Chapter 22
Theo
“Shall we?” Draco was asking him, his expression unreadable. It appeared neither of them were particularly thrilled about this expedition.
Theo nodded and stepped into the Floo beside his friend. “Azkaban Prison,” he said as he tossed a handful of green powder to the ground. Seconds later, he opened his eyes, and there they were. He could feel the dank chill in the air, could smell the stench of unwashed bodies and misery.
Theo approached the guard station where an unfriendly, wormy-faced auror sat. “Hello, Theodore Nott to see–”
“Prisoner’s name?” The man interrupted, barely looking up from the newspaper in front of him.
“Erm. Theodore Nott Sr.,” he said, and the auror glanced up at him.
“Ah. Right, there’s a visiting room down the hall. You can go in and wait– someone will escort him down shortly. And I’ll need your wand,” he said, palm outstretched.
Theo swallowed, placing it in the auror's outstretched hand. His throat felt like sandpaper. There were no dementors on the island anymore, something Shacklebolt had outlawed once the war was over, but after the creatures had haunted this place for so many years, their presence still lingered somehow. He shivered, wishing he’d asked Hermione to teach him how to cast a Patronus, just in case. He made his way down the hall, glancing over his shoulder at Draco who gave him a solemn nod as he settled into a chair in the waiting room with a book. Theo hadn’t been thrilled when Hermione had insisted Draco join him, but now he found himself grateful for his best friend’s presence. He didn't know what kind of shape he'd be in once this was over. Theo sat down in one of the provided chairs, resting his hands on the metal table in front of him. It was cold against his skin, even through his shirt. He could feel himself beginning to panic and was actually considering getting up and leaving and forgetting the whole bloody thing, when the door opened.
In walked an auror, and behind him, his father. Theo stared. He’d never seen him look so… unwell. Threadbare prison-issued robes hung off his body, which was gaunt, as if all the life had been drained out of him. His skin appeared sallow, drawn tight over the sharp angles of his face, and the dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a hollowed, almost skeletal look. There was a certain fragility to him now, like a weakened, half-forgotten shadow of the man he used to be. But his eyes—those dark, cold eyes—were the same. They still burned with that same cruel, empty malice. As they settled on Theo, a flicker of disgust flashed in them. Despite the ravages of prison, despite the weakness that clung to his frame- that look, that hatred, remained sharp and unyielding, piercing through the distance between them. Theo almost wanted to laugh. Laugh at the absurdity of it all. His father, a broken shell of the man he used to be, a prisoner, standing there looking as though the world had chewed him up and spit him out—and still, somehow, he had the nerve to look at Theo like he was the disappointment. How could someone so pathetic—so clearly defeated—still think they had the right to sneer, to act as if Theo was the one who had failed?
Perhaps it was this thought alone that compelled Theo to stare back at him, to refuse to shrink from his gaze as he normally did. It had been almost two years since he’d seen his father, he realized, and things had changed so much. Theo had changed so much, while his father remained the same bitter, angry man, rotting away in his cell. He didn't know what he expected- certainly not a reformed version of his father, but this was jarring. After what felt like an eternity, the auror shoved his father forward towards the table. Nott Sr. landed in the chair roughly, the manacles around his wrists clanging against the table. The auror turned to Theo then.
“I’ll be standing outside the door keeping an eye on him, but give a shout if he tries anything. You have thirty minutes.” And then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him.
Theo turned his eyes back to his father, who was still fixing him with the same cold glare. He was the first one to break the silence. “Father,” he said simply, straightening his back.
He saw his father’s eyebrows jump ever so slightly at his voice, perhaps at the deepness, perhaps at the way it didn’t waver. “Theodore.” His father’s voice was gravelly, dripping with disdain. He looked at Theo as though he was an unfortunate inconvenience, his cold eyes scanning his son from head to toe, as if searching for something to criticize. “You’ve grown.”
It was true. Theo was taller than his father now, he realized. He had a good five or six inches on him. He met his father’s gaze directly, unflinching. “Did you think I’d stay a child forever?”
Nott Sr. sneered, his lips curling up in disgust. “No, I suppose I didn’t. But I did think you might amount to something. I had hopes. I tried my best to raise you the right way. Unfortunately, it looks like my efforts were futile. Because here you are– you may be older and taller, but you’re still weak. You’re still here to beg for handouts from me.”
Theo’s chest tightened, but he forced the anger down. He wasn’t going to let his father get under his skin. “I’m here because you demanded it- I certainly don’t need your approval. Nor do I want it.”
“You think you’re entitled to my approval?” Nott Sr.’s voice rose, the bitterness clear in every syllable. He laughed mirthlessly as he leaned forward, the chains on his wrists rattling. “You are entitled to nothing, boy. I hoped you’d grow into something worthy of the Nott name, but instead, you’ve become a disgrace. I know what you’ve been up to. You think I don’t keep tabs on you?”
Theo’s heart sank, but he kept his voice steady. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Now I have your interest, don’t I?” Nott Sr. laughed darkly, the sound jagged and hollow. “You know exactly what it means, Theodore. I know about your little Mudblood pet.”
Something in Theo’s vision flared, white hot. “Watch your mouth,” he spat. “I don’t know what you think you know–”
“Oh please, Theodore, don’t play the fool. Don’t insult me. You truly think that just because I’m locked away in here, I won’t find out that my own son– a Nott, is dipping his cock in a filthy Mudblood? Potter’s Mudblood at that?” His father spat.
Theo stood, his chair clattering to the ground. He yanked his father’s collar, bringing him closer. “I told you to watch your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “I have no qualms with smashing your head into this table. You can’t intimidate me anymore, and you certainly cannot threaten her in my presence.” He saw his father’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, as if he actually feared that Theo might do what he threatened to, and he dropped his grip in disgust, noticing that the auror standing outside had seen him but quickly looked the other way. Good.
“Ah, so that’s what it took for you to finally grow a backbone? If I’d have known that, I would’ve gotten my hands on Granger for you sooner. She could’ve been your own personal whore. I could've kept her chained up at the manor for you,” Nott Sr. said, still grinning maniacally, still egging him on.
Theo took a deep breath, fighting the fury that threatened to overtake him. “I know what you’re trying to do. I don’t know what kind of rats you have spying for you at Hogwarts, but you have no power anymore. You won’t lay a finger on her, and I didn’t come here to listen to you threaten and insult my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend? How... sweet.” Nott Sr. laughed. “If you're done putting on your little show of bravado, what exactly did you come here for, Theodore?”
“You know why I’m here. I’m here to claim my inheritance,” Theo gritted out. His heart was pounding. He could do this.
“You think you can just waltz in here and claim what’s mine? My money, my inheritance, everything I’ve built? You don’t deserve a single Knut of the Nott fortune. You’ve done nothing to earn it. You’re nothing but a failure. A blood traitor,” his father spat.
Theo clenched his fists, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m not here to beg for your money. I’m here to get what’s mine. And you don’t have a say in it.”
“Ha! I don't have a say in it? How's this- you will never have it,” Nott Sr. snapped, voice low and dangerous. “Not as long as you’re associating yourself with scum. Not as long as you’re running around with the likes of Potter, not as long as you’re bedding a Mudblood. Not as long as I’m still breathing. You’re a disappointment, Theo. You’ve always been. The Nott family deserves better than this. I deserve better than this.” His voice dropped, turning cold. “You’ll never be worthy of what I’ve built, not in a thousand years.”
Theo leaned forward, his fists clenched tightly in his lap. “You can’t keep holding this over my head. You’re in prison. You ruined your life. Not me. You’re the one who decided to tie yourself to a deranged bigot– who, in case you’re forgetting, was a half-blood himself. You are the one who soiled the Nott name. You should be ashamed, not me,” Theo said, feeling his jaw clench.
“You’re wrong,” his father said, eyes narrowing. “You think it’s all about me? This is about you. You are the one who couldn’t live up to the standards I set. You’re the one who couldn’t even hold our name with any dignity. At least I stood for something– at least I still do. I may be locked away, but I know where my loyalties lie. That’s more than I can say for you, boy. And now you want me to just hand over what’s mine? No. You haven’t earned it.”
Theo’s mouth went dry, and for a moment, he thought he might snap. But he forced the words out, cold and calculated. “You think withholding it from me will change anything? I don’t care if you give me a single Knut, I’ve already moved on from your "legacy." I’m nothing like you. I never will be. And I'm fucking glad.”
“Moved on?” Nott Sr.’s voice was a low growl, his gaze sharpening. “You think you’ve somehow escaped this? You’ll always be my son, Theodore. You’ll always carry that shame. The shame of being too weak to carry on what I started. You can try to walk away, but you’ll never be free of me. Anywhere you go, my influence will follow you– unfortunately for me, although you share my name, you’ll never be free of the failure you are.”
Theo stood up slowly, his eyes hard as steel. “I don't care what you say about me- I've already heard it all from you. You've been a poor excuse for a father my whole life, and I don't know why I expected anything more than that from you today. I don’t need you, and I don’t need your inheritance. You’re right about one thing, Father. I don’t deserve it. You can rot away in here, clinging to your precious fortune for all I care. That legacy will die with you. And no one will mourn you. No one will care."
Nott Sr. made a low, almost imperceptible noise of frustration. “It’s not too late, you know,” his father said, trying to call him back. “Come back and see me again, and bring your Mudblood. Maybe she’ll let me have a taste so I can see for myself what all the fuss–”
“Go fuck yourself,” Theo hissed. “She won’t be coming anywhere near you. Keep your money. I don’t want it.”
“You’ll regret this, Theodore. You’ll regret not taking what’s rightfully yours. You’ll regret not claiming your birthright,” Nott Sr. called after him.
Theo turned toward the door, his voice quiet but resolute. “No. I’ve already made my peace with who I am. I don’t need anything from you anymore. Not your approval. Not your inheritance. Not your name. This is the last time you'll see me. Goodbye, father. I hope the rest of your life is as miserable as you are.”
As he walked out, he could feel his father’s hate-filled stare burning into his back. But he didn’t look back. Not this time.
----------------
When he arrived back in his dorm, Hermione was already there, anxiously pacing the room. Her eyes widened when he entered.
“Are you okay?” She asked him immediately, her face overflowing with concern. With love.
Theo nodded solemnly. “I’m okay.” Was he? He didn’t know, really. There was an unmistakable weight off his shoulders, now that the visit was over with. But his father’s words were like a foul stench that seeped into his skin and clung to him, lingering in the spaces between his thoughts. The way he’d talked about Hermione– every bitter remark gnawed at him, leaving behind an unsettling feeling that crawled beneath his flesh. He couldn’t shake the sensation that his father’s contempt had stained him, seeped into his veins, leaving him feeling as though he were somehow tainted, like the very blood in his body had been polluted by the weight of his father’s hatred.
“Are you ready to talk about it?” She asked softly.
He shook his head no. “Not yet.” Theo didn’t know why, but he didn’t want her to touch him. It felt like the warmth of her hands might burn, like it would somehow pull that poison to the surface. He was afraid that if she held him, if she tried to ease the sting of it, she might catch it too. He couldn’t bear to think of her seeing him like this. Like if she put her hands on him, she would somehow feel the words his father had said, that she would see how twisted he truly was. How twisted he’d made Theo. So, he held the space between them, his own heart feeling heavier with every breath.
“I think I need a shower. I’ll catch up with you later?” He said, avoiding her eyes.
“Okay,” Hermione said, her brow furrowed. She opened her mouth then closed it again and began to walk towards the door. She was probably going to cry. He hated himself. He thought about calling after her, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he headed into the bathroom, yanking his clothes off and throwing them on the floor as the water began to run, steam filling the room. He wanted to burn the clothes, he thought.
He stepped under the water, closing his eyes as it ran down his face. If he just stayed here, he could almost forget about the damp chill in the air, about the smell, about the way his father’s cruel eyes had bored into him, at the way his words had sliced through Theo’s skin. Suddenly, he heard the door open and shut, and then Hermione was pulling back the curtain, throwing her clothes on the floor beside his, stepping into the shower.
“What are you doing?” Theo said, his voice breaking.
“Being with you,” she said, the water beginning to dampen her curls, the droplets running down her body. She stepped towards him, and he nearly backed away, but she didn’t relent. “Come here,” she demanded, wrapping her arms around him. Her nails were almost digging into his back, pulling him closer. He was tense, so tense, but she didn’t let go.
“Hermione,” he mumbled, not sure if it was in protest or want. “You can’t–”
“I can’t what? Touch you?” She asked, still holding him. “What happened, Theo?”
Theo sighed. “I can’t. I don’t want to tell you the things he said. You’d never look at me the same.”
“Why would the things your father said make me look at you any differently?” She asked, like it was that simple.
“Because he said things about you, Hermione. He knows about you. I don’t even know how, but he does. And he said the most awful things. Things I never want to repeat. It made me sick– I feel sick.” He choked on a sob, stifling his nausea.
He waited for her to pull away, but she didn’t. She was looking at him with such care, such softness. “Promise me you’ll never go see him again,” she said gently.
“I’ll never go see him again. He could be on his deathbed and I still wouldn’t,” he said, his voice miserable.
Hermione nodded, placing a hand on his chest. “Okay.”
“Are you upset with me?” Theo asked quietly.
“Theo– no! Why would I be upset with you?” Hermione looked horrified.
“Because I went to see him even though you didn’t want me to. Because I let him say those things about you. Because he knows we’re together and he wants to hurt you and– because he’s my father. Because he’s who raised me,” he said finally, watching a water droplet trickle down the tile next to him.
“Look at me,” she demanded, as she often did, but he couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to. “Theodore. Look. at. Me,” she said again, firmly, like there was no room for argument. Theo lifted his eyes to hers.
Her expression softened and she touched his face. “Whatever your father said– it doesn’t change the way I see you. It never will. You’re nothing like him- not in any way. You’re kind, you’re strong, and you care about people—about me. I know that seeing him wasn’t easy for you. I know it hurt. But I’m proud of you. I’m proud that you went, even though you knew how difficult it would be, even though I didn't want you to. It takes strength to face someone who’s hurt you, someone who’s hurt the people you care about. That’s not weakness, Theo. That’s courage.”
He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving hers, feeling her words begin to ground him to reality again.
“You’re not your father. And you never will be,” she added, her voice low but fierce. “I’m not upset with you for going to see him. I understand why you did. But what matters now is that you’re here. You’re here with me, and I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together, Theo. And nothing—nothing he says—will ever change how I feel about you. Understand?”
Theo finally leaned into her then, feeling her warm body press against his, the water dripping down both of their faces. “I’m so sorry, Hermione,” he said, feeling tears forming, to his embarrassment. “I love you. I’m so sorry.”
Hermione shushed him, brushing his wet hair away from his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You faced your father. Now you can move on with your life. Now we can move on with our lives. You get to start over, Theo. With me.”
Theo felt her words sink in, letting their warmth spread through his chest. He could start over. With Hermione. “I’m not going to get my inheritance,” he said quietly.
“Good,” she said fiercely. “You don’t need it. You don’t need him. We’ll figure things out, I promise.”
“I love you,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. Her lips were soft and warm, beckoning him in. Grounding him. He kissed her hungrily, begging her to forgive him– for what, he didn’t know, but she was so good, so pure, so real. Her lips chased away the ugliness, the poison his father had left behind, her warmth washing through his bloodstream like an antidote. Hermione didn’t care that he had no money, that his father was a stain on society. He was enough for her, as he was.
“I’m still going to take care of you,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.
“I know,” she smiled up at him, her chest still rising and falling from his kiss. She reached for the washcloth and soap, beginning to wash his chest, his shoulders. Washing away the remnants of his father. "And I’ll take care of you, remember?” Her eyes were wide, earnest. Liquid warmth.
He smiled and closed his eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Thank you for coming in here, Hermione. For not letting me hide from you. I’m sorry I even tried to.”
------------------
Without having to think about his father, without having to grapple with the decision of his inheritance, Theo felt lighter. He could enjoy things. He could relax. Even with N.E.W.T.s looming, he was free, unburdened for perhaps the first time in his life. Theo almost felt like a normal eighteen year old, only worrying about exams, wondering what he’d do after graduation, when he could shag his girlfriend next. Spring break was right around the corner, and he’d be able to go back to the Weasleys. He had things to look forward to. Theo still had the occasional nightmare, he still had days when he woke up feeling like there was a shadow hanging over his head, but for the most part, he was happy. Hermione loved him, his father was in Azkaban, and he was happy.
The day they arrived at the Weasleys, Theo was surprised when Potter knocked on his door. He hadn’t even begun unpacking, just flopped down onto Charlie’s bed, content to lay there and take everything in for a moment.
“Potter?” He sat up on his elbows, his expression puzzled.
“Nott- I’m afraid we’ve been roped into a double date,” Potter said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“A double date?” Theo echoed, eyebrows raised. “What exactly does that entail?”
“No idea, but knowing those two, there’s no use in asking questions. I’ve just been told to come fetch you and tell you to dress in Muggle clothing. Denims and whatnot,” Potter said.
“But I don’t have Muggle clothing,” Theo said slowly.
“Er, right. 'Mione thought you might say that. I’ve got some you can borrow,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.
Merlin, this was odd. A double date with Ginny and Potter, dressed in Potter’s Muggle clothes? His father would blow a gasket, which actually made the idea significantly more appealing to Theo. “Alright then,” he said, catching the pile of clothes Potter was tossing at him.
Once he’d dressed in the pair of faded denims, he opted for his own grey jumper rather than the hoodie Potter had offered him. Fortunately, Theo did own trainers, and he laced them up before heading downstairs, wondering what on Earth Hermione had roped him into. She, of course, looked stunning in a short yellow sundress, sandals, and a denim jacket. Her hair was down, curls falling around her face. She grinned at him.
“I like you in denims,” she said, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.
He blushed. “You look lovely. I wish I knew we were going on a date,” he mumbled. “I would’ve gotten you flowers.”
“Why didn’t you say that, Harry? You’re a real tosser, you know that?” Ginny joked, elbowing Potter, who grimaced.
“Thanks, Gin. So are we allowed to know where we’re going now?” Potter asked.
“Yes,” Hermione said. “Muggle London!”
Theo raised his eyebrows. He was embarrassed to admit he’d never been to Muggle London– really, not to Muggle anywhere, at least not since his mother had died. He and Potter had popped out to the Muggle grocery shop over Christmas to get Hermione sweets, but that was a tiny store in the middle of nowhere.
Seeming to read his mind, Hermione looped an arm through his. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got the two best tour guides around,” she said, gesturing to herself and Harry. “We’re practically experts on Muggle culture.”
“Ugh, you sound like my dad,” Ginny said. “Anyways, shall we?”
They stepped into the Floo, and the next thing Theo knew, he was stepping out into the Leaky Cauldron. He followed the group to a brick wall, where Hermione tapped her wand a few times and the bricks began to move, and then they were in Muggle London. The streets were bustling with cars, people, and general sights, smells, and sounds that Theo had never encountered before. Like stepping into another universe, almost. When he really looked around, had a moment to take it all in, it wasn’t actually all that different from wizarding London, but he was mesmerized just the same. He felt like a wonderstruck child, staring up at the tall buildings, watching the cars go by with fascination. Hermione giggled and took his hand.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” She said, grinning at him.
They began to wander around, Theo insisting on stopping at every storefront, admiring all the displays, asking Hermione and Potter (but mostly Hermione) a thousand questions. Ginny, although clearly not as comfortable here as the other two, had obviously spent at least some time in the Muggle world, because she was nowhere near as eager as Theo. They walked until they found a coffee shop, and Hermione suggested they go grab a pick-me-up. Having only drank Hermione’s homemade coffee, Theo was taken aback by the extensive menu with words like “cappuccino” and “cortado.” Hermione helped him settle on a caramel latte, which he found to be delicious. They ordered some scones and sat down at a table in the cafe.
“So what else is on the agenda for today?’ Theo asked curiously.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Theodore?” Ginny replied, looking as impish as ever.
Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend. “More exploring, most likely, and then we have a dinner reservation at seven,” she said, and Theo noticed she was glowing. Positively radiant.
“I really need to get you out in the Muggle world more often,” he murmured into her ear, and she blushed.
“Why do you say that?” She whispered back.
“It suits you,” Theo said, tucking a curl behind her ear.
“Oooh, can I try? I’m not opposed to a little third wheel action– there’s a Muggle hotel right down the street,” Ginny interrupted, wiggling her eyebrows as she reached over and brushed a hand through Hermione’s hair, mimicking Theo’s action.
Potter groaned. “Ah, Gin,” he said, shooting Theo a pained expression.
Hermione laughed, swatting Ginny’s hand away while Theo turned a deep shade of pink.
The conversation drifted from exams, to who had asked out who recently, to their plans for after graduation. It was nice, Theo thought, to sit around and chat with their friends. Hermione looked happier than he’d seen her in weeks, laughing harder than she normally did. She was all freckles and smiles and curls, her amber eyes shining. It made him feel like he was floating on a cloud. Eventually, they left the cafe and wandered some more, stopping when they stumbled upon an open-air market, the entire street blocked off from cars. There was an endless row of stalls, each vendor selling something slightly different– teas, chocolates, paintings, jewelry, books. They took their time, stopping to browse and talk to the merchants. A man with a guitar played a setlist of songs, none of which Theo had ever heard before, but quite liked. He was forced to conclude Muggle music was significantly better than wizarding music, a fact which Hermione heartily agreed with.
While he was in the middle of studying a particularly interesting photograph of a group of elephants, Hermione squealed. “Ohmygosh, I love this song!”
Theo smiled at her. “What’s it called?”
Before she could answer, Potter was walking up to her. “Do you hear this song, 'Mione? I haven’t heard it in ages! Since–”
“Since we were kids right? It was one of my dad’s favourites,” Hermione said, and Theo flinched at the mention of her father, but she was smiling. Like the memory was bringing her joy.
“My Uncle Vernon had it on vinyl, believe it or not,” Harry grinned. “I used to play the record all the time when they left me home alone.”
Hermione grabbed her best friend by the arm, pulling him towards to the musician where others were gathering. Theo smiled as he watched her dance, swaying slightly to the music, singing along to the words. He watched Hermione for a while, mesmerized by her- not wanting to disturb her, content just to watch her glow. He couldn’t make out all the words, but there was a refrain that kept repeating.
I wanna hold your ha-and, I wanna hold your hand.
It was catchy, upbeat. Theo decided he liked it, and would ask Hermione to play it for him again sometime. Humming along, he stepped onto the sidewalk, peaking in the display windows of the nearby shops. Something shiny caught his eye, and he found himself standing in front of a jeweler, looking at diamond rings. He studied each one, cautiously imagining sliding one of them onto Hermione’s finger some day. The thought sent a flurry of nerves down his body, but something warm like anticipation bloomed as well. Not now, but someday, he knew- he hoped.
“She wouldn’t want anything too showy.”
Theo's head snapped up, cheeks flaming at what he’d just been caught doing. Ginny was standing beside him, smirking at him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
“I wasn’t–” he started.
“Please, Nott. I see how you look at her. We both know you’ve been planning your proposal since the moment she looked your way.” Her words were teasing, but her tone was gentle, a rarity for the youngest Weasley.
He shrugged at her and smiled, as if to say, what can I do? He knew he was a simpering mess for Hermione. Apparently everyone else did too. He didn’t mind though, not really.
“But really, I know it’s early, but are you looking for advice?” Ginny asked earnestly, albeit slyly.
“Oh, erm… sure?” Theo answered. Was he really having this conversation right now?
“She’d definitely want something Muggle. But it would have to be ethically sourced, whatever that means. She went on a whole rant about ‘blood diamonds’ once, a while back. But other than that– you know Hermione. She’d want something simple, understated, nothing too flashy. Frankly, I think she’d happily accept anything you give her, though. Don’t let this go to your head–” Ginny narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. “But my girl Hermione’s got it bad for you. She really loves you. Don’t bugger it up, yeah?”
Theo tried to process all the words Ginny had just unloaded on him, blinking. “Of course not,” he said solemnly. “I mean, knowing myself, it’s always a distinct possibility. But I intend to do my very best to make her happy.”
Ginny smiled at him, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. Theo gave her a strange look in return, then a nod of thanks. “I hope Potter doesn’t bugger it up too badly, either- erm, with you I mean,” he offered.
Ginny snorted. “Please. He’s buggered it up about as badly as one can and still somehow managed to hold onto me. It can’t get much worse than your boyfriend sacrificing himself to Lord Voldemort before you even got a chance to tell him you love him,” she said, joking, but there was a darkness in her expression.
Theo was surprised at the vulnerability. “Fair enough. But that decision is likely the reason we’re standing here today, isn’t it?”
Ginny nodded in acquiescence. “Yes, yes. The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One. I’ve heard it all. He’s very noble. Bit of a martyr complex, though.”
Theo shrugged. “There are worse complexes to have.”
“Too right you are,” Ginny studied him, and his eyes darted awkwardly back to the rings. “Like an imposter complex, maybe?”
Now he got the sense she was talking about him, and his eyes found the sidewalk, his hand running absently through his hair. “Sure,” he managed. “Know anyone like that?” It was an attempt at a joke, but she barely laughed.
“I do. You know, we all think highly of you, Theo.” He glanced up at her. She’d never called him Theo before. “I can’t believe I’m paying you all these compliments today,” she muttered. “Must be something in the Muggle air. But really, we do. I think you two deserve each other– that you deserve Hermione. And trust me– I wouldn’t say that about just anyone. I wouldn’t even say my own brother deserved her.”
Theo’s nose wrinkled slightly, involuntarily, at the thought of Hermione and Ron together. Ginny caught his expression. “Apologies for planting that image in your head. In both of our heads, really,” she made an even more exaggerated face of disgust than his own.
“It’s alright,” he said, smiling nervously. “Thanks for saying all that, though. It’s er– it’s nice to hear. I don’t think I’ll ever deserve Hermione, but I appreciate the faith you all have in me.”
“Hm that’s fine. Mum always says a man should lean toward humility rather than arrogance. Makes for a better husband. A better lover,” she winked.
Theo laughed nervously. Why was she like this? Just then, Hermione and Potter found them, Hermione linking her arm through his. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her smile was infectious.
“What are you two up to?” She asked, glancing at the display window in front of them. Whoops.Caught red handed, he thought.
“Theodore and I were just discussing when we thought Harry might propose,” Ginny said, and he threw her a grateful but subtle glance. “My money’s on twenty years from now, but he thinks it’ll be sooner– maybe ten if I’m a very, very good girl!”
Potter’s face reddened as he clumsily stammered something out along the lines of you’ve got to stop doing this– we’re not even out of school yet– you know it’s coming– but don’t start planning a bloody wedding yet.
Theo laughed ruthlessly at Potter’s misery, grateful that it wasn’t him in that position. Hermione, however, perceptive witch that she was, studied him with interest. “Helping Ginny browse engagement rings, then? Offering some expert advice?”
“Something like that,” he muttered, knowing his own face was now likely as red as Potter’s.
“Mmm,” Hermione said knowingly, giving him an affectionate smile. And that was that. “It’s nearly seven. Shall we head to dinner?”
So they did, and Theo was introduced to something called Sushi for the first time. He was hesitant at first– “It’s raw fish?” He asked Hermione, eyeing her with uncertainty.
“Some of it is, but you’ll like it!” She insisted, then leaned into his ear. “If you don’t like it, I owe you a favour for being such a good, adventurous boy.”
Theo swallowed, his pulse racing. After that comment, he was determined to hate the food, but unfortunately, he didn’t. It was delicious, and he was decidedly upset that the wizarding world didn’t have anything like this. They tried something called Sake, which Theo didn’t like so much but still managed to drink more than his fair share of, enjoying the pleasantly warm buzz it left in his body.
“Do I still get my favour, even though I liked the raw fish?” He asked, his lips grazing her ear.
Hermione shivered pleasantly in response.“I suppose you do– you have been an awfully good boy.”
“I have, haven’t I?” Theo grinned. “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.”
“Thank you,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “It’s nice being here, isn’t it? It feels like there’s more than just Hogwarts, more than just the wizarding world. Like we have options. Possibilities.”
Theo nodded, never taking his eyes off her. “It is. I know what you mean. Makes me think about the future,” he said, looking at her meaningfully. “It’s nice to look forward to the future.”
-----------------
As their final weeks at Hogwarts lay in front of them, Theo found himself trying to soak up every moment he could. Upon returning from Spring break, he was suddenly struck with the feeling that prior to this, he had been too distracted– too miserable, too terrified of his father, too shy, too stuck inside his own head to truly enjoy his time at school. The smell of the library, the crackling fireplace in the Slytherin common room, the dancing candles in the Great Hall, the sound of a raucous Quidditch game. The way Hermione bit her lip in concentration while she read, the way Professor Flitwick clapped his hands with delight when Theo mastered a particularly difficult charm, the way the moon reflected off the Black Lake at night. It was a bittersweet feeling, suddenly being so attuned to the castle around him, somehow already missing it before he’d even left. Soon, he’d be thrust into the real world with a job and responsibilities. But for a few more short weeks, he was a Hogwarts student, and it was blissful.
He played drinking games with Draco and Blaise, jumped on a broom from time to time with Potter, even went to feed the Thestrals once with Luna Lovegood– a fairly bizarre experience he frankly didn’t care to repeat, but appreciated nonetheless. He spent several hours at Three Broomsticks with Hermione, Potter, Ron, Draco, Neville, Ginny, and Luna, reminiscing on their first few years at school, how young and naïve they’d all been. They talked about Snape, how much of a codger he’d been during Potions class, but how he’d surprised them all in the end. They talked about Lockhart, everyone crying tears of laughter as they recalled the time he’d released Cornish Pixies into the classroom, or when he’d decorated the Great Hall for Valentine’s Day, encouraging everyone to go to Professor Snape should they be in need of Love Potions. They glossed over the more complicated, painful memories– for his and Draco’s benefit, Theo was sure. Or maybe the Gryffindors, like him, had their fair share of death, pain, and dark magic, preferring to linger on the lighter side of things. He couldn’t blame them if that was the case– between the lot of them, they should’ve been able to retire by age eighteen.
One Spring day, Theo was called to Headmistress McGonagall’s office. Nervously, he approached the portrait, mumbling the password he’d been given earlier– “Tempus Fugit.” As he entered, McGonagall called out to him, inviting him to come sit at her desk.
“Hello, Headmistress,” he said nervously, glancing around the room at the various portraits. He realized in all his years at Hogwarts, he’d never actually set foot in the Headmaster’s office.
“Hello, Mr. Nott,” she replied, her voice kind. “How have you been? I apologize that I haven’t reached out to you sooner– I realize you are on your way out the door, so to speak, but I simply couldn’t allow you to leave Hogwarts without sitting down to chat.”
“Oh,” he said, flustered. “Erm, it’s alright. I didn’t expect you to, or anything.”
McGonagall smiled at him over her spectacles. “This may come as a surprise to you, Mr. Nott, but I’ve kept an eye on you over the years. I regret that I haven’t done more to help you. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but before his untimely death, Professor Snape was attempting to find a way to support you. He was concerned about your well-being, about your father’s treatment of you,” she looked at him firmly.
“He was?” Theo asked, genuinely shocked. Snape had been trying to help him? “I– I honestly had no idea. I’m not sure what to say,” he said.
“I understand. It’s a lot to unpack, I realize that. Should you have any questions about it, please don’t hesitate to ask me– today or any other day, and I’ll do my best to answer them.” She smiled sadly. “But in regards to the present, I’ll admit that I’ve noticed a change in you, Mr. Nott. For starters, who you spend your time with.”
Theo blushed. “Ah– er, you’re referring to Hermione, then?”
The woman smiled knowingly. “In part, yes. I’m not here to pry into your personal life. I’ve been pleased to see that yourself and Mr. Malfoy appear to have befriended some Gryffindors. But mainly, Mr. Nott, I’ve noticed that you seem to have come into your own. I will admit, I was concerned about you for a time.”
Theo ran a hand through his hair. “Yes ma’am, I guess I can understand that. My father was– we’ve never seen eye to eye. Things at home were… not good. I hope you’ll forgive me if I say I’m overjoyed to see him behind bars.”
McGonagall’s eyebrows raised, but she hardly blinked. “I see. I’d suspected you didn’t share your father’s beliefs, and seeing you with Ms. Granger and her fellow Gryffindors all but confirmed that for me. I’m glad to hear you’re free of him, but surely you know that trauma like that doesn’t resolve itself overnight.”
“I do,” he nodded solemnly. “Thanks to Hermione, I’ve been seeing Healer Caldwell, and he’s helped me sort through some of that. I’ve still got a long way to go, of course, but I really do feel better. Much better.”
“I’m very glad to hear that, Mr. Nott. You’re a bright young man– your marks have always demonstrated that, but I can see now that your intelligence goes far beyond academics. Have you given any consideration to what you’d like to do after graduation?” McGonagall asked.
Theo sighed. “Er, sort of. It’s complicated. I’m a bit worried about how my name will affect my chances of employment, of how I'll be perceived. I’m afraid people will make assumptions about my beliefs based on… history,” he mumbled.
“I can certainly understand that. Mr. Nott– or would you prefer Theodore?”
“Theodore, please,” he said quickly. “Or Theo.”
The Headmistress nodded. “Very well then. Let me ask you this, Theodore. Did you have a favourite class here at Hogwarts? Or a subject that interests you in particular?”
Theo pondered. He honestly enjoyed most of his classes, but a few stood out. “I guess if I had to choose, I’d say Charms and Potions were my favourites.”
McGonagall cocked her head. “Interesting. And what about those subjects interests you?”
"I’ve always felt that Charms are the closest thing to real magic, if that makes any sense at all. A flick of the wand, and the world can change. And Potions—there’s something almost meditative about it. Following the steps, watching everything come together… it’s like a bit of alchemy in every lesson. I suppose I’ve always liked the idea that the right combination of ingredients can mend something broken—whether it’s a potion for a wound or just the right spell at the right moment,” he said, his voice beginning to trail off towards the end. He couldn’t believe he’d just blurted all that out.
“It makes complete sense to me, dear boy. An admirable perspective. Magic, at its best, is about restoration—whether mending a torn robe, a shattered object, or something far less tangible. Not everyone has the patience for such work, nor the instinct to see where it is needed most. Those who do often find their talents put to great use,” McGonagall said, and he saw a faint twinkle in her eye.
Theo contemplated. “Is it– are you possibly referring to Healing, Headmistress? I’ve never really thought much about healing as a profession. But it is interesting—how spells and potions can fix things so quickly.”
McGonagall nodded. “You know, I actually considered going into Healing myself, before I became interested in Transfiguration. It’s a noble field. Madam Pomfrey, a good friend of mind, always told me that true healing isn’t always instantaneous. Some wounds—physical or otherwise—require patience, knowledge, and care beyond just a well-placed spell."
Theo’s brow furrowed as he mulled over her words. “You mean healing beyond magic?”
"There are those who would say healing is as much about understanding as it is about power. Not every ailment can be cured with a wand alone. There are methods—some quite ingenious—that take a different approach, ones that rely on study, precision, and time rather than immediate results,” McGonagall smiled.
“Like Muggle methods?” Theo asked, now fascinated.
“Certainly, Theodore. For all our advancements in magical healing, there are things Muggle methods have mastered that we have not. Their approach to medicine—science, they call it—is rather remarkable in its own right.”
“I’ve honestly never given Muggle medicine any thought at all,” he confessed. “Not that I think it’s inferior, per se– I just haven’t been exposed to it. And I’ve been told my whole life that Muggles are inferior. I don’t believe that to be true, though,” he added hastily. And it was true, he thought.
“Many people are afraid of that which they do not understand. And as you know, fear can breed hatred. You should be proud that you chose not to follow that path, Theodore,” McGonagall said, her expression stern but sincere. “Wizards and witches have spent centuries refining magical healing, yet there are afflictions we still struggle to cure. Muggles, without a single drop of magic, have found ways to heal through knowledge, study, and sheer determination. Their methods may not be as quick, but they are precise, thorough, and in some cases, more effective than anything we can conjure.”
Her words had Theo’s mind spinning. “Has anyone ever thought to combine them? Muggle medicine and Healing?”
“That, Theodore, is an interesting thought. Few in our world have ever thought to bridge that gap—to ask what might be possible if magic and Muggle medicine worked together rather than apart. Perhaps that is a question worth exploring. A truly gifted healer is one who does not limit themselves to what they already know, but seeks to learn what they do not. Such an endeavor, while ambitious, would surely change lives.”