Willow
Theodore noticed he still had a bit of blue paint under his thumbnail.
He halfheartedly scratches it off, despite knowing that there were probably more paint splotches somewhere on his person. The lighting in his studio at home surpasses anything he can find at Hogwarts, so he had spent all morning painting as much as he could, before having to pack it all away frantically for the Hogwarts Express. He had barely bothered (or had time) to look himself over in the mirror for any stains before saying goodbye to Amalie.
He had woken up early to fit in as much painting time as possible, and the long day was wearing on him. He was already wishing the Sorting and Welcome Feast were over, along with the usual posturing in the Slytherin common room that usually follows, so he could head to bed. Glancing across the table at Blaise, his friend’s eyes move up from Theodore’s hands to meet his eyes.
“What were you working on today?” Blaise asks.
Theodore smiles, especially proud of his current work. “It’s a beach scene during a storm. You’d like it.”
In truth, it’s one of Theodore’s better pieces. He’d painted forked lightning streaking across a dark sky, above heaving and angry waves. The sand on the beach was a stark black, although if that was the natural color or if the heavy rain and clouds darkened, he wasn’t sure. Theodore never quite knew what he was painting until the image was already taking shape on his canvas.
“Did you bring it with you, mio amico, or will I have to wait until term ends to see it in person?”
“I packed it. It doesn’t quite feel finished yet. And I still have to do the rune work to give it anima.”
Blaise is just opening his mouth again to respond when the doors to the Great Hall swing open, and McGonagall, followed by a crowd of nervous looking first years, enter the room. Theodore is surveying them, doing his annual habit of trying to pick out the soon-to-be-Slytherin students, when he spots -
“What’s Potter doing with the first years?” Malfoy sneers from further down the table.
Parkinson laughs, “Do you think he’s flunked all the way back to Year One? They’re just kicking him back to the start because he’s too much of a moron to take OWLs this year!”
Theodore thinks that’s quite an attitude to take for someone who’s sitting not-so-comfortably in the bottom 10 of their class. Parkinson, for all her pride, is terribly unacademic, although she tries to say it’s just down to “test anxiety.” Actually cracking open her texts books for revision now and then would probably help calm that anxiety, but no one ever seems to call her out on it.
Although, to be fair to her, Theodore doesn’t have any better ideas on why Harry Potter is walking behind the first years, sticking out like a unicorn in a thestral herd. Theodore knows Potter isn’t an idiot, though. Potions grades aside, Potter has always been towards the top of the class - particularly in Defense - and Theodore supposes that if Potter would stop having death defying adventures every year, he might even climb to the top 10 in class rankings.
Theodore watches Potter follow the small crowd to the front of the Great Hall. He glances to either side of him once, but otherwise keeps his gaze towards the front of the room. He looks - ill, Theodore suddenly realizes. The hollows of his cheeks shadowed, the circles under his eyes heavy with bruises.
Theodore wonders if this results from some sickness he picked up over summer break, or if it’s the lasting impact of what Potter experienced at the end of last term. Despite The Prophet and the Ministry’s refusal to accept the Dark Lord’s return, Theodore heard it straight from his uncle’s mouth, a recounting of what occurred the night Potter disappeared from under Dumbledore’s nose and returned with a dead classmate clutched to his side.
Potter’s countenance reminds Theodore of those last few weeks his father spent in St Mungo’s, when the healers had carefully broached the subject of changing their focus to “pain mitigation and comfort” instead of actually healing him of the slow acting illness he had died from.
This couldn’t have just been the lingering effects of the TriWizard Tournament and the tragedy the Third Task had resulted in. Although Potter had been reclusive in those couple weeks between the third task and the end of term, he had been seen around the castle, and he’d mostly just looked like an unfortunate mixture of grieving and terrified.
Just a few months later, and Potter looked inches from a sick bed. Theodore wondered what had happened over the summer to cause it.
McGonagall, now at the front of the room, finally provides a vague explanation for Potter’s presence.
A clerical issue? Theodore wonders, What kind of clerical issue requires a bloody re-sort? Had Potter been expelled?
Ignoring the fevered whispers ringing throughout the room, Theodore focuses on Potter. He would have assumed the Boy-Who-Lived would have been fuming at the indignity, or laughing at everyone - even the Hogwarts staff - questioning his utter Gryffindor-ness.
Malfoy seems to feel similarly. “Honestly, we all know where Scar Head is going. Why don’t they just chuck him back to the Gryffindorks and save us all the time?”
Potter’s head turns just slightly to watch the first boy go under the hat, and Theodore is surprised to find his face isn’t showing irritation or humor or…much of anything, really. His face is startlingly blank, and for once there’s no slump in his shoulders. Potter’s chin is up, his shoulders straight, and back tall. The only break in the perfect posture is his hands. They’re tucked into his robe pockets instead of loose at his sides or clasped behind his back.
It’s another dramatic change, considering every other time Theodore has seen Potter, he’s been slumped over into himself, usually with his chin tucked down. Really, the only times Potter has approached this demeanor is when he’s facing down Snape in the dungeons and is filled with a righteous hatred.
The crowd of first years dwindles as they join their houses, but Theodore can’t pay them any attention, barely even recognizing when his own house gains students. He claps when those around him applaud, but otherwise spends the entire sorting focused on Potter.
There’s something…off about him. Not just that he’s apparently learned a solid poker face in the last two months, or fixed his truly abhorrent posture, or even finally purchased some robes that don’t look like they’ve come from a bargain bin.
No, there’s something else that’s changed. Something about Potter reminds Theodore of his blank canvases. They’re never really blank - the painting that is meant to be painted on them already exists. Theodore just hasn’t brought it to life yet. The painting is hidden, obscured from his eyes, but not his senses or his magic.
Potter reminds him of that.
Eventually, the crowd dwindles, until it’s just Potter standing alone in front of the staff table. He waits until the last first year is seated and then walks up the few steps to the stool. Potter puts the sorting hat on with little fanfare, aiming his blank face out towards the rest of the students.
Theodore is expecting the hat to scream “Gryffindor” immediately, or at least within a few seconds of being placed on Potter’s head. But the seconds drag on.
Maybe the Hat wanted a chat? Must get boring if your only conversation partners are a senile geriatric and a bunch of eleven year olds.
Ignoring Malfoy’s frenzied whispers of Potter not getting resorted at all and just getting the boot, Theodore keeps his attention on Potter.
And so he notices when Potter’s expression cracks - just barely. Just a moment before the wide brim of the Hat opens, Theodore thinks he picks up something from Potter’s face - resignation or weariness maybe, as evidenced by the slight downturn of Potter’s lips and a minute slump in his soldiers. It’s gone just as quickly, and Potter is back to his marble statue impression by the time the Hat shouts out, “SLYTHERIN!”
Theodore blinks. And then blinks again. That’s unexpected.
The hall is dead silent for what feels like a lifetime, but Theodore knows it is more like ten seconds at most, as everyone seems to draw in a deep breath and then freeze in shock.
Harry Potter, a Slytherin? The very idea of it seems preposterous - Gryffindor’s Golden Boy, the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The-Antithesis-of-Everything-Dark being sent down to the dungeons with the other evil snakes? If the hall hadn’t been so resoundingly silent, Theodore would have burst out laughing at the very idea of it.
Glancing down the length of his table, he has to bite his lip to keep his expression neutral. Malfoy looks like someone slapped him across the face. Theodore, not for the first time, imagines it’s what he looked like two years ago when Granger punched him.
Gods, I still wish I could have seen that.
Truly, seeing Malfoy with a bloody nose - courtesy of a muggleborn - has to be second only to witnessing him hear his hated rival would soon join him in Slytherin House. Looking away from Malfoy’s dumbfounded expression, Theodore tries to judge the rest of Slytherin House’s reaction. Most of the fourth years and up have better control of their expressions than Draco, although it’s clear some are struggling to adopt the usual polite expression that purebloods are taught as soon as they’re weaned.
He sees plenty of widened eyes, or barely parted lips betraying surprise. Across from him, Blaise isn’t even attempting to control his expression, and is watching Potter as if he’s an especially comedic play.
The rest of the Great Hall isn’t much better. The Gryffindors just starting to react with confused exclamations. The Hufflepuffs are staring at Potter with suspicion and fear - likely still angry over the events of last year - and the Ravenclaw table is watching Potter with fascination.
Focusing back on the boy himself, Theodore looks to Potter, as he stands from the stool and returns it to a taken-aback McGonagall. Theodore would have expected him to rage against this resort, or at least demand more time under the hat to try to convince it against this decision, but Potter says nothing. Turning smoothly on his heel, the newest Slytherin begins the walk to his new table, his red and gold-trimmed robe already fading to emerald and silver.
Potter seems - entirely unsurprised or upset. The slowly growing murmurs and glares aimed at Potter went unregistered, or at least intentionally ignored, as Potter continued on his way to the Slytherin table.
Glancing now towards the staff table, Theodore saw many of the same reactions as the students. Surprise, dismay, etc.
The outliers were Dumbledore, who was staring hard at his own hands, steepled in front of him, Snape glaring at Potter as if the boy had slaughtered Snape’s mother, and the Ministry plant who looked like she’d sucked on lemons.
In other words, everyone was reacting exactly how Theodore would have guessed if he had ever imagined Potter becoming a Slytherin - not that the idea had ever even crossed Theodore’s mind before. Really, the only person whose reaction was a surprise was Potter himself.
Looking again at Blaise, Theodore tilts his head just slightly and raises a brow, glancing at the spot next to Blaise. Without needing to say anything, Blaise slides down just enough that there is an open seat, the only available spot near the rest of the fifth year Slytherins. Potter, just reaching them, tracks Blaise’s movements and takes the seat naturally, as if he’d always been aiming for this seat.
Once Potter sits, he looks up and makes eye contact with Theodore, now directly across the table from him.
Theodore realizes this is, without a doubt, the closest he has ever been to Potter, and certainly the first (and probably only) time the other boy has bothered with giving him much attention. Usually, in any Slytherin/Gryffindor interaction, Malfoy is quick to get Potter’s focus, and his ire.
Theodore can practically feel Malfoy gearing up to say something to Potter. Something nasty, no doubt, and for some reason, Theodore doesn’t want the first words from Potter’s new house to be spoken out of spite.
Without stopping to think on his reasoning further, Theodore says, “Welcome to Slytherin, Potter. I don’t think anyone imagined this would be the result of you going back under the Hat, but I suppose there’s been odder sortings.”
Not that Theodore could think of one at the moment, but surely in Hogwarts’ thousand years of existence, there had been other surprises during The Sorting.
Potter seems to weigh Theodore’s words for a moment, judging if there was an insult intended, before nodding at him, “Thank you. It’s not how I expected my night to go either, but I suppose there’s no going back now.”
“I’m Theodore Nott. I don’t think we’ve spoken much before.”
Theodore extends his hand across the table, and can practically hear the Slytherin’s around him stop breathing. For a split second, he had forgotten, until after already starting the movement to put his hand out, that Potter resoundingly rejected Malfoy’s hand back in first year. Their year (and several cohorts above) had heard Malfoy complain about it for weeks. It was so ingrained in him to shake someone’s hand upon introducing himself, that he hadn’t considered if Potter would spurn him the same way he had Malfoy.
But his concern seems for nothing, as without hesitation Potter reaches across the table and grasps his hand. “Harry Potter.” He says his name with a small quirk of his lips, a tiny crack in his statue impression to show the humour in introducing himself, when every witch or wizard has known his name since he was a baby.
Theodore is about to say something - what he doesn’t know, despite his mouth already opening - when Dumbledore stands at the front of the hall.
Theodore expects him to say something about Potter’s sorting, but the headmaster just rolls right into his usual welcome speech.
“Potter” Malfoy hisses from down the table. Theodore watches as green eyes flick in Malfoy’s direction, Potter’s expression otherwise remaining unchanged.
“Wonder what your friends think about this move to Slytherin,” Malfoy continues, “Bet the Weasel and your little mudblood aren’t too happy about it.”
It’s a good hit. Malfoy, for all of his brashness and general dramatics, has always been good at centering in on the one thing that is sure to hurt the most, and just digging his nails in until you flinch.
Theodore looks to the Gryffindor table, behind Potter and across the Great Hall, and sees Weasley and Granger both staring in their direction. Weasley is bright red - always had a temper, that one - and Granger is staring at Potter’s back with an expression that wouldn’t look out of place at a funeral.
Theodore looks back at Potter just in time to see him shrug. “Probably not Malfoy. But I’m sure they’re not the only ones unhappy about my new house.”
Malfoy snorts, “That’s for sure. I’m surprised you didn’t pitch a fit and demand to go back to your ivory tower. We all know you don’t fit in here. The Hat must be going as senile as Dumbledore to think you could ever be a Slytherin.”
Tilting his chin to look Malfoy dead on, Potter pauses and lets the silence hold as he considers Malfoy’s words. A long moment and then - Potter’s expression breaks again as a slight smirk makes its way onto his face. He opens his mouth and - hisses.
Every Slytherin in earshot - which is most of the table since it’s clear they’re all straining to hear Potter’s conversation - stiffens and many trade wide-eyed looks. Malfoy goes pale.
It’s a brutal reminder that Potter - Gryffindor’s Golden Boy, the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-The-Antithesis-of-Everything-Dark, is a parselmouth.
The only known parselmouth in Britain other than the Dark Lord, and even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was the first in a century to speak parseltongue publicly.
Theodore doesn’t know what Potter said in the snake tongue, whether it be a curse or an insult, or even just Potter telling Draco to fuck off, but by the nature of the drawn-out sibilant noises, it sounds menacing and sinister. It’s enough to silence Malfoy, who looks taken aback and uncomfortable. By showing off what is arguably the most coveted Slytherin talent, Potter also issues a sharp rebuttal to the argument he doesn’t belong there. Theodore remembers the whispers from the upper years back in their second year that Potter should have come to them, that a parselmouth belongs in Slytherin House.
Guess they got their wish. Just a few years late.
Theodore feels the general mood in the Great Hall shift again, and glances to the front to see what in Merlin’s name is happening now. He’s dismayed to see that the Ministry woman who that Fudge shoehorned into the DADA position has decided to give a speech.
Although he listens at first, mostly because Theodore hasn’t had someone talk down to him like this since he was seven and he’s vaguely interested in just how stupid this woman thinks they all are, the content of the woman’s speech doesn’t hold any surprises. It was clear as soon as he saw the article in The Prophet the other week that the Senior Undersecretary’s appointment to a position at Hogwarts was another attempt by Fudge and his cronies to undermine Dumbledore.
Once he realizes the woman’s speech is both expected and boring, Theodore turns his attention back to Potter and tries to subtly observe him. Although Potter looks like he could use a few good meals and approximately a week of sleep, there was something in his demeanor that Potter had never managed before. A confidence maybe, or perhaps a genuine lack of concern over what the people around him thought. Potter certainly didn’t seem to care or even notice the whispers and stares that were still being aimed his way.
His eyes really are startlingly green, Theodore thinks to himself. A shade so vibrant that it has to be influenced by Potter’s inherent magic, like the famous Malfoy white blonde hair, or the way Abbots always have a star-shaped cluster of freckles on their left cheek. In the past, even Daphne had grudgingly appreciated Potter’s eyes, although she immediately followed it up by disparaging his untameable hair.
Theodore wants to try to paint those eyes.
He looks away before Potter can catch him staring, just in time for Umbridge to take her seat, and Dumbledore to finish up his start of term reminders. As the Headmaster sits down, food and drink appear on the table, and Theodore serves himself, keeping an eye on Potter out of the corner of his eye as the other boy does the same.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, as people busy themselves with their food in an attempt to avoid speaking into the uncomfortable atmosphere.
Of course, it’s Blaise who breaks the silence. He’s never one to feel uncomfortable in any situation. “So, OWLS this year. Anyone want to place bets on who from our year has the first mental breakdown? My bet’s on Corner. He’s always been a bit high-strung.”
Theodore huffs a quiet laugh, “Nah, it’ll definitely be a Puff that cracks first. Abbot or Hopkins for sure.”
Parkinson interjects, “I’m betting on Granger. She always goes into hysterics during exam time.”
Theodore checks across the table, but Potter says nothing, just continues eating his potatoes.
“Well, if we’re taking guesses on who’s going mental this year, obviously it’ll have to be Potty.” Malfoy says from down the table, pitched high enough that his voice carries, “According to The Prophet, he’s already halfway there.”
Once again, Potter doesn’t respond, although Theodore thinks he catches a slight tightening of his fingers on his fork as the other boy continues to eat.
Parkinson giggles, “I’d say he’s more than halfway, Draco.”
This exchange, and that Potter fails to react, seems to set the tone for the rest of dinner. Sly looks and acerbic comments are aimed in Potter’s direction every few minutes, and though they would be impossible for him to miss, he doesn’t respond to any of them. It’s like they just roll right off of him. Slytherin House is testing its newest member, wanting to see just how far they can push before Potter strikes back.
By the time the last bit of pudding disappears from plates, Theodore has mostly lost interest in the Slytherin-Potter debacle, as it seems like it’s going to be a much more boring affair than he originally assumed. Theodore has already shifted his attention, and is already considering if he’ll want to keep working on the beach scene, or start a new project in the morning, and so he misses whatever is said that finally sparks a reaction out of Potter.
Theodore watches as Potter turns his attention down the table to look at someone sitting amongst the upper years, although he can’t tell who. Potter’s eyes narrow, and the air around Theodore suddenly feels heavy. When he breathes in, it burns his nostrils the same way it does when Theodore stands a little too close to a fire.
Potter’s voice is cool, although, for the first time tonight, anger is clear on his face. “You’re a Carrow, aren’t you.” It’s phrased like a question, but clear from the tone that Potter knows exactly who he’s speaking to.
Looking in the same direction, Theodore sees Hestia watching Potter with a challenge in her eyes. Flora, her twin sister, is avoiding his gaze.
Potter continues, “It surprises me, that you of all people, would doubt what happened after the third task. I would have thought you heard about it from your family members…Alecto and Amycus Carrow, I believe, were their names. They were there, after all.”
Hestia looks confused now. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, they didn’t tell you? About how they came when Voldemort called.” Flinches go around the table at the Dark Lord’s name.
“They didn’t tell you how they helped Voldemort, a grown man - or something close to a man that is, god knows he’s lost all humanity by now - but a grown adult torture and mock a teenager. They didn’t share all the details of the way they bowed and kissed the robes of a monster. All in the name of pureblood supremacy, of course. Which is ironic considering he’s at best a half-blood, at worst muggle born.”
Gasps up and down the table, and even from those closest to them at the Ravenclaw table, who had clearly been eavesdropping.
“The Dark Lord is a pureblood, Potter. Don’t besmirch his name just because you disagree with him.” Flint spits out at Potter.
“Disagree with?” Potter raises one brow, “That’s an interesting way to phrase my history with your ‘Dark Lord.’ But as for his blood status…well you didn’t actually think his mother named him ‘Lord Voldemort’ did you?” Potter leans forward with a knowing smirk, and Theodore just knows that whatever comes out of his mouth next is going to be an earth shattering revelation.
“Voldemort was born Tom Riddle. He told me so himself. He went to school here some fifty years ago. Was Head Boy, even got an award for Special Services to the School. It was for a bullshit reason, of course, he lied. But that’s a whole other story. But regarding his blood status…well I don’t know of any other wizards named Riddle, do you? So, he’s either a half-blood, or a muggleborn.”
Theodore swallows hard. He doesn’t even want to follow the Dark Lord. Doesn’t agree with his hard line on muggles and definitely doesn’t appreciate his indiscriminate killing and torture of witches and wizards.
All that to say, Theodore doesn’t hold a lot of deference to the Dark Lord, and yet hearing Potter speak of him so casually, it sends a shiver down his back. It feels like Potter has told them something - the Dark Lord’s true name - that they were never meant to know. Something that should have remained unspoken and forgotten.
If the Dark Lord once put a taboo spell on the name he chose for himself, Theodore wonders just how angry he’d be to know that his true name is being bandied about and spread amongst Hogwarts students.
Because this will absolutely make its way to all Hogwarts students. Theodore can already see Ravenclaws whispering about it. Whether one believed Harry Potter about the Dark Lord’s return or not, whether one’s family followed the Dark Lord or not…this information would spread throughout the school - and likely beyond, to parents and friends, like fiendfyre.
It’s Pucey who counters Potter this time, although his face is pale and expression strained, “Of course he’s not a muggleborn, Potter. He’s the heir of Slytherin, he speaks Parseltongue. That had to come from Wixen ancestors.”
But Potter just smiles, a secretive, knowing thing, and says, “I have parseltongue. Does that make me a descendant of Salazar Slytherin?”
When no one answers him, he continues, “Maybe it’s just a magical trait like any other. Maybe it popped up unexpectedly in a muggleborn Tom Riddle. Or maybe he’s a half-blood. Either way, he’s not your pureblooded ideal, now is he. Which means that all of your families who have followed him - have killed for him, have provided gold and magic and resources for him. The followers who have died for him, were tortured by him…all in the name of pureblood supremacy, and yet it was for a man who isn’t even a pureblood.”
Potter looks at them all, making hard eye contact with a few - those whose families have always been under suspicion of supporting the Dark Lord, and says “Sure seems like Tom Riddle manipulated you all. Like he got an entire segment of our community, blinded by their own hatred and bigotry, to give him everything he wanted, while you all got little to nothing in return. Guess you got played, huh?”
Potter ends with a small shrug, like this all means nothing to him and then stands, joining the rest of the hall - Theodore didn’t even realize the other houses were beginning to stand - and makes his way to the exit, quickly getting lost amongst the crowd of students.
The rest of Slytherin hurried to copy him, Malfoy and Parkinson rushing to the newly sorted first years to guide them to the Slytherin dorms. Theodore meets Blaise’s eyes, and they both send wordless, “Can you bloody believe he just said all that on night one?” looks at each other.
Figures as soon as Theodore starts to think that having Potter in Slytherin house might be boring, he carelessly drops information like that on them all, and then just swans out of the Great Hall.
And on that note, how does Potter expect to get into the common room?
No one would have told him the password on the train, and he left before any of the prefects made it out of the Great Hall. But Theodore doesn’t see him along the path to the Common Room, despite keeping an eye out as the crowd slowly thins, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw separating first, and then eventually Hufflepuff splitting off as well.
Blaise and he spoke softly throughout the walk to Slytherin, ignoring what Potter had told them until they could be safely tucked away behind privacy wards. They occupied themselves with debating which classes they thought they would have on Monday. They lucked out this year, and September first was a Friday, so they’d have a couple of days to settle in and unpack before classes started up. Theodore was already not looking forward to the start of their sixth year, when September first fell on a Sunday, so they’d have a full week of classes immediately after getting to Hogwarts.
By the time Blaise and he make it to the Common Room, it’s already filling up with other Slytherins. The pair migrate to their favorite corner of the room, and sit on the sofa they claimed as theirs shortly after starting as first years. Glancing around, Theodore tries to spot Potter in the crowd, but it doesn’t look like he’s made it yet.
Blaise notices his looks, and guesses as to his thoughts, “Our newest year-mate hasn’t arrived yet. I wonder if he will join us at all, or if he intends to hide.”
“Hiding away would contradict his usual behavior. Or at least what we’ve seen of it.”
“Ahh,” Blaise replies with a smile, “But he is no longer a Gryffindor. Maybe now he’ll start taking the coward’s way out.”
“That sounds like you’re calling Slytherin’s cowards.”
Blaise laughs, the infectious sound carrying over to the other students around them, and Theodore catches several of the girls - and a few boys - eyeing Blaise. “Not at all, Teddy. Just pointing out that perhaps Potter isn’t the dauntless Gryffindor we always assumed he was. I wouldn’t blame him for wanting to avoid a common room of Slytherins, even if he is now technically a member of the house.”
“You know I hate that nickname.” Theodore complains, “And besides, it’s not like he can really avoid us forever. Professor Snape is sure to insist on his presence for his welcome speech.”
Theodore hears a snort from behind him, as Daphne rounds the couch and joins them. “Like Potter has ever given a toss what Professor Snape thinks. He’d probably intentionally miss the welcome speech, if he thought it would annoy our Head.”
Calling it a “welcome speech” is perhaps giving Snape a bit too much credit, but it is a tradition. One soon to start, Theodore realizes, as he sees Snape enter from the little side door that connects to his office. Theodore still hasn’t seen Potter come through the doors to the common room.
Looks like the newest Slytherin won’t be starting out on a good note with their Head of House. Not that that was ever likely to be in the cards for a Slytherin Potter.