Chapter Text
When Theo was four, he did his first accidental magic. He’d accio’d a book of fairy tales into his mother’s hands when she’d tried to read him Babbity Rabbity instead. Theo didn’t want Babbity Rabbity, he wanted Harry Potter! Harry Potter was brave and clever and good, whereas Babbity Rabbity was just… ugh.
(he remembered the sound of her laugh)
“My clever Theo,” she’d giggled, kissing him on the forehead. “No Babbity Rabbity then, hmm?”
That was his first memory. Magic, books, his mothers’ laughter.
“No!” he’d yelled. “No Babbity Wabbity!”
When Theo was five, he read his first chapter book. It was a Harry Potter book, one where he fought off dragons and saved the prince and flew off into the sunset. His mother had smuggled it in, making him promise not to tell his father with a quick wink. It was a deep, royal purple, with gold filigree around the edges. The image on the front was an illustration: a black-haired boy with bright green eyes and a big smile, holding a silver sword aloft in the air. He opened it, savoring the crack of a newly-bound spine.
The inscription on the first page read: All proceeds from this book will go to the Lily Potter Foundation for Muggleborns.
What was a muggleborn?
He went to his mother, because his mother was clever and she knew everything. She knew all about asphodel and aconite and all the other things in One Thousand Magical Plants and Fungi, and she knew how to make the absolute best hot chocolate, surely she’d know what a muggleborn was?
His feet made soft sounds against the dark oaken floorboards, and a portrait of his great-great-auntie Enid hushed him disapprovingly. Chastened, Theo quieted his steps, gave a perfunctory knock on the door to his mother’s study, and pushed his way inside. She was sitting at her desk and looked up at his arrival, a smile immediately gracing her lips at the sight of him.
(she smiled every time she saw him)
“Mother,” he asked in a soft, curious voice. “What’s a muggleborn?”
He saw his mother’s smile falter and immediately felt guilty. He’d made her smile, and now he’d upset her! “Sorry,” he blurted. “I just – “
She sighed, setting aside the stack of parchment in front of her. She pushed her chair back and patted her lap, Theo brightening and clambering on at her encouragement.
“A muggleborn,” she said slowly, carefully. “Is a magical person born to muggle parents. Other people – your father – will try to tell you that muggleborns are lesser.”
Theo stared at his mother with wide eyes. Her pretty hazel eyes were conflicted, but even as he watched, they hardened in determination.
(later, when he thought back on that memory, he’d wonder if the Hat had considered her for Gryffindor)
“They are not,” she said firmly. “They’re just as good at magic as we are. They just don’t understand our traditions because no one teaches them, and some people dislike them for it.”
“Oh,” Theo frowned, trying to process this. “Someone should teach them, then.”
His mother’s eyes softened, and she ran careful fingers through his hair. Theo leaned into the touch like a cat. If he could’ve, he would’ve purred.
“My clever Theo,” she murmured. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”
She didn’t say anything more, no matter how much he pressed, save only to make him promise not to breathe a word of the conversation to his father.
When Theo was six, he began sneaking into the kitchen for hot chocolate. His mother caught him the first time, and she’d tickled him as punishment.
“Stop!” he’d squealed, twisting out of her reach. She’d followed, hands outstretched menacingly, laughing.
“This is what happens when you get caught, my clever Theo,” she’d giggled. “So, what are you going to do next time?”
“Not get caught!” he’d yelled.
“Exactly,” she’d growled, grabbing him up in her arms and spinning him around.
(“This is how you do it, my darling,” she’d told him. “Make sure to avoid the squeaky steps. Focus very, very hard on staying hidden from mummy and daddy. And above all – “
“Don’t get caught!”
“Exactly.”)
When Theo was seven, his mother died of dragon pox. It had been his fault – his father had told him so. If only Theo hadn’t been so eager, if only he hadn’t wanted to see the dragons so badly, Amaranth Nott might not have died.
(he would give anything to have his mother back)
September 1st, 1991
Theo settled into his compartment alone. His family wasn’t like the Malfoys – they were noble, yes, but they’d been declining for years. His robes were well-made but not expensive, his things of average quality. The first few people who’d looked to join him had turned tail and run as soon as they’d learned his surname. He sort of wished he could just spell it on his forehead so he wouldn’t have to go through it so often. If only he’d thought to learn the Locking Charm, but he’d been a naïve idiot who’d thought someone would look past his Death Eater father.
(he should’ve known better)
Someone else knocked, a girl with auburn hair and green eyes. He held back a sigh and slid the door open.
(People will look down on you for your surname, his grandfather’s portrait had told him. Prove them wrong)
“Apologies for interrupting. I’m Rose Potter. Would you mind terribly if I joined you? My compartment was getting too unruly for reading.”
(but how could he prove people wrong if they never gave him a chance?)
“Theodore Nott,” he said. “You’re welcome to sit if you’d like.”
(this girl was the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived. She’d likely grown up hearing stories about his Death Eater father)
(he felt a pang of disappointment and pushed it down ruthlessly)
Idly, he wondered what excuse she’d use. Bathroom, like the Bones girl? Meeting a friend, like Goldstein? Or would she just wrinkle her nose at him and leave, like the Weasley boy?
“Well met,” she smiled, holding out her hand. Theo’s eyes widened at that – a Potter being polite? Weren’t they known for their arrogance? But she was holding out her hand, which meant –
Equals. His mouth fell open.
Rose Potter, the Magical World’s darling daughter, saw Theodore Nott as her equal.
He shook her hand warily. Was this some kind of joke? Surely it had to be – hadn’t her father been a prankster? Rude or polite, rude or polite –
Well. She hadn’t actually done anything yet, had she? He’d give her a chance.
(maybe she would give him one too)
“Well met,” he said faintly.
You would do well in Hufflepuff, the Sorting Hat mused. Very loyal, you are.
Only to those who deserve it, Theo thought angrily. Put me in Slytherin.
Are you sure?
You know what’ll happen if I’m not, Theo thought back grimly.
Very well.
“SLYTHERIN!”
He sat down beside Malfoy, who turned his nose up at him. Across from him, Greengrass eyed him with barely concealed interest.
“I saw you with Potter,” Malfoy hissed. “Consorting with the enemy already?”
Theo flashed Malfoy a withering look. “Consorting with one of the most well-known people in Magical Britain, you mean?”
(later, when Rose Potter went to Hufflepuff, he felt a pang of regret)
“Hufflepuff,” Malfoy sniggered. “Merlin, can you imagine? I think I’d leave, if I were her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy,” Greengrass said dismissively. She was from a powerful Neutral family – she could do things like that. “You’d never have ended up in Hufflepuff. You don’t have a single hardworking bone in your body.”
Down the table, Prefect Gemma Farley coughed. Theo hid a smile, but grinned when he caught Greengrass’ eye.
Well done, he mouthed. Greengrass smiled prettily and feigned ignorance, but her eyes were bright with humor.
The Sorting ended with Blaise Zabini, who slid into an empty spot across from Theo. He heard a girl gasp when the food appeared on the table.
“Oh, God,” she whispered in awe. “Magic is so cool.”
There was an almost imperceptible shift in the air. Suddenly, it was filled with tension.
“Oh, Merlin,” Malfoy sighed. “Not another mud – “
“Watch it, Malfoy,” Tracey Davis growled. “My mother’s muggleborn, you know.”
Malfoy wrinkled his nose and turned pointedly away.
“I knew that,” he said.
“Clearly you didn’t,” Zabini murmured lowly. “Or else you wouldn’t have called Vane a slur just for admiring the food.”
“Shut up, Zabini,” Malfoy snapped, twin spots of colour burning on his cheeks. Zabini gave Malfoy a tight, close-lipped, mocking smile, and went back to his dinner. Tracey Davis shifted closer to the girl who’d spoken – Emma Vane – and began whispering fervently in her ear.
Potter (no, Rose, he corrected himself) was odd. She was, on the surface, the perfect little Hufflepuff: friendly, amiable, good-natured. But Theo remembered that flash of triumph in her eyes when he’d taken her hand, the satisfaction when he’d offered her use of his first name. So he watched as she parried Blaise and Daphne’s verbal attacks with ease, and smiled.
(“She’s not what she looks like,” he’d told them once, after Blaise had raised a subtle eyebrow at their association)
(“I see what you mean,” Blaise had told him afterwards. “She’s very… Slytherin… for a Hufflepuff.”
“She’s very Hufflepuff,” Theo agreed. “But that doesn’t mean she can’t be Slytherin too.”)
(we don’t all fit into the boxes society gives us, his mother had told him)
November 1st, 1991
“Diggory,” Theo greeted guardedly. He eyed the other boy as he looked up, surprise written all over his face. He was the classic Hufflepuff, but he was also Rose’s friend, so he couldn’t be all duffer, could he?
“Nott,” Diggory said, just as cautiously.
“Mind if I join you?” Theo asked.
“I’m not going to stop you,” Diggory said, which wasn’t a ‘no.’ Theo would take it. He sat down across from Diggory and a house elf scurried up to him.
“Master Theodore!” it squeaked. “What can Mimsy be getting for Miss Rosie’s friend?”
Cursing inwardly and ignoring Diggory’s surprised look, he said, “One hot chocolate, please.”
(“it helps to be polite to house elves,” Rose had said, grinning)
“You’re friends with Rose?” Diggory blurted out, still staring at Theo. With effort, Theo kept the disdain from his face. Honestly, was the other boy selectively deaf?
“Yes,” he said blandly. The obviously went unsaid but was heard nonetheless. Diggory flushed with embarrassment and anger, eyes narrowing.
“It’s not obvious,” he bit out. “She’s never mentioned you.”
“She’s never mentioned you, either,” Theo drawled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
The elf (Mimsy, whispered a voice that sounded suspiciously like Rose) had returned. He thanked it curtly and left.
(it was good, but not as good as his mother's)
November 3rd, 1991
Harry Potter – or, as Theo called him in his head, the Other Potter – could be really terrifying when he wanted to be. Or perhaps that was the knowledge that, with a single sentence, Harry Potter could turn his sister against him. Theo didn’t doubt that Rose cared for him, but her love of her brother was nearly fanatical.
(I knew him at Hogwarts, you know, his grandfather said. The Dark Lord. He was… beautiful, charming, an unapologetic genius. We thought he’d change the world)
Theo had always been an unusually clever and mature child, even amongst magicals, but even he had been caught off-guard by the Slytherin cunning the Other Potter displayed. He supposed, in hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming.
(“I also grew up with Rose. You think I don’t know she avoided Slytherin by the skin of her teeth?”)
The Potter twins had been nothing like he’d expected. He’d assumed, given their fame and general disappearance in society, that the two would either be arrogant ponces à la Malfoy or stuttering messes in the fashion of Longbottom.
(granted, Longbottom still had a hideously low self-esteem, but he’d been much improved ever since he’d become the Other Potter’s friend)
Honestly, Hogwarts was nothing like he’d expected. He’d thought he be relegated to minion number four in Draco Malfoy’s entourage, his father being who he was. Instead… instead, he melted into the shadows, striking up unlikely friendships with Daphne and Blaise, two powerful people in their own right. Sometimes, he wondered what they were thinking, becoming friends with him. He was the son of a Death Eater, a Death Eater who’d unapologetically murdered and tortured more than his fair share of people.
Theo knew his father wasn’t a good person. Knew it the same way he knew the sun would rise in the east. He knew it in his mind, but his heart was a different story entirely. His father had never laid a hand on him, but he hadn’t needed to. Theo had learned that things said and unsaid could carry a great deal of significance. No matter how much his father hurt him, no matter how much he watched Rose’s face light up when she saw the family owl, no matter how gently Blaise and Daphne probed him about his home life… he couldn’t seem to stop loving his father.
(if only his mother hadn’t died)
(if only he hadn’t killed her)
(if only she’d gotten a portrait taken)
(if only they could've afforded a portrait)
(then maybe he wouldn’t feel so unutterably alone at the thought of the upcoming winter holidays)
November 8th, 1991
“You again!” Diggory said.
Theo didn’t sigh, but it was a near thing. He’d known Diggory for all of a week, and the other boy was already getting on his nerves.
“Me again,” he said dryly. “One hot chocolate, please, Mimsy,” he told the elf. Theo sat down across from Diggory without asking permission this time. They sat in silence, watching the elves clean.
“I’m allergic to nettles,” Diggory said, oversharing, as was his wont. “So I can’t take Dreamless Sleep for my insomnia. ‘S why I’m here so often.”
That was odd. Theo was also allergic to nettles. So far as he knew, it wasn’t exactly a common trait. Diggory was brash and bold as a Gryffindor, but Rose liked him, and there was something about him that…
“So am I,” Theo said, surprising himself. “Insomnia and all. I get it from my mother.” Amaranth Nott had been a chronic insomniac; it was she who’d imparted upon Theo his lifelong habit of drinking hot chocolate. He stirred cinnamon and nutmeg into his hot chocolate and sipped at it. It was almost as good as the stuff his mother had made.
(almost, if it weren't for the taste of guilt, bitter on his tongue)
“Does Professor Snape glare at you too?” Diggory asked. “For the American nettle essence?”
Theo blinked, then smirked. “I’m one of his Slytherins,” he said, as if that were all the explanation needed. Really, it was – Snape took care of those who were his, however much he might resent them for it. “But,” he added, when Diggory’s face twisted, “yes, he does. Nearly as badly as he does the Other Potter.”
Diggory grinned. For some reason, it made Theo’s heart clench in remembered grief. For a split second, Diggory had almost looked like…
“’Other Potter’?” he asked.
“You know,” Theo said. “The Boy-Who-Lived. Not-Rose. The Other Potter.”
Diggory snickered. “Have you called him that to his face?”
“I have,” Theo smirked. “It was… most entertaining. What?” he added, a touch defensively, when Diggory turned and stared at Theo in astonishment. Was it that surprising?
“Nothing,” Diggory lied, painfully obvious. “Just… do all Slytherins get lessons in smirks or something? I swear to Merlin, you all smirk the same.”
Theo answered without thinking.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “We also get lessons in snark and evil laughter, but we aren’t allowed to talk about those with non-Slytherins, so now I’ll have to sacrifice a muggleborn to the ghost of the Bloody Baron, you arse.”
That startled a laugh out of Diggory. Theo felt oddly pleased with himself, even as recognition tugged at his ears. Where had he heard that laugh before? It was so hauntingly familiar…
(after that, the two boys seemed to have come to an unspoken agreement. They acknowledged each other every time they ran into the other in the kitchens, which was quite often – at least once a week. They chatted about small, inconsequential things, and slowly warmed to each other)
(it was like having a brother)
December 20th, 1991
The train ride to King’s Cross had been… uneventful. Theo kept his face perfectly smooth as he and his father made their way up the stone steps of Nott Manor. He fell back into his old habits – shoulders back, spine straight, eyes lowered but not staring at the ground.
“May I go to my room, father?” he asked politely. He wished – absurdly – that Rose were here with him. She might’ve been a Hufflepuff, but she had nerve and daring in spades. She’d never have taken this lying down.
“Go on, then,” his father sighed, slinking off to the kitchen without a backwards glance. Something hard clenched his heart, and his throat felt suddenly tight. He’d expected his; why, then, did it still hurt so much? Maybe – maybe he was going to invite Theo to join him. Maybe his time away had had his father learn how much his son meant to him. Maybe –
Theo took a hesitant step out into the hallway, glancing hopefully in the direction of the kitchens, but all was silent.
Theo wilted.
Stupid, he told himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He shut out the sound of a bottle opening and went upstairs into his bedroom. It was a modest thing, most decorations and valuables having been sold to keep his father out of Azkaban. He’d snuck into his fathers office and seen the statements from Gringotts – even now, they were clinging to their home by the skin of their teeth. The stipend his father got for sitting on the Wizengamot was enough to cover their essentials, but their fall from grace was evident even in his room. It held only a simple bed, wardrobe, desk, and matching chair. There were lighter spots on the walls where tapestries had once hung, spots on the floor where rugs had once been. The Manor’s grounds had fallen into disuse, their single house elf unable to tend to magical plants. Toby was worked to bits anyways, Theo thought. Better he unpacked himself and save Toby the trouble.
When he was done, Theo took a circuitous route to his maternal grandfather’s portrait. Frederick Nott née Selwyn smiled at him as Theo approached.
“Theo!” he greeted softly, but enthusiastically. “How wonderful to see you again – Merlin, how you’ve grown!”
“Grandfather,” Theo grinned. “And I’ve only grown an inch.”
“Oh, pish-posh. An inch here, two inches there, and before you know it you’ll be towering over stuffy portraits like myself.”
“With all due respect, I doubt I’ll ever be tall enough to exceed the size of your enormous head,” Theo said apologetically. His grandfather snorted, an uncouth sound if ever he’d heard one. It was comforting. He pulled a traveling bottle from his expanded pocket and opened it, sipping at the hot chocolate within. He’d packed it for the journey, but he still had about a third of the bottle left.
“Hot chocolate?” Grandfather asked knowingly.
“Ambrosia and nectar,” Theo agreed. “The food of the gods.” Grandfather laughed and made a patting motion with his hands.
“Sit down, Theo, and tell your old grandfather all about your first few months at Hogwarts. You made Slytherin, I hear?”
“Yes,” Theo agreed, sitting cross-legged on the ground. He scooted to the opposite wall, facing his grandfather’s portrait, and took pleasure in propping his elbows on his knees. Father had likely migrated to his study by now, and if things hadn’t changed much, he’d be there for several hours more. Nonetheless, Theo threw up some simple privacy charms Rose had taught him.
“Congratulations,” his grandfather said warmly. “Although, I do believe I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that, while the Notts have always been more Slytherin and Ravenclaw, we Selwyns have more than our fair share of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors too.”
Theo laughed, but it was edged in bitterness. “I didn’t want to disappoint my father. Besides – “ Theo added “- I’ve made friends in Slytherin. It’s not that bad. Malfoy’s a ponce, but Blaise and Daphne are alright.”
“I’m aware,” his grandfather said. “Though your father only ever gave me the barest overview of your letters.” The portrait raised an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his brown eyes.
“They were mostly about classes, anyways,” Theo shrugged, trying not to look guilty. “But – but he’s not here now, so maybe…?”
“Of course,” his grandfather said. “Although after that I do believe we’ll need to review your diction. That was positively dreadful.”
Theo sniggered. “That’s probably because I’ve somehow procured a pack of badgers and lions as my friends.”
“Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, friends with a Slytherin?” incredulity dripped from his grandfather’s voice, but also the barest touch of… something else.
“Yes,” Theo said defensively. “They’re not so bad once you get to know them.”
“I wasn’t trying to undermine your decisions,” his grandfather soothed. “I was just worried – we both were – that you’d never find anyone who saw beyond your surname.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Theo said quietly. “I... I’m really happy at Hogwarts, grandfather,” he said shyly, looking down.
“Good,” his grandfather said gently. “You deserve happiness, Theo, do you understand me?”
Blushing furiously, Theo gave a short, jerky nod. There was a lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow.
“With your words,” his grandfather sternly, his words bellied by the gleam of amused affection in his eyes. “Or I’m doubling the length of that diction lesson.”
“Yes,” Theo whispered, voice hoarse and scratchy. He looked up at the portrait of his grandfather, and was suddenly struck by a longing so fierce it blurred his vision with tears.
“Say it.”
“Fine! I… I deserve happiness.”
“Five points to Slytherin,” his grandfather grinned. “Now, why don’t you tell me about these wonderful friends of yours?”
Dear Theodore,
Happy Yule! Or, if you get this later than expected, happy belated Yule! Thank you ever so much for the book – I’ve been looking for a first-edition copy of Hogwarts: A History for eons! Are you quite sure you’re willing to let me keep it? It’s extremely rare. I do hope you like my present – I’ve noticed you fiddling with your arm holster, but obviously I don’t know your size. It seemed inadequate after your own wonderful gift, so I’ve enclosed a few other odds and ends as well.
Your friend,
RP
P.S. This letter will self-destruct as soon as you finish reading
Dear Rose,
Next time, lead with the self-destruct bit, won’t you? I nearly burnt my fingers off, you heathen.
Anyways, I wasn’t aware you were so ignorant of the meaning of the verb ‘to give,’ so allow me to educate you – I do not expect, nor do I want, it to be returned. You realize we have another first-edition copy? I didn’t destroy the family library for your sake, don’t worry.
Thank you for the wand holster and the other ‘odds and ends’ as well.
Your friend,
TN
(it had been difficult, finding the books his father had hidden away, but Theo had succeeded - he knew the manor like the back of his hand)
January 6th, 1992
“For homework,” McGonagall said, “fifteen inches on the Avifors Spell and its applications in daily life.”
“’Applications in daily life’?” Daphne scoffed under her breath. “When am I ever going to need to transform small objects into birds?”
“Two points from Slytherin for speaking out of turn, Miss Greengrass,” McGonagall snapped. Daphne glared, but kept it muted. It had been a mistake to speak so loudly – Slytherins lost more points for disrespect than any other House, which was stupid. Had Daphne been a Gryffindor, she likely would’ve been ignored. Weasley certainly was.
They filed mutinously out of the classroom. Fifteen inches, and it was the first day back from winter break. Brilliant.
“Maybe if you needed to feed a pet?” Blaise suggested. Daphne gave him a withering look.
“Don’t be an idiot, it’d just turn back into whatever it was halfway through digestion.”
“Maybe that’s the point?” Theo wondered aloud. “If you had a cat that really didn’t want to take a medication, you could transfigure it into a bird and then – “
Theo stumbled as someone ran into him and he felt something slide into his hand. Daphne looked appalled, turning to stare incredulously after the person who’d bumped into him.
“Isn’t Diggory friends with Potter?” she snapped. “What on earth is she doing, letting her friends – “
“Hang on,” Theo frowned, putting his hand in his pocket. Blaise and Daphne, catching the movement, fell silent. It was definitely a piece of parchment. A message? From Diggory? But why?
Theo glanced at his friends and exchanged a wordless message. He gave a curt nod; he would disappear, they would cover for him, and he would tell them what this was about later if he so chose. Slytherins understood privacy. He ducked away a few minutes before reaching the Great Hall, muttering something about the bathroom. Locking himself into a stall, he unfolded the bit of parchment.
Need to talk. Kitchens, 1 am?
“Your mother,” Diggory began shakily, after throwing up some of the strongest privacy spells he’d ever seen, “was Amaranth Nott nee Selwyn?”
“Yes,” Theo answered cautiously.
“Mine is Meredith Diggory,” Diggory said. “They were… they were half-sisters.”
“Impossible,” Theo said immediately. But the way Diggory laughed, the way he smiled – hadn’t Theo thought they looked familiar? Weren’t they both insomniacs, allergic to nettles? Didn’t it make sense that –
“My mum told me,” the older boy said. “Over Yule, when I mentioned speaking with you. Frederick Selwyn was a third son, unimportant. He fell in love with Annabelle Chester and was about to elope with her when his older two brothers died in the war with Grindelwald and – “
“And he married my grandmother, Natalia Shafiq,” Theo finished, horrified. “But – but why wouldn’t anyone know?”
Why wouldn’t my grandfather warn me, is what Theo meant to ask. Diggory looked torn.
“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I only know because I mentioned you to my mum offhandedly and – “
“Your best guess, then,” Theo said, because Diggory knew or at least suspected something and he’d be damned if he let this (this last connection to his mother) slip away.
“My best guess?” Diggory repeated. “Fine. My best guess is that my mother’s true heritage was a dirty little secret in high society, and they looked different enough that Frederick Selwyn could pretend he wasn’t my mum’s dad, which is why you never knew. My grandmother was a muggleborn, so obviously – “
“What?” Theo gaped. If Diggory’s grandmother was – that meant his mother’s half-sister was –
(other people will try to tell you that muggleborns are lesser)
Oh.
Oh.
This made far, far too much sense.
“Don’t tell me you’re a blood purist –“ Diggory began, looking irritated, and Theo made an incoherent noise because that was so antithetical to what he was actually feeling right now it was almost hilarious.
“You think Rose would be friends with a blood purist?” he asked rhetorically. They’d been friends for months, but even he knew she was as intolerant of intolerance as it was possible to be. Oh, sure, she’d pretend to be friends and get along with bigots if it fit her goals, but truly be friends with them? Accept them into her sanctuary, her inner circle? No.
(he wasn't sure why he was so sure of this; it was just a feeling, but he knew it was right)
“No,” Diggory said, unknowingly echoing Theo’s thoughts. “Then why -
“Because it makes sense, you idiot,” Theo snapped. “Shut up and let me think.” And Diggory, kind Hufflepuff that he was, complied (with an edge to his expression that had Theo reflexively promising answers because Merlin, how had he never seen it before?).
He and Diggory were, what, half-cousins? Yes – their mothers had been half-sisters. Theo thought back to the family tapestry, calling up its image in his mind. His mother had been born a year after his grandfather had married his grandmother, a year and a half after his grandfather had lost his family. He’d had a responsibility to his parents, and the Notts at the time had been quite well-to-do. The marriage contract had been rushed, born out of necessity and not love. His grandfather had always been upfront about that, at least. Since Diggory was several years older than Theo, that meant his mother had likely been conceived and born while their shared grandfather had still been planning to elope.
His grandfather must’ve told his mother at some point. That was the only explanation he could think of. His mother, upon learning she had a half-sister, had likely sought the other girl – Meredith Diggory, née Chester – and somehow, for some reason, struck up a friendship that changed her views on muggleborns.
But if so, then why marry a Death Eater? Theo grimaced. There was absolutely no way he was going to ask his father about it, his mother had never had a portrait done, and so his only option was to ask the portrait of Frederick Selwyn over the summer. He told Diggory his line of reasoning, but the other boy still seemed confused.
“Why can’t you ask your dad?” he asked curiously. “Surely he knows?”
Theo couldn’t help it – he gaped.
“My father might incendio Grandfather’s portrait if he found out the man had consorted with muggleborns.”
“Surely not? I mean – you don’t seem that bad,” Diggory said, bewildered. Theo rolled his eyes scornfully.
“Because my mother made a point of teaching me how prejudiced my father was,” he said flatly. “I assure you, Diggory, that my father is a bigot of the worst kind.”
Theo turned and left the kitchens, slipping back into the Slytherin common room as if he’d never left.
It was odd, after that. Theo didn’t know how to act around Diggory. The Shafiqs – relatives on his mother’s side – had cut off contact with the Notts after his father’s trial, and he and his father were the only two living Notts, so he didn’t exactly have much experience with non-portrait relatives.
He avoided the kitchens, all but running after that exchange with Diggory. It was easy to avoid his – his half-cousin? Was that what Diggory was? He knew it was cowardly of him, but Theo was no Gryffindor. They were in different Houses, different years, crossing paths only in the Great Hall. Even then, they had all of Ravenclaw between them, so no matter how desperately Diggory tried to catch his eye, he couldn’t.
It took two months before Diggory finally hunted him down, cornering Theo in the dungeons as he left his study alcove. If Diggory wasn’t the fluffiest person Theo knew, the way he loomed would’ve been ominous. As it was, Diggory came off looking ridiculous.
“We need to talk,” Diggory said firmly.
“How’d you find me?” Theo demanded, shifting in front of the tapestry protectively.
“Asked the Weasley twins for a favor,” Diggory replied shortly. “Had to bargain away a three-time immunity for if I become prefect.”
Theo blinked. Striking a bargain with the Weasley twins? That was… drastic. Granted, two weeks was a long time.
“We need to talk,” Diggory repeated. “I’m not leaving until you agree.”
“Fine,” Theo hissed, holding open the tapestry. “Fine, get in, just be quick about it.”
“Get in – “ Diggory echoed confusedly, words vanishing when Theo pressed a brick and an opening appeared in the wall. “That’s wicked – how’d you find it?”
“Secret,” Theo said flatly. He crossed his arms as the bricks reappeared behind him. “What do you want?”
“What do I – you’re family,” Diggory said. His eyes were wide and earnest.
“So?” Theo said. Family wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. He would know.
“So, I want to get to know you, you dolt.” There was a note of exasperation in his voice now. “Why’ve you been avoiding me?”
Theo clenched his hands into fists. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
Diggory gave him a deadpan stare. Theo broke first, looking away.
“You’re family,” Diggory repeated firmly. “I – “
A sudden fear struck Theo. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?” he blurted out.
“No,” Diggory said, bewildered. “Why would I? ‘S not anyone else’s business, is it?”
“Good,” Theo said fervently. “Because if my father heard about this, he’d probably burn our grandfather’s portrait then and there.”
“… Our grandfather had a portrait made?” Diggory asked.
“Yeah,” Theo said. “Why?”
“I – I didn’t realize,” Diggory said, looking dazed. “Grandma never said a thing.”
Theo shrugged, looking away. The Notts’ decline was relatively recent, but the Diggorys had been solidly middle-class for decades. They probably couldn’t have afforded to get a portrait done. Hell, the Notts couldn’t afford it now – if his father died, he’d be gone for good. Theo didn’t know how he felt about that.
“I… suppose we should probably get to know each other,” Theo agreed grudgingly.
“What? Just like that?”
“Do you want me to change my mind?” Theo snapped.
“No, no,” Diggory said, holding his hands up in the universal ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “I’m just pleased, is all. Nice to meet you, cuz.”
“… Nice to meet you.”
“You forgot the ‘cuz’.”
“Don’t push it, Diggory.”
It was easier, after that. Theo resumed his weekly visits to the kitchens, he and Diggory chatting about nothing in particular. Sometimes he brought along homework, and Diggory would help him puzzle out some bit of Transfiguration theory. One time he nearly walked in on Diggory and Rose chatting, but he took one look at Rose and ducked away, heart pounding.
She didn’t say anything about it the next day, so he’d assumed she hadn’t seen him, which settled the sudden flood of anxiety that’d filled his mind. He didn’t know why he was so reluctant to tell Rose about his… acquaintanceship… with Diggory.
No, he did know why. Rose was clever – his and Diggory’s familial ties would be easy for her to figure out, once she learned of their shared insomnia and allergy. The only reason more people hadn’t figured it out was because allergies were a closely-kept secret in families like his – it was a weakness, and weaknesses were to be scorned and hidden and overcome. Better not to give her a reason to put the pieces together. Better she never know of his weakness at all.
Besides, surely he was entitled to his own secrets? Slytherins understood the necessity of secrets – some things weren’t meant to be shared. His and Diggory’s… friendship… was, to him, one of them. Rose wouldn’t begrudge him that.
(he was so used to keeping everything a secret that one more didn’t add much weight)
June 26th, 1992
This time, Theo’s face was grim as he threw up his standard privacy charms.
“Meredith Chester,” he said flatly. His grandfather clearly recognized the name; the portrait winced.
“Ah,” he said delicately. “Who told you?”
“Her son,” Theo said. “Cedric Diggory. My half-cousin. He mentioned that he and I were friendly to his mother and she told him.”
“I see,” Frederick Nott said. “And I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t tell you first?”
“I was in the beginning,” Theo admitted freely, sliding down the wall opposite his grandfather’s portrait. He sat cross-legged on the ground and leaned against the wall. “But I’m only eleven. You would’ve told me when I was older, right?”
Theo had worked hard to keep his tone casual. It didn’t quite work – there was still a note of vulnerability in his voice.
“Yes, of course,” his grandfather said, looking relieved. “Your mother only found out when she was sixteen.”
“And she became friends with Meredith Chester?”
“They were close, yes,” the portrait said, a distant look in his eyes. “They were… they were friends, I believe. Will you… will you tell me about her son?”
“Yeah,” Theo said quietly. “Sure. He’s a Hufflepuff, for one – “
“So was his mother,” Frederick Nott said wistfully.
“And he’s also friends with Rose, but that’s not how we met. We’ve both got insomnia, you see, and…”
(“Grandfather?”
“Yes?”
“Do you… do you think mother would’ve told me?”
“I’ve no doubt about it, Theo.”)
("Why... why did she marry him?"
"She never told me, Theo. I'm afraid I don't know")
September 2nd, 1992
The wall slid closed with the grind of stone on stone, Rose’s goodbye still echoing in the air. There was a moment of dead silence after she left, before the door slid open again and Cassandra Lyons, Katelyn Garrison, and Vivienne Wilkes stumbled in, all three of them wearing identical expressions of confusion.
“What in Merlin’s name happened?” Garrison demanded. “Why was Potter in the common room?”
Everyone seemed to wince or flinch in unison. Marcus Flint waved them over and began to explain in hushed voices. That seemed to break the spell – whispers of awe and shock erupted from every corner of the common room. In silent agreement, he, Daphne, and Blaise got up and headed to Theo’s study space in the secret alcove. There was still over an hour before curfew, after all. When they were safely ensconced in the heavily warded room, Blaise was the first to speak.
“Fuck,” he said, very quietly. Daphne laughed, but there as a hysterical edge to it.
“Fuck, indeed!” she agreed shrilly. “What – what the fuck was that?”
“I had no idea – “
“A Parselmouth, dear Merlin – “
“The snakes – “
“That was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever seen,” Daphne said quietly.
“I had no idea she was capable of that,” Blaise whispered, before turning to their third friend, who so far hadn’t said a word. “Theo? What do you think?”
“I think… we shouldn’t have been surprised,” Theo said slowly. “You’ve seen the way she defends her friends – bloody hell, all that happened because Malfoy wouldn’t leave her alone. She’s our friend,” he added angrily.
“She was cruel, Theo,” Daphne said softly. “I’m not going to follow a Dark Lord.”
“She’s still the same person she was yesterday,” Theo snapped. “You’ve known all along how cunning she was – “
“That wasn’t cunning,” Blaise objected. “That was torture. Of a boy our age.”
“He called her mother a mudblood,” Theo said, voice strident in his rage. “You think she was thinking clearly after that?”
“It’s just a word – “
“Yes, and words hurt! Didn’t you see the look on her face when Malfoy did that? She looked like she’d been slapped. Besides – it worked, didn’t it? I doubt Malfoy’s ever going to insult her again. And it’s helped strengthen her position in Slytherin too – how much do you want to bet she’ll sit at the Slytherin table tomorrow?”
“That’s not the point, Theo,” Blaise said tiredly.
“She was defending her mother,” Theo said angrily. His mind was filled with memories of his own mother, whom he’d at least gotten to know before her death. Rose had nothing but vague memories and stories. “And that’s exactly the point. She was defending muggleborns in general. Someone needed to take Malfoy down a peg or two.”
“I’m not going to follow a Dark Lord,” Daphne repeated quietly. Her knuckles were white where she clenched them in her lap.
“She’s not going to become a Dark Lord in the first place!” Theo said, exasperated. “Weren’t you paying attention? She just proved how far she’s willing to go for her friends and family, or did you miss the part where she explicitly labelled her friends off-limits?”
“I’m sure You-Know-Who started out that way too,” Daphne said witheringly, but her sharp tone was belied by the whiteness of her face.
“He didn’t, actually,” Theo said quietly. “My father went to Hogwarts with him. He’s told me about him – said he had followers even then.” What went unsaid was that his father had been one of them. “Rose doesn’t have any followers, just friends. At least give her a chance to explain,” Theo said desperately. He didn’t know why he felt so strongly about this, where this unerring certainty had come from, but if it got his friends to stop and think for a moment then he’d grasp onto it with both hands.
“Fine,” Daphne snapped. Blaise gave a mute nod of agreement.
(later, he would look back on that moment of certainty as the end of the beginning, a beginning that’d opened with a name and a handshake between equals)
That night, Theo lay awake, mulling over things in his head. If he was right about Rose’s intentions – and he was fairly confident he was – she’d be sitting openly at the Slytherin table at breakfast. He was, therefore, faced with a choice: to join or not to join?
To sit with her would be an open declaration of his support. Granted, he was only twelve, so it wasn’t like that support meant much at all, but it was the principle of the thing. To quote Malfoy, ‘his father would hear about it,’ almost certainly. To be friends with Rose in the open – to be friends with the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived – would be all but screaming his allegiance to the rest of the Slytherins. And his father.
There was a reason the Hat hadn’t even considered Gryffindor. Retribution from his father aside, Theo was self-aware enough to know that he wasn’t brave. Theo was no hero – he’d hidden in the shadows his whole life, first out of necessity, then out of habit. He ran at the first opportunity, ducked around corners and sat at the back of the class, doing the utmost to avoid drawing attention to himself. His father would castigate him for being friends with Rose. Not openly, not overtly, but there would be a quiet disappointment in his eyes that Theo didn’t know if he could stand. There’d be a talking-to, a reckoning, and just because it’d be verbal didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.
(his father had never raised a wand against him; he’d never had to. Words, sometimes, were enough)
To be Rose’s friend was to be a target, Theo knew. Perhaps not in Slytherin, now that Rose had put the fear of the gods into them, but there would be others – Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws – who’d see their friendship as a corruption, a flaw in Rose’s image of perfection that she liked to project. They’d be angry with him for tainting the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, the friendly, gentle Hufflepuff that she was. He’d need to be even more cautious in the hallways, would be subject to even more glares and dirty looks, would experience a thousand more messages of you are wrong and evil and something that must be culled every day.
But what was the alternative? He could hide in the shadows, where it was familiar and comforting and safe, or he could stand beside the first friend he’d ever had.
(bravery wasn’t the absence of fear; it was acting despite it)
(perhaps, just this once… he could be brave)
(he sat next to Rose in Charms and endured the sidelong looks, but he’d miscalculated. It took all of a day for them to stop, and for Rose to apologize on their behalf)
(“I’m sorry about the way the other Hufflepuffs treated you yesterday, Theo,” she’d said. “I’ve talked to them – they won’t be judging you based on your surname again.”
The openly, at least, went unspoken. Theo shrugged uncomfortably.
“I’m used to it,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to – “ destroy your image, strain your other friendships, draw even more eyes to you –
“Yes,” Rose said firmly. “I do.”)
(“You tell me if anyone gives you trouble for being friends with Rose,” Diggory said. “No matter what House they’re from, you hear me?”
“You’re not a Prefect yet – “
“No, but I’ve been told I give a brilliant disappointed face,” Diggory grinned. “Learned from Professor Sprout. I’ve got your back, Nott. Family, yeah?”
"... Thanks, Diggory.")
December 19th, 1992
Theo spent the train ride to Kings’ Cross trying to distract himself. None of his friends knew the nature of his relationship with his father, but Blaise and Daphne had picked up enough hints to know it was a touchy subject. As the train pulled into the station, Blaise and Daphne exchanged looks, and Blaise pressed a scrap of parchment into Theo’s hand.
Zabini Manor
Greengrass Manor
“…What’s this?” Theo asked.
“Our floo addresses,” Daphne said, looking uncomfortable. “If you ever need a place to go, well…”
“My mum congratulated me on making friends with Rose,” Blaise said quietly. Neither of them met Theo’s eyes.
“She’s turned both of you soppy, it looks like,” Theo said, trying to break the tension. It worked – Daphne gave a gasp of mock-offense and Blaise pressed a hand to his heart.
“Soppy? Us? Perish the thought!”
“How dare you – “
(he put the parchment in his pocket anyways)
Father’s grip on Theo’s shoulder was so tight it hurt. They apparated away a moment later, but Father kept his hand on Theo’s shoulder and didn’t say a word until they reached his office. He shut the door, then turned to Theo and took a deep breath, as if to calm himself.
“I’ve heard the most interesting news,” Father said, voice cold as a glacier.
“Have you?”
“Don’t play the fool,” Father said lowly. “What were you thinking, allying yourself with Rose Potter?” He spat Rose’s name like a curse; in Father’s mouth, it might as well have been. Her brother was the symbol of his old master's defeat - suddenly, Theo felt a wave of disgust directed towards his father. How could he have bowed to someone like that? How could -
Carefully, he tucked the disgust away - if his father caught wind of it, Theo would be dead. The fear stayed - it was too strong to tuck away.
“It’s a useful alliance,” Theo said, trying to stay calm. His hands wanted to tremble, but Theo didn’t dare let them – that would only spark another lecture on daring to show weakness. He pressed his hands to his sides and tried to continue, but his mind had gone blank, his arguments and plans having deserted him at the worst possible moment. This always, always happened, and Theo shouldn’t have bothered to hope otherwise, but that was what Rose did, she made him hope. Theo grappled with the fact that he suddenly sort of hated her for that.
“A useful alliance,” his father sneered. “But at what cost? Are you a mudblood-lover now, Theodore? Has my son become a blood-traitor?”
“Rose is a half-blood,” Theo said weakly. His lips had gone numb. His heart skittered like a terrified animal. That was what he was – a terrified animal. Merlin, he wanted this to be over.
“’Rose,’ now, is she? Do you like her, Theodore? Do you want to fuck her, is that why you’ve thrown away your heritage for some half-mud slut?” His father was practically spitting by the end of it.
Theo flinched. His hands clenched into fists, but he could say nothing. Protesting would only make it worse.
“You will stop this association immediately,” his father said softly. “You will – “
“She’s a Parselmouth,” Theo blurted out, then immediately cursed himself. He shouldn’t have said anything, he should’ve just kept quiet and –
“What?”
His father’s voice had gone deadly soft.
Theo swallowed. He’d just had to say something, hadn’t he?
“Repeat that, Theodore,” his father snarled.
“She’s a Parselmouth,” Theo repeated obediently. He hated himself for this, hated himself for using Rose’s ability as a bargaining chip, but… was it working?
He chanced a glance at his father’s face. It had gone pale, and he could practically see the thoughts whizzing through his head. The calculations, the weighing of the scales – Parselmouth versus Hufflepuff, Parselmouth versus Potter…
“… Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Theo whispered. “I… I’ve seen it.”
“Show me,” his father ordered.
Obediently, Theo met his father’s eyes, calling up the memory of September 2nd, when Rose had threatened Draco Malfoy.
“Legilimens,” his father murmured, wand in hand.
(good evening, Malfoy, Rose had murmured. And then – and then, she’d opened her mouth, and the language of snakes had emerged, and the common room had responded, and - )
His father ended the spell before he could see what Rose had delivered the punishment for. Theo was panting, as though he’d run a marathon, and the colour had gone from his father’s face.
“Very – very well,” Thaddeus Nott said. “You… may continued this… association, but I won’t have her name mentioned in my presence. Befriend no more half-bloods or mudbloods, Theodore, else I might change my mind.”
“Yes, father,” Theo said meekly. He left his fathers office, staggered to his room, and collapsed against the door once it closed. He strengthened his occlumency, inhaling deeply, holding it for a count of four, then exhaling.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
At last, Theo’s heartbeat slowed. He took another deep breath in. Shame suffused his body.
What would his friends think, if they saw him like this? Weak, pathetic, useless – just like his father always said. Parchment crinkled in his pocket, and in a fit of rage, he crumpled the thing into a ball and threw it into the rubbish bin. Theo buried his head in his hands, hating himself for the relief he felt.
That hadn’t been so bad. It hadn’t been that bad at all. The entire school knew about Rose’s Parseltongue, after that idiot Lockhart’s Dueling Club. He wasn’t sure why his father hadn’t heard about it – well, no, nevermind. His father had been shut out of society, first for being a former Death Eater, and second for being a poor former Death Eater. Of course, ‘poor’ was relative, but his family’s financial situation was no secret. They were, apart from the Weasleys, the poorest family on the Wizengamot. How his father had heard about his friendship with Rose, however, was equally as mysterious – that is to say, not at all. It’d likely been Rosier, writing to his father – there was an old rivalry between the two families, dating back to a runaway husband in the 1400s.
Theo sighed. He’d used Rose’s skill like currency, he knew, but in exchange, he’d been given permission to continue being her friend in the open. That was priceless. Surely, surely, she’d understand?
(“I see we’re all alive and in once piece,” Blaise noted as they settled into their compartment. “How much d’you want to bet that there’s been another attack when we get back?”
“No bet,” Daphne scoffed. “No one would be that stupid.”
Theo didn’t miss the looks of relief they shot him, though. It made him feel all warm inside.)
(unfortunately, not all his friends were so subtle)
“You alright?” Diggory asked. “Your dad didn’t give you any trouble – “
“It’s fine,” Theo said curtly.
“It’s not fine,” Diggory objected. “You’ve been odd ever since winter hols – “
“It’s fine,” Theo insisted. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, alright?”
Diggory frowned. “It’s not healthy, to keep things bottled up like that – “
“You’re not my mother,” Theo snapped. “It’s not for you to decide.”
At that, Diggory quieted.
“Fine,” he said at last, and there was a note of hurt in his voice that made Theo want to apologize. But –
(apologies, Father. It won’t happen again)
It was stuck on his tongue.
“Could… could you look over my Transfiguration essay?”
Diggory blinked. The hurt faded.
“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, alright. Sorry for pushing.”
Theo looked away.
“’S fine.”
(his father would lecture him for mumbling)
February 26th, 1993
Rose was hiding something. Everyone else was still reeling over the whole “Dark-Lord-and-basilisk” reveal – hell, so was he – but he still caught the silent exchange between Harry and Rose, the quiet, nigh-imperceptible slump of relief to their shoulders. Possibly it was relief at sharing with their friends, but… that’s not what the look had been like. That was the look someone shared with a partner after pulling something off, not after telling a secret.
He didn’t think they were lying, per-say, but he was positive they were leaving something out. Something… huge. Something… earth-shattering.
Well. Slytherins understood the necessity of secrets. He’d let them keep theirs, just as they had let him keep his (however unknowingly).
July 3rd, 1993
The night after Blaise’s 13th birthday party found Theo awake, tossing and turning restlessly. It was one thing to learn that an object enchanted by the Dark Lord was opening the Chamber of Secrets. It was another thing entirely to learn that the Dark Lord still walked the earth.
How many times would he have to be brave? First that time with Diggory, then sitting next to Rose… but fighting was an entirely different beast to sitting. His past struggles seemed tame in comparison. To go against the Dark Lord… Theo knew what that entailed. His father had told him stories, sometimes, when drunk, told him stories of missions and punishments and being held under the Cruciatus, the most painful curse known to magickind.
His father would… Theo didn’t know what his father would do. Would Thaddeus Nott have the guts to kill his own son, the only thing he had left of his late wife? His father had loved her, in his own sick, twisted way. Did that extend to him as well?
It didn’t matter, Theo decided. It didn’t matter whether his father loved him or not. Theo knew what love was like now, he’d heard from Diggory and Rose’s stories, he knew how family should act. Theo knew his father didn’t treat him like he should. Theo… Theo wasn’t strong enough to fight him, not really. For all that he knew his father was a bad person, he still couldn’t bring himself to harm him, or even to hate him for it. He was too weak, in that regard, but a person could be simultaneously strong and weak.
He would fight, Theo had already decided. Fight for his friends, for… for his family. But he’d do it from the shadows, like a proper Slytherin. He’d start reaching out to other Slytherins, including those from Traditionalist families. He’d build alliances, network like his father had tried to teach him to do – only he wouldn’t be doing it for his father. He’d be doing it for his friends; for Blaise and Daphne, neither of whom could fight to save their lives; for Hermione, who’d be persecuted simply by virtue of her blood; but most of all, for Rose, the first person who’d seen beyond his surname, who’d looked at him and seen Theo, not Nott, who’d looked at him and thought this is someone I’d like to befriend.
He’d build Rose a bastion of support in Slytherin, the one thing she couldn’t do herself. He’d give Slytherins a third option – not the Dark Lord, who’d degrade and torture them; not the Headmaster, who’d pity them and try to change them; but the Boy-Who-Lived and his too-Slytherin sister, who’d welcome them with open arms and offer shelter.
He didn’t want his father’s life. He didn’t want to be like that, picking on people – killing people – just because they were different. He wanted something better, something more… he wanted to keep what he had, and he was willing to fight for it.