and he couldn't care less if the girl started crying this time. He had a reputation to uphold.
"It fell out of your pocket," the stubborn girl continued. "It says Roser on it-"
Crap.
"It's Rosier," he said, whirling around to face her. "Give it back."
Brown held a silvery object, a small flat circle. As it was, it could easily be mistaken for a necklace with a rather large pendant. A rather unimpressive pendant, but it made for a very peculiar compass.
A shame it didn't work anymore.
It had been a gift from his mother, along with a note that said 'Powered by the strongest magic, can you guess what it is Theo?'
The note lay crumpled in his bedside drawer back at home, while the malfunctioned compass should've been in his pocket. And yet it was in the hands of Lavender Brown of all people.
"That's what I've been trying to do," she huffed. "What even is this?"
She held it out at arm's length and swung it slightly.
"It's none of your business," he sneered at the girl.
He snatched the compass away from her, the usually cool metal, warm against his palm. What on earth had she done to it?
Theodore glanced at the Gryffindor girl, his brows furrowed. Her eyes were trained on his forehead, as though they were trying to burn right through his skull.
"You've got a bruise on there," she said, pointing to the left of her head.
"I know."
"Erm," she said, biting her lip, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," he said sharply. "Now if you'll excuse me-"
Brown stuck her arm out towards him. In her hand was a small, clear vial filled with a blue liquid.
"Take this," she said. "It's a healing balm. It should help with the bruise."
"I don't need-"
"Just take it anyway. I've got loads in my trunk anyway," she shrugged.
So apart from being a dunderhead, the girl was also a klutz. Why else would she walk around with an endless supply of healing potions?
The skin on his forehead felt as though it was being stretched pole to pole. His fingers reached to inspect the area and were met with a rather large bump.
"Fine," he muttered, grabbing the small vial.
"Eh," she shrugged. "I just didn't want it to spill in my pocket. Mum sent me tons of them and there wasn't enough space on the table so I had to put a few in my pocket."
"Cool," he said with an awkward grimace.
"Cool. Bye, I suppose?"
Yeah, they weren't that friendly. He wasn't going to bid the Gryffindor farewell after accepting her gift. It would be embarrassing.
And besides, what if someone saw? What if Brown told her fellow Gryffindors about their little exchange? They'd never let him live it down. And then his friends would find out as well. Pansy would bully him forevermore if she ever found out.
Brown was always gossiping about with that friend of hers. She wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut for more than a day.
(Turns out, either the Gryffindors took pity on him, or by some miracle, the girl had kept their little meeting a secret because, after a couple of months, there was no mention of this incident. And Theodore knew the Gryffindors would never let an opportunity like this go.
Maybe good things did happen once in a blue moon. Though he reckoned a blue moon was more common than a Gryffindor being nice to a Slytherin.)
Despite his father's best efforts, Theodore wasn't a huge fan of Quidditch. Or flying of any sort. In fact, before Hogwarts, Theodore had only flown twice and while he didn't remember the first time (there was a picture in a sitting room of him hovering on a broomstick) and well, the other time had been a massive mistake.
Theodore remembered hating every second of it.
And so, when the whole school was off watching the inter-house quidditch games, Theodore found himself in the library. Well, it was only the second quidditch game of the season, but he'd like to think this would become a bit of a habit.
After all, he would need a lot longer to complete even one row of books about the first wizarding war. History was important, his father often said. To learn where you went wrong was vital in making sure the same mistakes were never made again.
While Theodore himself would rather not fight in a war anytime soon – he had only just turned twelve – his father seemed to believe that it wasn't long before the second wizarding war took place. He sincerely hoped his father was wrong, though he wouldn't dare ever tell him that.
Nott Sr would likely throw a fit if he ever saw the book in Theodore's hand, 'First Wizarding War: The Other Explanation.' It had a whole section dedicated to Sirius Black and his friends and even claimed that a spy worked for Albus Dumbledore.
The book's author hadn't been listed, unfortunately. It was a shame really, since the original version of the book had been nominated for 'Most Creative Non-Fiction of the Year' back in 1982. At least that's what it said on the cover of the book.
"What are you doing in the library?"
Theodore looked up from the book and found Brown taking a seat on the opposite side of the table. She swung her legs so her shoes rested on the surface.
"Don't go back to your book," she said. "At least answer my question first."
He could do that. And he sort of owed her now as well. Maybe he'd be even after today.
"I'm reading."
Brown rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. But why aren't you at the quidditch game?"
"I don't like quidditch," he said.
"I think," said Brown slowly, "Us two would make fantastic friends."
"No thanks."
She crossed her arm against her chest. "We both hate quidditch, and we're both in the library. We're like the same person," she said excitedly. "It's practically fate."
"We are not the same person," said Theodore. "You talk a lot. I don't."
"Which makes this even better. Because I get to talk whilst you listen to everything I have to say without interrupting me."
Theodore raised an eyebrow. "Do I even get a say?"
"Nah. That's the whole point," she said pointedly. "I talk, and you," she nodded at him, "listen."
She sounded rather smug about the whole thing. But then again, she was a Gryffindor, so it shouldn't come as a surprise.
"I don't want to be friends with you though," he said, his nose wrinkled. "I just want to read this book."
She swung her legs off the table and snatched the book away from his side. She scrutinised the cover, and then slid it back over.
"Boring." She pulled a wooden box out of her schoolbag and set it on the table. "We should play Wizard's chess."
"Absolutely not."
It wasn't Theodore who spoke out – though his reply would've been something similar. Rather, it was Madam Pince, who looked down at the two students. Her glasses sat right at the edge of her nose, threatening to slip off at any moment now.
"The both of you have made enough noise as it is," she said. "Out you go."
Brown began packing the chess away quietly. She got up from her chair silently taking her stuff with her.
"You as well," said Madam Pince, nodding at Theodore.
With a quiet apology to Madam Pince, he put the book back on its shelf and trudged out of the library.
Theodore hadn't even taken a couple of steps when a small hand grabbed his arm and began pulling him down the corridor. Lavender Brown marched forward, not even bothering to glance back at him.
"What are you doing?" hissed Theodore.
"We are going to do something," she announced. "Just because that rotten librarian ruined our game, I'm not giving up on our almost-friendship."
They weren't almost-friends. Hell, they weren't even acquaintances. Or at least he liked to think they weren't.
Despite his beliefs, he didn't try to escape from her vice-like grip. Well, he only tried a couple of times, not that it worked. Because before long, the two of them had made their way to the Great Lake.
"It's freezing," complained Theodore. "Can you get this over with quickly please, Brown?"
Brown rolled her eyes. "This is going to be a lifelong friendship, Theodore."
"No thanks," he said. "I'd rather not be friends with you."
"What are you going to do in the remainder of the quidditch games then?" she asked. "You can't just spend all that time in the library."
"Of course I can."
The two of them stopped near a large oak tree. Brown dropped her bag onto the ground and took a seat right beside it. She patted the ground next to her.
"Just one game," she said, biting her lip. "And then you can go back to doing boring Slytherin things."
"I don't do boring Slyth-" he began, before noticing the smirk on the Gryffindor's face.
And mainly because he wanted to wipe it off, he found himself saying, "Fine. One game."
It wasn't just one game. After wiping the floor with her in the first game, he found himself agreeing to a rematch, in which Brown obliterated him.
And then they had another game. And then another.
It wasn't until well after the Quidditch match had finished, did they leave their spot under the tree. The sun was on the verge of disappearing under the horizon, the sky a deep orange where it met the Great Lake, giving the water a fiery tinge. Apparently, it was too dark to see according to Lavender.
Once he got back to the Slytherin Common Room, Theodore found himself buried under comments about how 'weirdly happy he looked,' courtesy of Blaise. Even Draco chimed in a couple of times.
Naturally, he brushed them off with a shrug, and asked about the Quidditch score, because that was the polite thing to do. And it worked wonders since Malfoy gushed non-stop about the game for the next forty-five minutes.
Somehow this sequence of events became a sort of routine for the remainder of the year.
"That win shouldn't count," pouted Lavender. "We were missing a player."
The two of them lounged by the Great Lake, leaning back against the tree. The bark had scuffed his Slytherin robes, the back of it now a faded, washed out-grey. He knew this because Lavender's Gryffindor robes were in a similar state, and because, well, Blaise had told him as such yesterday.
The blades of grass glittered under the sun, the tips a bright white contrasting the deep green. And unlike most of the games, today the grass was completely dry. No dew, no leftover rainwater, just a nice warm bed of grass and hay.
"I thought you didn't care," said Theodore with a shrug.
"I don't. But," she huffed, frustration creeping into her voice, "It's a matter of house pride. We lost to Ravenclaw."
'Losing' was fairly optimistic. Gryffindor had been battered by Ravenclaw. Demolished. Wiped out.
Draco had been practically buzzing with glee when he'd described the game. So much so, that even Theodore stayed in the Common Room for the party after they won the Quidditch Cup. It had been rather eventful.
Though a lot of that could be blamed on the Firewhiskey that Millicent's older brother had brought in. He'd managed to get hold of six bottles, along with er... certain potions.
Selwyn, who was the leading goal scorer this season, ended up making out with one of the team's beaters – Rookwood, apparently, according to Pansy. Suffice to say, Higgs wasn't happy with his girlfriend snogging the Slytherin beater. Things would've escalated to a duel if it wasn't for Flint, who ordered all the Quidditch back to their dormitories.
Pansy was positively buzzing that night, going up to the older students and asking – no – ordering the older students to let her try some. She was joined by some other underage students from the older years. The rest of the first years were huddled in the corner of the common room and played Exploding Snap throughout the night.
Theodore stretched his leg out, the grass tickling the exposed spot between his socks and his trousers. "Well, there's always next year."
"What if Harry isn't able to recover in time for the next year's games?" she said, pulling at a loose thread on her robes. "You're going to be so smug if we lose to you in November."
Theodore raised an eyebrow. "When you lot lose."
Lavender stuck her tongue out at him. She grabbed a handful of Bertie Bott's and threw them at him.
"Oi! I wanted those," he complained.
"I'm sure your manor's got a whole kitchen dedicated to sweets. You'll get to have as many sweets as you want tomorrow," she said quietly. She paused for a moment, her eyes darting towards him. "And for the rest of the summer."
Lavender was never quiet.
"Are you alright?"
The Gryffindor gave a tight smile. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine," he said, arching a brow.
"That's just rude."
Theodore raised his eyebrow even higher.
"It's just that... that-" She shook her head. "It's stupid."
"Just tell me," he said. "Maybe I can help."
"You're going to laugh," she said, her eyes narrowed.
Theodore shook his head. "I promise I won't. We can even make an unbreakable vow?"
Lavender chuckled slightly, but her eyes were still filled with worry. They were an unusual soft brown, rather than their usual dark, stormy eyes.
"That would be dumb," she said her voice tinged with nervousness.
She tore a few blades of grass from the ground. That seemed to do the trick because just then she looked directly at him, the grass clutched tightly in her left hand.
"You won't forget about me in the summer, will you?"
What? That's what she's worried about?
A small part of him had been worried that maybe something really was wrong. Maybe she'd been cursed. Or that she was a werewolf or something.
He didn't think it would be this small. Maybe it was a Gryffindor thing.
Theodore didn't think he could forget about her. Especially since she was his sole source of entertainment during quidditch games. And that they were maybe, sort of friends as well now.
"You won't just ignore my letters or anything?" she asked.
"You want to write to me over the summer?"
"Yeah," she began hesitantly, "if you don't mind, that is."
"Of course I don't, it's just that..." he trailed off, not really sure what he was going to say. What his excuse was going to be.
A part of him wasn't even sure why he was looking for an excuse in the first place. It's not like his father cared about who sent him letters, in fact, the more the merrier. The more connections he'd be able to make.
As long as he wasn't corresponding with a mudblood. Not that he'd even dream of doing something so scandalous. Even Theodore had standards.
"It's just what?"
Theodore shook his head. "Nothing. I'm sure we can send letters over the summer."
"Good," she said with a smile. "You better reply to my letters or I'll send a howler that screams in front of your whole family."
It was only him, his father and a pile of ashes in a small urn.
"I'm sure you will," he said dryly.
"I thought we were friends Theodore," she sighed, but she wore a smirk, nonetheless. "Frankly, I'm disappointed that you don't seem to know me well enough to know I'd do exactly that."
"Please don't," he said, his brows furrowed.
It would be rather awkward if Lavender's voice began screaming in the sitting room. And he'd rather not let his father know that he occasionally hung out with a Gryffindor.
Lavender replied with a solitary wink.