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- Jo Rowling on Theodore Nott on her official website.

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I made everything come undone I made everything fall apart I quit running to the finishing line And I went back to the start I found a great big hole in the middle of my life Shaped just like my heart

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No, Theo was tempted to say. You fought in a war. I just survived one. Because she hadn't fought, not the way so many of her classmates had. She'd gone through the war with her head down and her mouth shut, trying to avoid being noticed by the zealots on either side. For the most part, she'd succeeded, except for that one detention from the Carrows that still featured regularly in her nightmares.

But when Potter had returned to Hogwarts and the Dark Lord and his army had attacked, Theo hadn't picked up her wand. She couldn't. Her classmates stood with Potter on one side, her father stood with the Dark Lord on the other, and no matter which side she might have chosen, she'd have found herself fighting to kill against people she knew, people she cared about. It was an impossible decision, and so Theo had refused to make it.

If anyone wanted to fault her for that, too bad. Unless they, too, had been in the same situation, their opinion wasn't worth spit.

But instead of giving voice to those thoughts, what Theo actually said was, "It feels a little strange, yes. But it's worth it. Education is one of the few things that can't easily be taken from you. Scientia potentia est, as they say. Wealth and status can be won and lost, but unless you're fool enough to get yourself Obliviated, what's in your head" -- she tapped her finger against her temple -- "is yours forever."

Pausing, she copied down a citation, and then addressed Potter's previous complaint. "And yes -- if we want to earn a top score on our project, we do need all of these books. We may even need a few more. I'd be shocked if Granger and her partner aren't doing the same. And while Slughorn may be one of your biggest fans, I can assure that he does not feel the same way about me."

Harry had to wonder if that was true- that bag of Hermione's seemingly had no limit, but the theory of how magic worked wasn't really where his area of expertise lay. He was more than happy to leave that to Hermione. The urge to say something when she mentioned Snape was almost overwhelming- but the man was dead, and any grudge Harry might have had was gone.

Not that the man was absolved- but he had been complicated, and despite everything brave.

"I'm shocked Hermione never brought it up. Or maybe she did, she's brilliant but sometimes I can't keep track." Harry shrugged, only now noticing that Theo had gone silent; was it the mention of Snape? He knew the former potions master was heavily respected amongst the Slytherins. Opening his mouth to ask her exactly that, the young Gryffindor found himself unable to get the words out.

Well, that was annoying.

Ignoring the eye roll he took the list and went on his way to find them. When he came back he eyed the books- "We're going to need all these? Merlin's beard, and Slughorn is the more lenient teacher... usually."

How was anyone supposed to get through this? It wasn't just potions, it was all of them. The question escaped him before he could think about it, and his fingers went again to his chest; rubbing at the familiar ache through his robes; a move that was practically second nature to him now.

There reasons were similar- though he was fully aware he didn't actually need them, anyone would offer him whatever job he wanted; Harry didn't want charity, he wanted to earn his way.

"Makes sense yeah. Crazy huh? We fought in a war and now we're just... back here."

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Cadmus Peverell really did attempt to resurrect his bride.

This is why we now have Inferi.

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"Well, yes, of course," Theo said. "Even with magic, you can't enlarge a space to be infinite on the inside. There are ratios you have to pay attention to -- the outside space relative to the inside space -- and if you mess around with those, the spell will weaken and collapse. Professor Snape explained it to me back in our second year, when I asked him how it was that the individual dorms were always exactly the right size for the number of students sleeping in them, even though the number of students varied from year to year."

Looking away, she fell silent for a moment. It was hard to think about Professor Snape now that he was dead. He'd always been Theo's favorite of her teachers, and she missed not only his classes, but also his mentorship -- the way he'd always encourage her intellectual curiosity and motivated her to strive.

Not that he'd ever done the same for Potter. Professor Snape had often been rather harsh towards Potter, which was why it had come as such a surprise to the entirety of Wizarding Britain that he'd been working for Dumbledore all along. Which side he'd been on hadn't made much difference to Theo -- she'd have mourned the man either way -- but she was still glad to know that people were now thinking a little more kindly of her Head of House and his legacy.

At Harry's next question -- Do you have a list of books or am I supposed to guess? -- she couldn't help rolling her eyes. For Merlin's sake. The list had been the second thing Theo had put down on the table after her book bag. But she didn't actually comment as she pushed it towards Potter, because antagonizing him would only make this project more difficult.

By the time he returned, Theo had retrieved her portion of the necessary books and was checking the index of Potions Through the Centuries. When Harry spoke, she paused, marking her place with her finger, and looked at him. It was a surprisingly personal question, especially coming from Potter; before this year, Theo didn't think she'd exchanged more than fifty words with him in their entire time at Hogwarts. But she shrugged, deciding that she could give Potter at least a partial truth, and said, "The same reason as you, I'd wager. I need my NEWTs if I want to go into my choice of profession."

She needed top scores on those NEWTs, too, especially now that her family name would be working against her instead of for her. But she didn't say that to Potter. There was a limit to how much information she felt comfortable sharing.

Harry snorted, "Well I guess- but it's always come through for me." And by that he meant Hermione had always come through using the library- he literally owed his life to this room. But there were things that he was pretty sure were only rumor, and he really didn't want to spend time talking about or confirm something.

They were here for something more important.

"This is a magic library and you mean to tell me space is an issue?" Harry asked incuriously. Sometimes it felt like he'd never fully understand the wizarding world and, not for the first time, he wished he'd just been born and raised in it.

Harry glanced at the isle she was looking at and then back at her "Yeah I can do that. Do you have a list of books or am I supposed to guess?" he asked dryly. The sarcasm was second nature to him- nothing personal, but it was how he communicated with people. "I'm starting to regret coming back for N.E.W.T's." he quipped.

After a moment Harry got up, walking over to the bookshelf he'd been instructed had the books they needed and began to scan the shelves. Grabbing one book after another, then finally walking back to the table and setting them down, "I should have just used magic." he grumbled before sitting down across from her again.

"Hey er- do you mind if I ask... why did you come back? I'm just curious."

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Golau arall yw tywyllwch I arddangos gwir brydferthwch

(Darkness is another light That exposes true beauty)

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I die a little inside every time someone says history is boring. History is one long, epic adventure with battles to be fought, royal scandals to be gossiped about, human rights to be protected. It can be comic and tragic, and it exhibits both the very best and the very worst of human nature. History is all about seemingly ordinary people doing extraordinary things, and that is why we all want to be remembered by it.

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Slytherin!Hermione AU for @bokketo

It was Theo’s first night in the castle. The Sorting had taken place, she and her fellow First Years had taken their seats at the tables of their respective Houses, Dumbledore had made his strange announcement about the third floor corridor, the students and teachers had eaten their fill, and now Theo and her fellow Slytherins were in their new dormitory under the lake.

There were five other girls in the room with her. Two of them – Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson – Theo knew quite well. She was vaguely familiar with Millie Bulstrode; they’d never played together as children, but they had crossed paths at a few parties. But Tracey Davis and Hermione Granger were strangers to her.

Tracey seemed excited enough about the upcoming school year, but Hermione, though she looked like she was trying to hide it, was clearly feeling rather glum. Theo had noticed it during the feast, and wondered at it. What could she possibly be unhappy about? Going to Hogwarts was every young witch or wizard’s dream, and Slytherin was one of the better Houses.

Perhaps she’d had a friend or sibling who’d been Sorted elsewhere and whom she’d hoped to accompany, but Theo would be the first to admit that that was just a guess.

Hermione had selected the bed next to Theo’s, and now, as they unpacked, Theo found herself glancing over at the girl. “Are you all right?” she eventually asked. “You seem rather unhappy. Are you homesick?”

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"You'd be surprised at how many books this library doesn't contain," Theo said. "And not just on forbidden subjects, either. But I suppose it makes sense. There's only so much shelf space available, and shelf space the most hotly-contested resource in most libraries. There simply isn't room for everything."

Theo had a number of long-standing complaints about the Hogwarts library -- the very existence of the Restricted Section being her oldest point of dissatisfaction -- but she could still acknowledge the constraints under which Madam Pince was working. The woman may not have stocked her shelves with enough books to fully sate Theo's curiosity, but the collection was sufficient for students to complete their assignments to a satisfactory degree, and at the end of the day, that was the purpose of a school library.

"Perhaps you could pull the books we need to detail the properties of each ingredient?" she suggested. Pointing, she said, "Most of them should be in that aisle, second bay from the left, the third and fourth shelves down. And I'll pull the historical books. Slughorn says on the rubric that he wants a section on the development of the potion and notable past uses."

She recognized the wary look in Potter's eyes, because it was a look she'd been receiving from many of her peers ever since the Welcoming Feast on September 1st. But she supposed Potter had more of a right to it than most; after all, Theo's father had attempted to murder Potter and his friends on more than one occasion. She might not like being stared at as though she might break out one of the Unforgiveable Curses at any moment, but in this case, at least, she had to concede that, given Potter's past experiences, his mistrust was somewhat understandable. Theo might not have wronged him, but her family certainly had.

Harry's green eyes looked up at the sound of someone's voice and he nodded, "Wiggenweld." He repeated. Things had been different around Slughorn since he'd come back for his seventh year, but he hadn't had the time or patience to say anything.

His fingers rubbed against his chest; the fabric of his robes stopping him from doing anything more than rubbing at the pain that liked to flare up from time to time.

Another issue he hadn't gotten around to dealing with.

"I have yet to run into a book that this library doesn't have." Harry said dryly- he didn't know much about his potions partner but admittedly he wasn't thrilled at the idea of working for someone in a house full of people who had tried to sell him to Voldemort. "Where do we start?" He asked finally, glancing at the parchment.

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[ Detention || Open ]

seventh year

Detention.

It was the last word any student wanted to hear on Alecto Carrow’s lips. Gone were the days of scrubbing bedpans or copying lines; this was the Dark Lord’s Hogwarts now, and the Carrows had replaced the old punishments with a full range of horrors. Beatings. Imprisonment. Torture, both magical and mundane. Detention was to be avoided at all costs.

But detention was exactly what Theo had heard when she’d gone to her mandatory Muggle Studies lesson that morning.

Miss Nott, Alecto Carrow had said, causing Theo to freeze in the doorway. I see you’ve decided to join us.

It was true that Theo had missed more than a few of Alecto Carrow’s classes. There was only so much blatant propaganda that she could sit through without wanting to vomit, and she was a quiet enough student that she’d figured she wouldn’t be missed – or if she was, that her assumed loyalty to the Dark Lord’s cause would protect her from any severe punishment.

She’d been wrong.

Detention, Miss Nott, Alecto had said. My brother will see to it. And if you choose to skip another one of my classes…well. Perhaps someone will have to have a talk with your father.

Already terrified by Alecto’s order, the veiled threat against Leontius Nott had sent Theo into a silent panic. After his failure at the Department of Mysteries, Theo’s father was already in precarious standing with the Dark Lord. If it seemed that his daughter was rebelling against the regime, he would almost certainly be punished.

White-faced and trembling, she’d sunken into her seat, trying to ignore the stares of her classmates. Several of her fellow Slytherins looked shocked and frightened. Thus far the Carrows had avoided punishing the children of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. But no longer; it seemed Alecto Carrow wanted to make an example, and she’d chosen Theo as her victim.

Not a single word of the lesson had penetrated her ears. She’d been too caught up in her dread of what would happen to her. Her next lesson was Amycus Carrow’s Dark Arts class. Would he make her one of his subjects?

She’d been shaking like an aspic by the time she’d arrived in the classroom, the other students still looking at her sidelong, some of them keeping themselves far away, as though her punishment might be contagious.

Within minutes, Theo’s fears were realized. Amycus Carrow had called her and Vincent Crabbe to the front of the room. And then Vincent – Vincent, whom she’d known since she was four years old – had lifted his wand, and her blood had boiled in her veins, and she had found herself wishing desperately for death to claim her instead.

One by one, her classmates had repeated the Cruciatus Curse, some with more enthusiasm than others, until Theo was left crumpled on the floor, gasping for breath as tears rolled down her cheeks.

Now she was deep in the dungeons, collapsed on a stone bench near a moldering tapestry of Baba Yaga’s hut, sobbing uncontrollably and hoping against hope that none of the Carrows’ spies among the student body would find her here.

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Image by Ali Arabzadeh

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"Some of us aren't. Some of us despise her," Theo said. "In fact, I'd wager that the names of a few of the members of our little group might surprise you." She copied the next few pages, noting with satisfaction that she was just over two-thirds of the way through. "And there are some people trying to play both sides, of course, but I don't think that's confined to Slytherin House. So many students have parents working for the Ministry whom they need to be concerned about. I mean, Merlin, that might even have been me in another life. Fortunately, my father retired from the Department of International Magical Cooperation years ago. Fudge and Umbridge can't touch him."

Her mother had worked for the Ministry, too, as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, but Fudge and Umbridge couldn't touch Cordelia Nott, either. Theo's mum had been buried in the Nott family graveyard for nearly ten years, though sometimes it felt much longer.

Catching the sudden movement of Hermione's hand out of the corner of her eye, Theo followed the other girl's gaze and caught sight of the shadows moving back and forth on the other side of the door. Of course it was Filch and his mangy old cat. Theo supposed it could have been worse -- it could have been Peeves -- but precautions seemed in order. And while casting spells on another witch without asking permission was a breach of etiquette, desperate times called for desperate measures. She tapped Hermione with her wand, muttered the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm, and then repeated the action upon herself.

"Sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "And no offense to you, because I recall that you were Petrified yourself, but I do wish whomever sent that basilisk crawling around the school in our second year had finished off Mrs. Norris for good. The day she was given the Mandrake Restorative Draught, I nearly cried."

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“She’s a wretched old bitch,” Theo agreed. “I’m frankly embarrassed by how many of my housemates are toadying up to her. I know getting into the good graces of people with influence can be a solid strategy for advancement, but there’s such a thing as pride, you know?”

Given the outright rebellion Umbridge was facing from both students and staff, Theo wasn’t sure the woman would remain in power long enough to be a useful connection anyway. Networks were important, but they had to be the right networks. You couldn’t cozy up to just anyone, and it was foolish in the extreme to hitch yourself to someone whose social stock seemed likely to plummet. If Umbridge fell from grace, as Theo thought she might, everyone who had cooperated with her would be tarred with the same brush.

She continued copy the sheets of parchment in the file, a scowl growing more and more pronounced on her face as she sped-read through the changes the Ministry planned to enact over the next five years. It looked like their goal was to completely gut the Hogwarts curriculum, turning every class into the sort of ‘theory-centered approach’ that had made Defense Against the Dark Arts so intolerably useless this year. If Fudge and Umbridge had their way, there would soon be no spell-casting at all in any class.

Glancing over when Hermione spoke again, Theo admitted, “I’m part of a little study group with a few of the Seventh Years. But you can’t tell anyone, Granger. Umbridge doesn’t know it exists. She might favor her old House in most things, but I doubt that even we in Slytherin would be allowed to have an official Defense club. So we’re keeping it – what’s that Muggle phrase? ‘Under the radar’, I think goes? Is that right?”

Professor Snape had quietly organized the secret study group months ago, when Theo had come to him to complain about Umbridge’s inadequate performance as a teacher. She’d collected the names of interested students, and they now met every other week in Professor Snape’s office, where he gave them pointers and, when necessary, corrected their spellwork. It wasn’t as good as having a full-length, weekly class would have been, but Professor Snape was an efficient and knowledgeable teacher. It would have to do.

     Hermione is glad that some people in other Houses have the sense to see that Umbridge is mad. The Hufflepuffs often disagreed with the woman but not all of them wanted an all-out confrontation, the Ravenclaws were often more offended at the restriction of learning than her other policies, and the Slytherins… well, Theo was proving herself an exception to the rule of siding with the woman for the sake of temporary benefits. Actually, Hermione had seen more irritation directed towards Umbridge from the faculty than half of the student body, which was worrying, but she’d cling to the fact that there were people who did care and wanted her gone.

     That had been the whole point of this little mission, anyway. Get proof of how devastating her plans would be and change minds so that they could force Umbridge out sooner. Hermione didn’t particularly care how they did it at this point, she just wanted the pink menace gone.

     “I’m not going to tell anyone,” she reassured Theo. “Loads of people are — you’d be an idiot not to. I just wasn’t sure if the Slytherins were too busy kissing her feet to go against her orders preventing groups like that… no offense.” Her tone clearly said that she thought that Theo was smarter than that but was unsure of some of her classmates.

     Motion outside the door caught her eye, and she quickly motioned for them to be quiet, practically holding her breath until she realized that it was Filch. “He can’t get in,” she whispered, “but he could still hear us… and have Mrs. Norris sniff us out. Hell, I’ve never liked a cat less than that one.”

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Theo's first thought upon seeing George Weasley was that he looked dreadful -- like death warmed over, to borrow a phrase that Professor Flitwick had often used. She'd known, of course, that Basil had injured the man, but no one had informed her that the injury had been quite so severe. Neither had anyone informed her of what spell Basil had used, but when the Wizengamot viewed George Weasley's memory of the attack, she recognized the incantation right away.

Corpus Corrodere. The Corrosion Curse.

It was a creation of Cordelia Selwyn Nott's that dated to the First Wizarding War, and like most of the things Theo wished she didn't know, it had been taught to her by her father when she was an adolescent. It was a particularly vicious curse, too, one that ate away at both the target's flesh and their magical power, condemning them to a drawn-out, painful death. Looking at the state of George Weasley, she couldn't help wondering whether whatever treatment St. Mungo's was using would be sufficient to save him. And when George approached her after the conclusion of the trial, she was perhaps a touch less surprised by his question than he may have expected.

"I've encountered that curse before," she admitted, though she refrained from revealing that she, too, knew how to cast it. That wasn't something George Weasley needed to know. "The Ministry wouldn't have a record of it. It was created by a witch of prodigious skill and intelligence who unfortunately valued human life rather less than she should have."

It wasn't the nicest description for a woman to use for her own mother, but the fact remained that the warm and loving mum of Theo's memories had also been deeply amoral and relentless in her pursuit of fresh knowledge. Theo still hadn't fully managed to take the mother she remembered and the woman revealed in her mother's journals and turn them into a coherent whole in her mind. She wasn't certain that she ever would. She wasn't certain that she could.

It struck her that it might reassure George to know that no threat would be forthcoming from that direction, so Theo added, "She died years ago. You needn't worry that she'll come after you." A pause, followed by something that wasn't really a laugh. "People always talk about Dark wizards and witches coming from Slytherin," she said, "but when Ravenclaws go bad, the results can be particularly gruesome."

Unfortunately, however, Theo had never been taught any counterspell to the Corrosion Curse. Alas, that wasn't an unusual occurrence; Leontius Nott had been far more interested in teaching his only child to cast Dark spells than to lift them. But that didn't mean no counterspell existed. Gwendolen wouldn't tell Theo what it was, of course, but Theo's mother had been an exceedingly meticulous woman when it came to her creations, and she had left behind a plethora of highly detailed notes.

So, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, Theo looked straight at George and said, "I've never been taught any counterspell, but if one exists, I know where to find it. Can you give me a few days to do some research? Do you--" She hesitated for a moment, and there was concern in her voice when she asked, "Do you have a few days? I'm well aware of how much harm that curse inflicts and the way in which the damage progresses, and Basil cast it on you nearly three weeks ago. If the Aurors had told me which curse he'd used, I could have gotten started on this much earlier."

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The offer of specialty merchandise was unexpected, and Theo couldn’t help wondering what Ronald Weasley would think about it; after all, he’d bought into the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor far more actively than Theo ever had. True, she’d never trusted anyone in Gryffindor, with the possible exception – at least, for a few years – of Hermione Granger. But Theo had never run with Draco’s gang or Pansy’s clique, either, and hadn’t gone out of her way to antagonize or inconvenience anyone in any of the other Houses. Why bother? It had always seemed to her to be a complete waste of time, time that could be better spent reading or studying – in other words, doing something useful. But the rivalry between Potter, Weasley, and Granger on one side, and Draco and his gang on the other had been legendary. Theo was eternally grateful that she’d managed to avoid being drawn into it. She’d had her own academic rivalry with Granger, of course, but that had been far less acrimonious than what went on between the rest of their respective Houses.

That was the last she heard from George Weasley, at least until the day of Basil’s trial arrived. As agreed upon with the MLE, she showed up to testify – though her testimony was, of course, rather short. She merely repeated her account of hearing Basil boast about attacking George Weasley, while Basil glowered at her from his seat in the chained chair. Doubtless he would call her a blood traitor now – as might Gwendolen – but Theo had found that she didn’t particularly care. Her father had called her the same thing the last time she’d gone to see him in Azkaban, but her anger at him and disgust with the Dark Lord’s other followers had rendered her immune to the accusation. If accepting the reality of the war’s outcome made her a blood traitor, then so be it. Theo wasn’t going to waste her life hurling herself against the new world order in an effort to bring back the old days – the bad old days, to anyone with any sense. The war had been a nightmare that Theo wasn’t keen to relive.

The trial ended as Theo had expected it would, with a guilty verdict and a sentence of five years in Azkaban. It was a sobering thought that Theo now had more relatives in prison than out of it. But that was simply the reality of having been born into a family that had chosen the losing side decades before and remained loyal to a madman until the very end.

     The George Weasley that showed up to the trial was a far cry from the one Theo had seen in school. His long hair only half covered the missing ear and he was clearly still limping a bit from the recent injury. Perhaps even more striking was the dullness of his complexion, face even paler than usual from the pain and aged from stress and heartache. Fred’s… absence… ( he struggled to say it any other way ) had been hard enough on him without other compounding factors, and part of George almost wished that Selwyn had been more successful in his attack. He sat in the uncomfortable seats at the Wizengamont and said nothing the whole time except when asked for his account of the attack itself.

     He was falling apart. 

     Still, he kept a beautiful beaming grin in reserve for his loved ones, took care of the shop, was a dutiful son, and when anyone asked how he was doing, he lied for their benefit. Once the trial was over, he approached Theo and gave her a hesitant smile. “Thank you for your help. It’s… regrettable that happened.” He swallowed nervously. “And I was hoping I could ask for another favor. We know the spell that he used on me — everyone here saw the memory — but there’s no public record of such a spell. Is it something that’s known within your family? Is there a countercurse? We’ve only been mitigating the damage so far, we can’t seem to undo it.”

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w. h. auden, marginalia

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capricorn: solitary witch + slytherin aesthetic ↳ requested by anonymous

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@thechosengryffindor (8th Year)

“So. Wiggenweld Potion,” Theo said, setting her bag down on a chair. She’d agreed to meet Harry Potter in the library after dinner, to work on the project that Slughorn had assigned them. She had to admit, she hadn’t expected to be paired up with the Savior of the Wizarding World; Slughorn usually placed his favorites together, and while Potter had been one of his favorites since Sixth Year, the old man generally did his best to pretend that Theo didn’t exist.

It was kind of insulting, really, considering how often Slughorn had come to visit her father when she was growing up, but that was neither here nor there.

She opened her bag, dug around for a moment, and pulled out a scrap of parchment. “I put together a rough list of titles,” she said, “just off the top of my head. Some books that I thought might be useful. I think Madam Pince has all of them shelved around here.”