Chapter Text
Harry’s mood has improved drastically since the night before.
Granted, Herbology had been a right mess with the mandrakes, the plants they were learning for the next few weeks, making poor Neville, Harry’s dorm mate, pass out due to their endless crying. Defence Against the Dark Arts hadn’t been much better, but, then again, that was expected if one had Lockhart for a teacher.
His spirits were lifted when, upon arriving at the dungeons, the trio was informed by a portrait that Professor Snape was being held by House matters and wouldn’t be able to lecture any classes that day.
Harry was needing that break.
He slept the afternoon away, drapes drawn around his bed shielding him from the outside world and his problems.
When the time for dinner came, Harry was feeling alive and starved as he met Ron in the common room so they could go to the Great Hall.
His mood, though, took a downturn once he sat down at the Gryffindor table and the place next to him was taken by a very small, mousy-haired boy who was staring at Harry as though transfixed. The boy was wearing the same tie Harry was and, considering he had never seen him before, Harry assumed he was one of the first years. A Muggle-Born, he guessed, eyeing the Muggle camera the other one was holding tightly with two hands.
He went bright red when Harry looked at him.
“Hum, all right, Harry? I’m - I’m Colin. Colin Creevey.” He said breathlessly, moving clumsily to hold up his hand, but yelping when the camera almost fell to the floor. No handshakes, then. “I-I’m in Gryffindor too. Do you think it would be alright if I could take — well, if I could take a picture?”
“A picture?” Harry repeated, looking at Ron and Hermione — his bushy-haired friend having just arrived, from the library, probably — for support, but finding none.
Hermione was too fixated on her newly updated schedule — now, there were no hearts around every one of Lockhart’s classes. Not after Ron mocked her for it earlier that day. And Ron was too busy eyeing the chicken breast in front of him as if it was a piece of heaven.
“So I can prove to my brother that I really met you.” Said Colin eagerly, edging closer to Harry on the bench and smiling wide. “Everyone has told me so much about you. How you survived You-Know-Who’s attack with only a scar. How you saved the whole school last year. And a boy in my Astronomy class told me that if I develop the film just right, I can make all my pictures move.” Harry could only blink at him as the blond boy continued to speak. “I never knew all the things I could do with magic. This is just brilliant, isn’t it?! I want to make a Yearbook — like they do in Muggle schools — and show them all to my dad when I get back home. He is a milkman, you know? He almost didn’t believe it when I received my Hogwarts letter. Thought it was a prank from the neighbours. They are always pranking people. Guess that is something the Wizard World and the Muggle World have in common, right?”
“I-I... yes? I guess so.” Harry didn’t know what he was agreeing to, having lost track of what Colin was saying mid-rant.
“I got pranked a few times this year. Some missing essays and messing my schedule so I would go to the wrong class.” Colin continued and, while Harry felt pity for him — even a bit of anger on his behalf —, he doubted there was anything that could erase the smile stretching Colin’s face. “I guess Nott doesn’t like the noises of the camera. Or maybe it’s my voice. He did say something about me babbling the blood out of his ears once or twice.”
“Wait.” Harry said. “Nott? Nott is the one pranking you?”
“Well, not just me. Nott pranks lots of people. He pranked Professor Lockhart yesterday, actually. That one was quite funny, though. He made all his portraits turn bald and Lockhart needed Flitwick’s help to reverse whatever it was that Nott did. But that was the first time he got caught, now that I think about it.” Colin continued to speak as if he was telling Harry that the sky was blue and water was wet. As if Nott having a taste for screwing others was nothing major. “But at least I got a break from him today. Nott missed all lessons. We think he might be sick or something.”
Harry let the younger boy talk some more, not interested in the slightest in what he was babbling about now. Had it not been Nott the one to complain about the rants, he would have been inclined to agree that Colin was doing a great job at making his ears bleed.
As it was, though, he was trying to recall if Malfoy had done anything at all nasty after classes that day and if he had seen Nott. The answer to both those questions was ‘no’.
Malfoy had spent the whole day unusually silent, brushing away the two goons he liked to parade around with and staying only close to himself. He had made no comments when Ron’s wand - broken, after their encounter with the fighting tree upon arriving at the school - created a disaster every time he dared wield it. The blond prick had said nothing when Hermione stuttered upon being complemented by Lockhart.
Malfoy hadn’t been Malfoy at all that day.
And Nott. Harry didn’t remember grinding his teeth and feeling the urge to bang his head against a wall upon seeing Nott smoothing his dark hair back in the hallways, as he walked with his shirt untucked and not wearing the robes every student was supposed to wear during lessons.
He hadn’t seen Nott at all that day. Not even at breakfast. But, then again, he had already noticed that it was a rarity on its own for Nott not to skip the first meal of the day. Maybe he decided to skip all of them that day.
“Hey, Ron.” Harry called his friend, only half noticing that Colin had now his camera turned in his direction. If the boy was taking his picture or trying to show him something, Harry didn’t particularly care to find out.
Ron turned to him with his mouth full of food, something — probably the orange sauce used to cook the chicken — dripping from the corners of his mouth. Harry scrunched his nose at the sight but said nothing about it as Ron nodded his head for him to start speaking.
“You recall seeing Nott at all today?”
“Nope.” Ron answered simply, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice while his mouth was still stuffed with food.
“Honestly, Ronald, have you got no manners?” Hermione complained besides Ron, her thick eyebrows drawing together in a disgusted grimace. “And to answer your question, Harry, I saw Nott walking with Professor Snape to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office right after breakfast as I was heading to the library for a last-minute study. You two should also consider joining me. I earned Gryffindor ten points today in Herb — ”
“Do you think this has something to do with Nott’s parents being here yesterday?” Harry interrupted Hermione, not in the mood for another one of her lectures.
She seemed annoyed at him, refusing to speak further. Harry turned to Ron, then.
“Probably.” His red-haired friend answered him, swallowing fast. “Maybe he really was expelled.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Harry just pointed to the Slytherin table as an answer.
Malfoy might have been quiet all day long, but he wasn’t visibly bothered. Wasn’t upset. And, with what Harry had gathered and what Ginny had told Ron, he was sure the blond would be close to devastated if his closest friend had been expelled.
Malfoy wouldn’t be sitting at his house table, soup spoon in hand and nodding along to whatever Zabini was whispering to him. Harry guessed the blond would be moody, snapping at everyone and blaming the headmaster for his friend’s expulsion.
No. That couldn’t be it.
Harry was now sure that Nott was up to something. Sure that his parents - his mother - were most probably involved. And he needed to find out what it was before it became too late.
Harry had been right the day before. Nott hadn’t been expelled.
In fact, Harry doubted that Nott had even been punished, as Ron had hoped for.
As they arrived for breakfast, he was surprised to see Nott there, wearing a full uniform - even his tie was done correctly that morning - and talking animatedly with Malfoy as they eyed the opened windows the owls came through every few seconds.
Harry hadn’t understood much - as hadn’t all the other students eating around them - when four eagle-like owls arrived. Between them, there were two huge packages, one atop the other, which were delivered in the middle of the Slytherin table, right into Nott’s waiting arms.
“No way!” Ron exclaimed once Nott and Malfoy tore the papers together and a broom was then visible. “How come Nott is allowed to have a broom?! He is a first year, for Merlin’s sake! Why isn’t McGonagall doing anything?”
“Maybe Harry isn’t the only one she opened an exception for.” Hermione commented from behind the thick covers of another one of Lockhart’s books, her tone nonchalant as if she couldn’t care less.
“But Nott is not even Quidditch material!” Ron continued, gasping as Nott and Malfoy rushed out of the Great Hall with the broom in hand. A newly released broom. Its price was so high that not even Harry would dare spend what he had in his vault to buy it. “Blimey, that broom isn’t even made in England.”
More than one person was in awe as Nott passed. From the other end of the Gryffindor table, Harry could make out Oliver spitting out his juice all over the front of Percy’s robes.
Harry had seen that broom only in a catalogue before, printed in the imported sections of the magazines. If he wasn’t mistaken, this one was from New Zealand, used by all the beaters of their national team. They were said to be weightless, and more resistant to impact.
It was a perfect broom, but one would have to know how to handle it. And, if Nott did, then he was, indeed, Quidditch material.
“You don’t think he is part of the team, do you, Harry?” Ron asked, jealousy already lacing his words.
“I don’t know.” Harry said sincerely. “Oliver would have said something if Slytherin had someone new. And he would have had a nervous fit if any of them had that broom.”
“Has he mentioned something about the Slytherins at all? Maybe they’re so bad that Nott is like — a last resource of something.”
“Nothing that I can recall.” Harry answered, the hopeful look on Ron’s face dissolving into a frown. “I just assumed they have the same team as last year.”
“But that can’t be.” Ron said. “Two of their players were on seventh year last year. They must have at least two positions open.”
Harry just shook his head. Ron seemed to be more well-informed than he was.
He just let it go, though. As long as he didn’t also have to deal with Nott on the pitch, he counted it as an advantage.
Harry frowned at his own thought, though.
Nott certainly knew who Harry was. He was there, after all, at Flourish and Blotts and Harry had seen the other boy eyeing him. But they had never exchanged words. Harry had never really dealt with Nott.
Maybe that was his plan, he considered. Make Harry go crazy trying to figure him out. Throw a bunch of disconnected signs for him to put together. Nott could be buying himself and his family time by keeping Harry distracted with brooms and missing classes.
Such thoughts continued to roam his mind as he stalked after Hermione along the corridors, not bothering to pretend to be listening to Ron ranting still or Hermione questioning their supposed misplaced interest in Quidditch.
Harry felt like he was operating involuntarily and simply out of pure habit as he entered the Transfiguration classroom and sat down on the second table, between Hermione and Ron and dropped his bag on the floor next to his feet. He didn’t acknowledge the bird perched on a floating branch in front of him and he didn’t notice that the always punctual, strict professor wasn’t waiting for them at the front that day. He didn’t notice that the board beside the big wooden desk at the far end of the classroom held no instructions that day, no drawing of wand movements they were to copy and no lines they were to write down on their pieces of parchment.
He didn’t realise when the whole class went suddenly silent and Hermione sucked in a too loud breath from his side.
It took a nudge from Ron’s elbow to his ribs for Harry to come back to reality, his gaze refocusing and his brain catching up with everyone else’s. When Harry turned his head to the direction all eyes were trained upon, was to see Professor McGonagall guiding Theo Nott to the available seat next to Malfoy on the green and silver side of the classroom.
Nott was still dressed according to the uniform code and, for the first time since Harry has seen him at school, his bag didn’t seem empty as he dropped it indelicately onto the floor.
Nott had a smirk pulling at his lips, not bothered by the attention bestowed upon him. Harry felt angry at himself for being jealous of that.
“I have an announcement to make.” McGonagall’s voice echoed in the long, mostly silent room as she halted before them. “As you can see, Mr. Nott is now a part of Hogwarts’ second year and will be sharing classes with you from now on.” Hermione’s nails dug into the surface of the table with such force that she took out wood, her eyes blinking rapidly. Most of the Gryffindors were in a similar state, Lavender Brown actually shrieking her surprise while the Slytherins whispered excitedly among themselves.
Nott and Malfoy, Harry realised, were as relaxed as ever and he understood why Malfoy had ditched his two goons the day before. Why the blond seemed so content even without making anyone’s life a living hell.
He had known that his friend would be joining him the very next day.
And, in a flash, the reason why Mr. and Mrs. Nott were called to the school made sense. The delivery of the broom and the new trunk made sense.
Nott was now a second-year student. He was allowed to have his own broom. He now needed the Herbology supplies and potion ingredients of the second-year curriculum. He needed new books.
Nott wasn’t up to anything. His mother wasn’t up to anything.
Harry had been wrong. Nott was just another rich, unbearable Slytherin who liked pranks.
“Silence!” Professor McGonagall ordered. “Now I speak to my House alone.” All Gryffindors went quiet, Hermione’s big mud-brown eyes staring at the professor hopefully as if expecting her to rant about how she hated the fact that she had Nott in her class. From the glint in the professor’s eyes, though, Harry assumed Hermione was in for a disappointment. “This development does not concern anyone aside from the faculty and the Notts. I want all opinions to be kept to oneself or else consequences will be issued. Mr. Nott is now a colleague and I expect you to treat him if not well, with either respect or indifference. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Professor McGonagall.” A choir of answers was heard, Harry’s voice in the middle of it without needing his accord.
McGonagall’s authority was one he didn’t feel comfortable going against.
“Very well. Now copy the instruction on the board before we begin.” With a wave of the professor’s wand, the previous bare board was filled with instructions written in white.
As one, the class wetted their quills in the ink bottle and the sounds of the sharp tips brushing parchment filled the room, except for Nott.
Hermione’s huff was what called Harry’s attention and he found Nott gazing into space, not copying. There wasn’t even an open parchment atop his half of the table. He was dangling his wand in his fingers, looking pensive.
“This breaks so many school rules.” Hermione hissed angrily next to him, also eyeing Nott sideways every time she lifted her head to read what was on the board. “I’ve read Hogwarts: a Story dozens of times and not once it is mentioned that a student can just — skip a year. And look at him!” Hermione blushed bright red when McGonagall made a shushing noise in their general direction. “Look at him!” She repeated in a whisper. “He has no discipline, no respect. I can’t believe this is happening!” She finished, dismayed.
Harry didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if he should attempt to console Hermione or leave her on her own. He opted for the second option, not wanting to risk riling her up any further.
Ron had no such qualms.
“You know how it works, Hermione. Don’t act so surprised.” Ron mumbled as he wrote. “Nott comes from a powerful Pureblood family. His father would have to just say the word and he will have anything he wants.”
“Pureblood?” Harry inquired quietly.
“Families with no Muggle descendants in their lineage, Harry. Merlin!” Hermione said dismissively as she leaned her chest against the table to look directly at Ron. “And whatever do you mean, Ron? The professors would never allow themselves to be undermined by the wills of the likes of Nott.”
“That’s — well — what?” Ron sputtered, finally dropping his quill and turning fully to Hermione, light blue eyes going astray in confusion while trying to focus on Hermione at the same time that he looked out for McGonagall.
“If you had read Hogwarts: a Story as I told you to, you’d know Hogwarts is an independent organisation. Headmaster Dumbledore doesn’t respond to anyone but himself and, considering that he fought for the light side, he would never be influenced by people like the Notts. There must be another explanation for this.”
“Believe what you want, Hermione.” Ron mumbled angrily. “But you should know by now that gold and family names matter in the Wizarding World. Why do you think there is so much prejudice in the first place?”
“What are you talking about, Ron?”
“Look at that.” Ron snickered at her, a victory smile on his face that Harry knew would send Hermione’s blood boiling. “Seems like your precious Hogwarts: a Story doesn’t have all the answers, after all.”
“Honestly, Ronald, you’re so immature.” Hermione complained, but Ron pretended to be very concentrated on copying the new subject. “Fine. Have it your way. But I’m telling you, there is something wrong here. From all people, Nott shouldn’t be the one to skip a year.”
“Meaning that it should be you, right?” Ron mumbled and, considering that Hermione paid him no mind, just continued to hiss uncomprehendingly under her breath, Harry assumed she hadn’t heard.
Thank Merlin for small mercies, even if Harry believed Ron to be right.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” McGonagall stood up and levitated the porcupine to a small stall she positioned in the front of the classroom. “Our goal for the lesson is to transform a porcupine into a pin cushion — as instructed on the board. The spell we are to perform today is not an easy one and it deals with the widest branch of Transfiguration — Transformation. Now, can someone tell me the difficulties one might encounter when performing this spell?”
Hermione’s hands immediately shot into the air before anyone else had a chance and Harry’s friend was given the word.
“Considering the similarities in shape, the Transformation should come easier. According to our book, however, those who cannot visualise the end result will have problems and the wand movement is classified as a level three in the wielding scale, so the correct performance is supposed to be tricky.” Hermione announced proudly, but, before McGonagall could grant the usual two points she tended to give his friend when she recited their book, Nott snorted from his place.
Hermione flushed — this time most probably in anger —, but McGonagall turned to the dark-haired boy with an arched eyebrow.
“Anything to add, Mr. Nott?” She asked simply.
“Obviously.” Nott drawled from his spot, tapping his wand on the table while Malfoy snickered to the side.
“By all means, then.”
“First of all, I have a question.” McGonagall nodded. “How come you wrote on the board that this spell deals only with Transformation, professor?”
Harry thought McGonagall would berate the Slytherin for being so rudely blunt when questioning her methods but was surprised when the professor tilted her head to the side, usual crisped lips curling slightly on the side.
“Elaborate, Mr. Nott.”
“The base of Transfiguration deals with the alteration of molecule structures. According to what is modified, the spells may be classified.” Nott paused, receiving an encouraging nod from McGonagall. “While this spell does deal with Transformation, there is Conjuration involved as well. A lot of it, actually.”
“That’s quite right, Mr. Nott.” McGonagall said. She was actually impressed. “Care to explain to the class how you arrived at this conclusion?”
“Transformation entails that the basic structure is rearranged to form something new. That’s not the case. This spell turns an object into a living thing, which means that a new molecular structure has to be created for the new organism to function. The similarities start and end on the pins, which will be turned into the spines.”
“How would you answer my previous question, then?”
“Incompetence would be a challenge, I suppose.” Nott said, smirking. “The wand movement is a rather simple one and, considering that you made it so easy, Professor, the weight shouldn’t be a variable to consider.”
“Explain, please.” McGonagall asked, openly smiling now.
“It makes sense that the weight and the wand movement are connected, doesn’t it? You adjust the wand movement according to the weight of the caster, so the math is exact and the rebuilding of the molecules can start.” Nott pointed to the board with his wand. “You wrote the angle we gotta incline the wand, which indicates that you calculated already our average high and weigh for this specific spell, hence how you made it so easy for us to get it right by just repeating the movement. Therefore, there are only a few ways this spell can go wrong: either someone is out of the speculated mistake range of the calculation — apologies in advantage Goyle, you are too fat to perform this spell correctly —”
“Mr. Nott!” McGonagall reprehended, but Nott just shrugged.
“One might have trouble with the Configuration variation and won’t be able to envision the end result, which will mean that the pins will turn into spikes, but the cushion won’t become an animal. Some people here might be super incompetent and let their minds wander, so both the concentration and the viciousness factors will fail. Or somebody’s wand can simply not be powerful enough for the mixed branches of Transfiguration, so the spell won’t work properly.”
“Terrific.” McGonagall commented, coming closer to the table Nott occupied with Malfoy. She eyed his wand for a second, then her gaze held his. Harry was surprised when Nott simply stared back at her, unblinkingly. “Do you know which wands are the most adapt?”
“Not particularly.”
“How did you come to such a conclusion, then?”
“Lots of people often ignore that one variable for successful Transfiguration is the wand power.” Nott said and Harry’s head was already spinning at that point. McGonagall’s classes had never been such as this one. No class had been. The professors had always given them the information, questions being few and far between with the sole goal of accumulating House points. It never went beyond the textbook. Not like McGonagall and Nott were doing right then. “Wands have profiles which best fit the wizard they choose, but they also have magical inclinations. The core and wood of a wand matter with Transfiguration because it is one of the kinds of magic that require the most, so the wand has to be able to stand and comprehend what is being done.”
“What’s your wand made of?” McGonagall asked curiously.
“Yew wood and dragon heartstring.”
“A wand very good for Transfiguration, indeed.” McGonagall commented almost to herself, before turning back to Nott. “Do you have a formed opinion on this matter, Mr. Nott?”
“Yes.”
“Would you care to share it?”
“Unicorn hair is weak.” Nott said simply, to the outrage of many of their peers. “They are safe. They perform all types of magic mediocrely, never exceeding in any specific field. I bet those with the hair on the core of their wands won’t be able to perform the spell today. The woods more commonly found in healing also are not fit for Transfiguration. The base of healing is to cure what is already there. Restore, not rearrange or create. Those with those kinds of wands will probably never be able to muster switching or Human Transformation.”
“What do you say to Untransfiguration?” McGonagall seemed almost giddy as she asked the question, leaning forward as if Nott’s answer would determine forever what she thought of him.
“I think is kind of a joke, really.” Nott shrugged. “There is only one spell there — Reparifarge — and it’s not all that useful.”
“Do elaborate.”
“This is more of a reverse spell than anything. If you multiply things, for example, the spell will not work. You will have to vanish what you don’t want. I assume the spell only turns things back to their original state one spell at a time. By multiplying, you are conjuring a copy. The initial state is, in these circumstances, existence out of thin air. The spell wouldn’t work. See an Animagi, for example. You use the spell on them while they are in their animal form and they go back to being human, but their composition — what makes them transform at will in the first place — remains unchangeable, because the Transfiguration happened so within their bodies, that it became part of them. There is nothing to return back once the ritual is completed.”
Animagi?
Ritual?
Harry was completely lost and, judging by the spaced-out expression on Ron’s face and the snap sound of Hermione’s quill breaking in half in her iron-like hold, he doubted he was the only one.
McGonagall, though. She was staring at Nott as if her class had a new meaning. As if she had just found a reason to continue to lecture them every morning.
“I’m sincerely impressed, Mr. Nott. Your assumptions are all correct.” And she did look impressed. She looked almost giddy. “You came around to them by yourself or did you have help?”
“By myself. My mom doesn’t care much for Transfiguration.”
“I recall that she doesn’t.” McGonagall answered simply. “How did you deduce the weigh correlation with the wand movements? There haven’t been many published pieces of research in that area.”
“As much as mom hates everything to do with this class, she does have some books on the house about it. One of them speculated about the fifth variable for successful Transformation and how it might not be a new factor, but the junction of two existent ones. After I used dad’s wand to multiply bubbles while my mom was having a bath and, even though I did the exact movement dad taught me, the bathroom floated, I thought that perhaps my weight had been the problem.”
“Did you solve it by yourself after?”
“Yeah.” Nott smirked. “Had to test it on my sister’s dolls, though. Mom forbade me from entering the bathroom with a wand after I ‘ruined her hair with bath oils’.”
McGonagall chuckled low in her throat as she stepped back behind the stall “Forty points to Slytherin, Mr. Nott. Now, draw your wands. Let’s begin!”
The lesson followed mostly in silence that day. The Slytherins were still basking in their newfound glory and the Gryffindors were too out of place to do much else.
Harry could do nothing but watch as Nott won his House fifteen more points before the bell rang indicating the end of classes that day. He had watched as Hermione’s eyes lined with actual tears as Nott perform the spell perfectly on his first try and was able to pinpoint the mistakes of three other students.
He didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what to make of the fact that Nott, even though still an arrogant bastard, was insanely smart.
He didn’t want to admit that maybe, just maybe, Nott had skipped a whole year because he was really well above everyone else.
For a moment there, Harry couldn’t help but compare the two of them. He wondered if, had he been raised by his parents, and been immersed in magic since the beginning, he would be able to access the functioning of enchantments as Nott did. Wondered if he would also be so curious about magical theory that he would read forgotten books he found in the house and experiment on his mother’s bath.
The truth was that he doubted he would. Harry was weirdly sure that, had he grown up in a magical household, he would still be as ignorant as Ron.
But he did like to think that he would care more than his friend did. While Harry’s head was swirling with unanswered questions from their lesson, Ron was still fixated on the fact that Nott may or may not be part of the Slytherin Quidditch Team while the red-head hadn’t been good enough to pass the tryouts.
At least Ron got his answer as they left McGonagall’s classroom.
Nott and Malfoy were walking ahead of them, with their heads pressed together as they spoke in tones too quiet for Harry to listen. At least until Nott untangled himself in order to take off his tie.
“Nah, it won’t do any good to even try talking to him.” Nott was saying as he untucked his shirt from his pants. “Mom doesn’t want me on the team until I turn at least fourteen.”
“Fourteen? Why?” Malfoy asked, his drawl excited in a way that Harry had never heard before. He guessed he just never associated the blond with normal human behaviour.
“Something about not wanting me to pass out for two weeks after a Bludger hits me on the head.”
“That’s awfully specific. Even for you mom.”
“I know.” Nott chuckled a bit, taking off his robes now. “She didn’t answer me when I asked, but I think this may have happened to dad when he played, so she doesn’t want it happening to me.”
“Why would she send you the broom, though?”
“For me to fly, of course.” Nott threw his hair back, the rather long strands almost hitting Harry in the face as he walked a bit too close to continue to hear them. “We could go now even. We have a free period, don’t we?”
“I don’t think we are supposed to fly on school grounds, Theo, and Ravenclaw has the pitch for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I wasn’t talking about the school grounds.” Harry swore he could hear Nott’s smirk. “Did you know that the lake is not technically part of Hogwarts? It was there before the castle was even built.”
“You don’t mean —”
“Yeah, I do. Come on, Draco. They can’t even punish us without looking bad themselves.”
“We will be the first to ever actually do it.” Malfoy muzzled.
“It makes it more appealing, doesn’t it?” Nott taunted him, shoulder crashing against Malfoy’s and Harry was again surprised by how tall Nott actually was for his age.
“Oh, sod it. Let’s do it!” Malfoy beamed.
With that, the two Slytherin sprinted down the hallway, no doubt going to fetch their brooms so they could go flying above the Black Lake.
“Blimey.” Was the only thing Ron said and, wordlessly, Harry agreed with his friend.
It was a shame that Harry could see the lake from the window of Gryffindor tower.
He and Ron hadn’t been able to do much with the rest of their afternoon. Not with the sight of Nott and Malfoy doing laps and flips nonstop until it was dinner time.
The sight of the two of them taunted them. Malfoy’s bright blond hair had been a lighthouse against the dark waters, impossible to miss. And, as a contrast, Nott had been the dark spot against the clear sky.
In a moment of pettiness, Harry thought about going back to McGonagall’s classroom and telling her that her new favourite student was hanging upside down from his broom outside, but he rejected the idea as fast as it came.
Nott was no new Hermione. Everybody knew that, as much as he was smart, the Slytherin was also a troublemaker. Harry doubted McGonagall wasn’t aware of what her prodigy did in his spare time.
It made Nott’s presence all the more bitter, though.
His own Head of House was favouring a snake. A snake had been the talk of the lion’s common room the whole day, be it because he aced all classes that day or because he beat Fred and George in the numbers of pranks in the first month.
It made Harry incredibly bitter that he had no reason to suspect Nott anymore.
Harry didn’t want to be talked about. He was tired of fame as it was, but he was jealous that Nott was so much better than him. From what he had seen, the Slytherin was even good at flying. It made Harry jealous that Nott gave people a reason himself to be stared at, to be commented on.
No one seemed to remember that his father had been a Voldemort follower. No one ever remarked about his mother’s clouded past. No one apparently cared that he had just as much gold as the Malfoys and probably also lived in a manor.
Nott was the recent talk of the school because he skipped an entire year; because he had rendered McGonagall speechless in her own classroom; because he had dared put his broom on his shoulder and march side by side with Malfoy to the Black Lake, where they took off flying.
Nott was simply cool. He wasn’t the owner of a scar; the one who almost died to protect the Sorcerer’s Stone or the baby who defeated the darkest of all wizards because his mother decided to die in his place.
He just was.
At least, Harry consoled himself, he wasn’t the only one feeling out of place.
Ron had been amusing to watch as he sputtered while trying to argue that Nott had cheated during class. That there was no way that he was smart at all.
Hermione, though. She had still to calm down from the mess she was after returning from her talk with McGonagall.
His petite, bushy-haired friend had arrived crying in the common room. Hermione just sat herself between Harry and Ron on the couch and buried her head on Harry’s shoulder, shaking.
“I asked Professor McGonagall how Nott did it.” She had hiccuped against his robes. “She said that he sat the exams for first years and aced all of them. I—I asked her if I could do the same, but she told me that Nott’s a very special case. She called him incredibly bright and that, unlike the other students, the first year had nothing to offer him that he didn’t already know. She doesn’t think I’m as good as him!”
It had been sad to watch Hermione breaking down and, as much as Harry and Ron wanted to make her feel better, they had no real words of consolation.
They couldn’t lie to her. It just wouldn’t be fair.
They couldn’t tell her that Nott had no merit because now he had proved that he did. They couldn’t tell Hermione that she was better than him, because even her favourite professor made it clear that that wasn’t the case. They couldn’t tell her that tomorrow would be better, because they knew Nott would be there as well, ready to mock them with a single smirk and snort all their answers down the drain.
So they remained silent. The three of them — together — gazing out of the window and trying to understand exactly who — what — was Theo Nott and how he and Draco Malfoy seemed to hit it off just so.