What Would You See?

Chapter Eleven - Theodore Nott

'That will do for now, Theodore,' Professor Snape said. His low voice drifted through the fuliginous fumes rising from his pupil's potion. 'You know that this particular potion will take at least one full moon-cycle to mature, so we will return to it a month from now to add the final ingredients before we test its effects.'

Theodore nodded. Behind Snape's desk, a dozen or so common, non-magical mice of various colours squeaked and scratched in their cages, oblivious as to their imminent and uncertain fate.

'Next week, you may try your hand at a bone re-growth solution, as you appeared to have mastered the necessary techniques,' the Potions Master continued, moving silently toward his desk and sitting down. 'Nevertheless, it is a rather complex potion, somewhat above N.E.W.T level. So I suggest you read up on its preparation technique before you return. I trust you will be able to handle it,' Snape finished, before diverting his attention to a tottering pile of parchment on his desk with a sneer. Already immersed in his marking, he picked up a rook-feather quill, dipped it into his inkwell and added as an after-thought, 'You may leave when you are ready, Theodore.'

'Yes, Professor' Theodore replied obediently, already having filled seven beakers with his painstakingly brewed Polyjuice Potion and having placed them carefully into one of Snape's dry, dark cupboards - reserved specifically for the storage of students' maturing concoctions.

Slipping on his dragon hide gloves, he scraped the remains of his ingredients into his hands and tossed them into the bin, giving the work surface a quick wipe-over with a damp cloth. Immediately after, he vanished the last remaining drops of his potion and performed a rigorous scouring charm on the insides of his cauldron to thoroughly cleanse it of any residue that could contaminate any other potions. He performed these elementary tasks with all the natural skill and ease of an up-and-coming, professional potion-brewer. And so he should have done, for that was what he secretly wanted to become.

It was true, he mused, as he gathered up his notes and stuffed them into his bag. He wanted Professor Snape's title. He wanted just to sit, day after day, pouring over tomes and ingredients and ancient manuscripts; he wanted to earn that illustrious title; he wanted to elicit a deserved respect from those elite few who would eventually become his peers; he wanted to go through the peacefully tedious process of trial and error and trial and error until he felt what he imagined would be a sublime, exhausted elation, the result of brewing a flawless, undiscovered antidote or a solution that would revolutionise the wizarding world.

There were not many who enjoyed Professor Snape's Potions classes. Usually, the only ones who did were students of his own house. Even then, however, there were even fewer within their ranks who truly appreciated the subtle science and exact art that was potion-making. Fewer still, were those who had founded a deep and lasting respect for their House Master and tutor. In fact, Theodore was yet to discover another beside himself, as it really wasn't a very fashionable sentiment, what with the Hogwarts popularity stakes running somewhat against the sneering, Slytherin Head of House.

Theodore had always had an interest in Potions, but he supposed his real, lasting enthusiasm for the subject had been kindled as early on as his very first Potions lesson on his first day at Hogwarts. To this day, he remembered what Professor Snape had said; recalling his words as readily as if they had been spoken only yesterday...

From then on, Theodore had sworn to appreciate that beauty; to harness that power; to be able to bottle fame, brew glory and finally stopper the most ultimate and most terrifying force known to man.

Potions, he had decided, was the subject for him.

In that first class, he had put his head down and had worked accurately and ceaselessly until he had got the job done, not even pausing when Snape had decided to make a positive example out of Draco in front of the whole class. Some time later, he hadn't even realised that Professor Snape had been standing behind him, watching his progress with a shrewd eye. So when Snape spoke up suddenly, Theodore had jumped, dropping one porcupine quill too many into his boil-curing potion. Before he had even had the chance to react, however, Snape had scooped it out with his ladle in one swift movement.

'No damage done,' Snape had said idly, looking down his hooked nose at Theodore. 'Though, I offer you a piece of advice. When brewing potions, you do not let anyone distract you from the task at hand. You must remain focused, alert and ready for every eventuality. Do I make myself clear?' he had added, raising one thin eyebrow.

'Perfectly clear, Sir,' Theodore had answered, embarrassed and cowed, feeling sure that he had blown his chances already.

That was why he had been so surprised to hear what had come next.

'I am expecting great things from you, Mr Nott,' Snape had said quietly.

That was before Longbottom's cauldron had erupted with a great gurgling bang, covering the hapless Gryffindor in fierce-looking boils, (the first such occurrence of many over the years) which had necessitated in the cutting short of any further conversation between himself and Professor Snape.

The conversation had never been resumed, but Theodore found himself suddenly driven to prove himself to the snide, sarcastic Potions Master and had poured all of his efforts into achieving his private ambition. Though he couldn't quite surpass Hermione Granger (that mudblood was just good at everything!) in his third year, he felt he had made enough of an impression on his Head of House as to finally justify asking him for extra Potions lessons.

The first time Theodore had went to Snape's office, Snape had looked at him as though he had gone mad and had told him in civil, but no uncertain terms, to get out of his office. The second time, Snape had been a little more accommodating and had just said 'No.' Undaunted, Theodore had approached Professor Snape's office a third time and had refused, point blank, to leave (even if Snape took one-hundred-and-fifty points from Slytherin) until he agreed to tutor him privately.

Needless to say, Snape had accepted (albeit grudgingly) and the arrangement of 'four o'clock, after classes, Thursday afternoons, once a week' had been set, and Theodore had not missed a single lesson since.

The truth was, that over the years, he found he had begun to revel in his time spent in the solitary pursuit of potion-making. The only other who would be in close proximity would most likely be Professor Snape, who would (due to his taciturn nature) offer up only the occasional word or two of guidance and leave him largely to go about his business.

It suited him perfectly.

Theodore liked being alone with his thoughts, a concept many of his fellow Slytherins seemed unable to grasp. Their subtle hints were becoming less and less subtle by the day.

He wasn't sure for how much longer he could avoid them...

Ever since he could remember, Theodore had never needed anyone. He had been brought up, more or less, having to depend on himself. It was a skill he had acquired very early on in life and quickly, too...

'Cognitio, potestas, purus,' Theodore said listlessly, as he stopped at the stone door leading to the Common Room.

Once the door had slid open, he emerged into the Slytherin Common Room. The green lamps cast an eerie pallor upon the rough, dungeon walls and a roaring fire crackled in an elaborately carved fireplace adorned with serpents and wands. Theodore craned his neck and looked around. Unfortunately, there was no sign of a seat anywhere. Every other available space had been taken. The Common Room was always pretty full just before dinner. He sighed inwardly.

Turning toward the stairs that led down to the boys dormitories, he had just lifted the wooden trapdoor, which creaked and groaned noisily on its hinges, when an unwelcome and familiar voice called out over the throng.

"Theodore! Over here, Theodore!"

Theodore stiffened.

He looked up. They were all sitting in the chairs around the fireplace, heads turned and eyes fixed expectantly upon him: Gregory and Vincent, Pansy and Millicent, Warrington and Draco, who had called on him. Slowly, he made his way over to their fireside circle, his eyes staring emotionlessly ahead, but he noted with a hint of panic that there was an empty seat by Millicent, who acknowledged him with a brusque nod.

It was clearly meant for him.

Cautiously, he took his seat and acknowledged each member of the group in turn. Draco was smiling slightly, looking pensive in the firelight, his pointed chin balanced on a pale fist.

'I'm glad you've decided to join us, Theodore,' he said. His tone was perfectly friendly enough, but his eyes betrayed a hint of warning. 'Will you be staying?'

There was a sudden hush. The others, who had begun whispering amongst themselves, fell silent as they awaited his reply. Suddenly, the only sounds were that of the fire crackling and sputtering and the faint murmurs of other Slytherins. He let it wash over him. He had to have a clear head, to be able to think, to be alert and prepared for every eventuality.

'As much as I would love to, Draco, I have my experiment reports to write up,' he answered quietly, meeting the other boy's gaze impassively.

'Surely it can wait?' Pansy's voice interjected. 'It's for Snape and your extra Potions tutorials, is it not?' she continued, with her head cocked to one side.

Theodore nodded.

'Then I'm sure he'll understand,' she continued with a smirk, casting a significant look at Draco, who smiled superciliously.

Suddenly, Theodore felt the horrible sensation of doubt slithering its way into the pit of his stomach, coiling around his insides, making them grow cold. On the surface, it was an innocent enough exchange but his five years spent in Slytherin house had not been spent merely in the accumulation of academic awards. Draco, Pansy, all of them, knew something that he didn't.

'Yes, I'm sure he will understand,' Theodore replied, folding his arms and directing a cold stare at Pansy, who smiled and looked at Millicent. Millicent let out a soft snort of laughter.

'So you do know then?' she scoffed derisively, her angular jaw shifting sideways in scorn. 'God, your father's finally found faith in you at last, Theodore. Wonders will never cease...'

'SHUT UP!'

Whipping out his wand, fury thundering through his veins, making his temples pulse painfully, he pointed it right between Millicent Bulstrode's eyes. Millicent was no longer laughing. There was a sudden lack of background chatter, replaced by a heavy, tangible silence. It was as if everyone in the common room was holding their breath.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, with some effort Theodore mastered his wrath and sank back into his chair, glaring coldly at Millicent, who looked sullenly at the dancing flames, throbbing reds and glittering gold, in the fireplace.

'Now that you've both gotten that out of your systems,' Draco said smoothly, 'I'd like to get this meeting underway.'

The others shifted forward a little in their seats, intent upon hearing what their silver-haired, Slytherin friend had to say. Theodore knew what was coming, however. It would be all the usual discussions about the purity of wizarding blood, the lack of respect thereof, and the increase of mudbloods enrolled at Hogwarts. As long as they didn't prattle on for too long, he could sit through it easily, having sat through such conferences before at home where his father would lecture him endlessly on the value of rank and purity of blood and how lesser mortals were not to be tolerated. However, there was still something that made him feel uneasy. Pansy's words still echoed in his mind.

What did she mean by that?

Draco's drawling voice snapped him out of his reverie and he instantly endeavoured to look interested.

'You have, doubtless, heard about the attempts of that muggle-loving, blood-traitor, Arthur Weasley to force through a piece of legislation increasing the sentence of muggle-baiting to a time in Azkaban?'

There were murmurs around the group. Even Vincent and Gregory nodded their apish heads. Theodore himself had read the article over breakfast this morning and had shook his head briefly before turning the page. It was a little over-the-top for the trivial act of muggle-baiting.

'The act is a disgrace!' Millicent added curtly, thumping her fist on the arm of her chair.

'I agree, Millicent,' Draco continued, sneering, a flush of colour appearing on his pale cheeks as he rose from his seat to stand in front of the fireplace. 'My friends, we are on the verge of a change. A change that would jeopardise the very future of the wizarding world as we know it. Today, we hear of the maltreatment of muggle-baiters for exercising that privilege which is granted upon them within the very moment of their birth. What next? The abolishment of the International Statute of Secrecy? Muggles and mudbloods and pure-blooded wizards, such as you and I, living side by side? Hogwarts opening the floodgates, extending their invitation to witless muggles in order to give them a little Kwikspell course?

There was a great shout of laughter from the group at this comment. Theodore permitted himself a small smile, as, frankly, the idea was utterly ludicrous. Draco, however, did not seem to find it as funny.

'You may laugh,' he continued darkly, at which point the sniggering ceased. 'But think on this for a moment. If this act is passed by the Ministry, what next? The number of Muggles is increasing daily. They are a pestilence! A disease! Encroaching upon our lands, tainting our bloodlines and bleeding the very life of the wizarding world dry! All the old lines will die out and the very foundation of our beloved house will rot away and will be lost forever...'

Draco paused for a moment, his eyes burning coldly with righteous indignation. There were a few murmurs of agreement. Theodore sighed, wondering vaguely how long Draco was going to go on.

'We are on the verge of a change, my friends,' Draco exclaimed, flinging his arms out wide, gesturing to his captive audience. 'There is no respect for purity of blood these days. We know this. But it does not need to be a change for the worse. Not if we take action!' Draco paused with a superior smile to let the gravity of his statement sink in. 'Not if we stand together...'

Suddenly, Theodore felt their eyes upon him, gazing intently, scrutinising him for any sign of a reaction. They were waiting. Panic clutched at his chest for a brief moment, before he pulled himself together and forced a solemn nod. It seemed to satisfy Draco, for he began to pace the square of carpet in front of the fireplace once again, resuming his speech. All eyes were upon him now and they shone with the same enthusiasm, the same passion, the same fanaticism. Little did they know what they were getting themselves into.

'We must unite under the Dark Lord, or the muggle-loving blood-traitors and mudbloods will crush us underfoot,' Draco whispered venomously, almost trembling with excitement.'

Theodore sighed inwardly and stole a furtive look at his watch. Maybe he would still have time to catch dinner.

He smiled and nodded to himself, when he realised Gregory had been looking at him. Gregory grinned at him and he offered a cold smile in return.

'What about Dumbledore?' Warrington interrupted nervously, his eyes darting from side to side as if he were expecting the man to burst in the door with his wand blazing.

'What about the Old Fool, indeed?' Draco answered unconcernedly, tossing his head with an impudent casualness that caused a certain degree of alarm within the group.

Theodore blinked incredulously. 'Are you mad, Draco?' he hissed, his thin, sharp features thrown into relief by the shadows cast by the flickering flames. 'The Dark Lord is strong, but whilst we are at Hogwarts, he can do nothing.'

'Yes, and our muggle-loving headmaster is strongest - while he is at Hogwarts...' Draco said, smirking at Pansy and Millicent, who smirked back.

The hairs on the back of Theodore's neck began to stand on end. He was sure that something bad was going to happen. Involuntarily, he began to grip the arms of his chair. His breaths were quickening. His heart was racing. Unbidden, Pansy's words arose, once again, to the fore.

'I'm sure he'll understand...'

Warrington's gruff voice seemed to be coming from a long way off. 'What do you mean, Draco?'

'I mean that we can now speak freely! We no longer have to hold our tongues for fear of discovery and for the benefit of the mudblood-loving Professors who are driving this school to rank and ruin! Our situation is already tenuous, what with the Old Fool's precious Potter and his inability to live without press attention, but now we need no longer fear reprisal..'

'Father had told me that we have a man on the inside, whom we may speak freely around and who is sympathetic toward the cause...'

Theodore began to feel sick. His face turned ashen pale and there was a light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. His head began to spin. There were lots of voices, but he could no longer tell to whom they belonged. His chest felt painfully constricted. It was becoming harder to breathe...

'You're joking?'

'Seriously?'

'Professor Snape?'

There was only one thing that shone clearly in his mind amongst the confusing jumble of thoughts and emotions. He had to get out of here. Jerkily, he stood up and mumbled something incoherent that seemed to pass for an apology of sorts. As he walked straight out of the Common Room, his head held high and his eyes focusing straight ahead, he felt their eyes boring into his back. But for once in his life, he didn't care. The stone door slid open and his shoulder jarred painfully with its edge as he turned out into the corridor, causing him to spin and stumble ungainly. Continuing on down the dark, dungeon corridor, his pace quickening with every step, he waited until he was certain he was out of sight and then he broke into a run. He ran up the stairs and through the entrance hall. There were voices and laughter ringing out from the Great Hall, but he veered away from the warmth and merriment and raced up the stairs.

Classroom after classroom flashed past his unseeing eyes and his heart was thumping as loudly as the echoes of his clattering footfalls in the deserted corridors. A thousand and one thoughts were whirling through his befuddled mind, all clamouring for his attention, and he just wanted to be alone to sort them all out...

Suddenly, exhausted both physically and mentally, he wrenched a door open and threw himself upon it, slamming it shut with a bang. Numbly, he slid down it until he collapsed upon the wooden floor, whereupon he curled up, pulling his legs tightly into his body, and cried.

Wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe, Theodore sat up and looked around for the first time since entering the room half and hour ago, with watery, red-rimmed eyes. The room was quite dark, with a low ceiling, and the only things in it were a mouldy old dustsheet pooling around a huge, golden mirror with elaborately carved feet. He surveyed it from his spot at the door with great distaste and sniffed, rubbing his eyes.

All of a sudden, Theodore felt extremely weary. His shoulders sagged hopelessly and he dropped his head into his hands.

A hot, impotent anger pulsed through his veins, making him clench his fists. He felt stupid, used and betrayed. As silly as the latter sounded, he couldn't help but feel that he had been manipulated, right from the beginning, from the very moment he was born, and had been used to someone else's end. And it was with a sinking heart, that he realised it was true. His father, his housemates, everyone he had ever come into contact with, and now...

But it was like trying not to think of pink elephants. As soon as the thought floated innocently into his mind, it was like his whole world had turned upside down. Polyjuice Potion, Invisibility Solution, the Draught of Living Death... It all made sense now. And it hurt. All these years of quiet contentment, of aspiring to a goal he could never attain...

Shaking dark head, he smiled bitterly.

How stupid he was to have thought that he could avoid it! For ever thinking that he could fight what he would become! For believing for one moment there was someone out there he could trust implicitly and hold apart from the rest of the world! And for ever trusting them in the first place...

He stood up suddenly, taking a long, shuddering breath and running a thin hand through his black hair, a lonely pallid figure in the reflected light of the mirror before him. He stared at his reflection, berating himself inwardly for letting himself get into such a snivelling state. Suffice to say, it was obvious that he had been crying. There was no way he could go back to the Common Room looking like a homesick little first year. Drawing closer to the mirror, he decided that a Concealment Charm would be most prudent to cover up the evidence, but just as he raised his wand to perform the incantation, his reflection vanished.

Letting out a croaky yell, he whirled around, expecting to see one of his sniggering housemates. But there was no one there. Puzzled, he turned back to the mirror and what he saw almost made him break down for the second time in less than a day. He saw himself as he had always seen himself in his vision for the future: alone, standing over a steaming cauldron, deftly adding a hint of this and a dash of that, making hurried notes in his experiment reports before returning his full attention to the task at hand, completely immersed in his work but remaining focused, alert and ready for every eventuality...

There was a dull stab of pain in his chest and he found he could no longer gaze upon the mirror's image and keep his wits. Closing his eyes, he looked away, trembling a little. He knew very well what the mirror had shown him and he knew that there was no point in dwelling on it, as it would only cause him further pain and humiliation.

Composing himself, he made to leave the room when he saw his bag lying in a corner, its contents spilled out over the floor. He picked it up and with a pang, saw his meticulously written experiment notes. Carefully easing them out, he glanced at them strangely for a moment, as if only really noticing them for the first time and then pointed his wand at them and whispered 'Incendio.' At once, the edges started to curl and blacken and soon after, the pieces of parchment were consumed by a roaring red flame that flared brightly in the gloom. As the door slammed shut, the glowing embers floated gently to the ground, faded and died; a last glimmer of light lost in the dark.

'Theodore, I would like you to stay behind after class,' Snape said as he leaned over his cauldron and noted his student's abysmal effort at a Strengthening Solution.

The young, dark-haired boy stiffened and said nothing.

When the bell rang, he picked up his bag and walked out of the dungeon classroom with neither a word nor a backward glance. Later on, he had been summoned to Snape's office whilst he was trying to concentrate on his Arithmancy homework. He didn't go down. Shortly after, Snape himself had turned up and had screamed at him. Unable to bring himself to speak, he had stared at him coldly and had retreated to the dormitory, drawing his curtains and refusing to speak to anyone for the rest of the night. The next day in Potions, Snape had stared at him occasionally from his desk, but left him alone.

It had been at least a month and Theodore hadn't attended a single of his extra Potions tutorials. On Thursday afternoons after class, he sat in the corner of the Common Room and immersed himself in his reading. One day, however, he felt a hand upon his shoulder and he turned around to find Draco's pale, pointed face before him.

'Do you want to come sit with us, Theodore?' he asked encouragingly, indicating the seats by the fireplace where Pansy, Vincent, Gregory, Millicent and Warrington sat.

There were a few more faces than there had been the last time, he noted. Warning bells were ringing madly in his head, but he paid them no heed. Not this time. There was no point. Not anymore. With that thought, he stood up and walked over with Draco to the fireside gathering. Suppressing the last traces of doubt, he took his place beside his fellow Slytherins and surrendered to the dark.

AN: Thanks to Yolanda for beta-reading! Appreciate your betas, folks, you have no idea how much they do for you! Thanks to Birgit for promoting this fic at the Review Challenge Thread (go and participate - it really is a noble cause)! Thanks also go to Llewella d'Ambre for inspiring and prompting the update and the biggest thanks go to J.K. Rowling for giving us that little snippet of information on the clever, Slytherin, loner who is Theodore Nott, and sparking the imaginations of so many - especially myself.

As for this instalment of the series, the concept of it (if not its execution) has to be my favourite of any of the short stories. Professor Snape's position as Head of Slytherin house has to be one of the hardest jobs in the world, having to balance his performance on behalf of both sides, and losing students to the Dark Lord would be, I think, a common occurrence. The concept was just so sad and so disconcertingly real that I just had to write it.

If you liked what you've read, just a short 'excellent work, Ada' would be nice just to let me know that you enjoyed it, which I sincerely hope you did, as I enjoyed writing it! ^_^

Thanks for listening.

- Ada Kensington.