XI.
“That’s it,” Nott said with an unrecognizable sternness to his voice. “I’m pulling you. You’re done. I’m going to owl Pansy.”
Hermione wheezed as Nott lowered her to a cot in his storeroom. She’d been desperate. She ran out of droughts two nights ago and didn’t think she’d have enough energy to Floo into the nearby pub. She came stumbling into his Apothecary right when he opened. She’d tripped and knocked over his entire shelf of herbs.
“Stop it,” Hermione coughed. “I just didn’t have enough tonics on hand. I should have been better prepared.”
Theodore Nott gave her a lethal glare.
“Just help me,” she huffed.
She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the excruciating pain in her temple. Another wave of nausea swept over her, and Theo grabbed her shoulders and poised her over a bucket. She vomited violently, and a cold sweat covered her skin. He expelled a tirade of curses as he returned to the shop floor. He was muttering about “bloody witches” the whole time.
He reappeared with three bottles and began administering them to her.
“I’m not a healer, you know,” he chastised. “I was just Severus’ little pet potions master. I didn’t know what else to do after the war. I had money. I’m good at potions. But this? This is not what I signed up for. I can’t have people just bleeding out on my shop floor.”
“I didn’t bleed on your floor.”
She looked at him and saw him gesturing to the bucket she’d been sick in. She closed her eyes. There was blood mixed in with her vomit.
“It’s killing you.”
The bells on the door of the Apothecary sounded. Nott and Hermione exchanged horrified looks. He clamped his hand over her mouth and put his finger to his lips. He went back out front and heard him greet his friend.
“I came to check the progress on the vial I gave you.”
Draco’s voice filled the space. Hermione’s body tensed with panic.
“I get a lot of vials to study, mate,” Theo said.
Hermione listened as his tone switched from the panicking worry with her to the ease and familiarity with his friend.
“I’m working on it,” Nott said after a pause where she was sure Draco was giving him one of his infamous death glares.
“I ran some tests over Gibbons,” Draco said. “Someone’s been tampering with a clotting spell or potion of some kind. I found hematomas and hemorrhaging.”
Hermione cursed herself. Naturally, Draco would be sniffing around where he didn’t belong.
“I doubt I’d be able to see any of that from the pile of goo you gave me.”
“I’m getting close, Nott.”
“Yes, and at what risk?” Theo snapped back. “Your life has importance and value, Draco. You’re supposed to be keeping your nose down and blending in.”
“It could earn me my release.”
“They’re never going to bloody release you!”
Tears pooled in the corners of Hermione’s eyes. The men were silent for a few moments while Hermione tried to remain as still and silent as possible.
“I’m just trying to keep you safe, Draco,” Theo said quietly.
“I know,” he said tightly. “But I’ll figure this out. I always do.”
Hermione heard the jingle of the door again and finally felt herself exhale.
“Nott, what is that smell?”
Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth to hide her gasp.
“I tipped over half my display this morning,” he answered casually. “Could be that. Some spilled.”
The door closed, and Nott returned to the back, looking nearly feral.
“I just need you to help me with my Portkey,” Hermione begged as she handed him her watch. “I can’t do it without a wand. And then I’ll be out of your hair. I promise.”
Nott took the watch and sat across from her. He scowled at the back of it as he plucked his wand from his pocket. He tinkered with the watch for a few minutes and got the springs back into place. He glanced up at Hermione, and his expression had softened.
Theodore Nott’s face seemed to be eternally youthful. He had doe-like eyes that had a childhood innocence to them. His mop of curly brown hair hung over his forehead and maintained a nearly perfect pattern of curl formations. Something Hermione’s hair had never done. He’d always been the quiet and studious sort in school. Hermione saw him in the library many times. He was a student aid for Severus during his time as the Potions instructor. Later he went on to belong to the Slug Club too.
Blaise was his perfect opposite in every way. He was loud and extroverted. Theo was clever and contained. His sharp wit and easy smiles made him charming, though. She remembered him dating his way through most of the Ravenclaw girls.
Hermione wondered how different her life would have been if she had been sorted into another house like Pansy always suggested. Would she have been a Slytherin? Most suspected she should have been a Ravenclaw. But that felt unnatural. She imagined studying in the library with Nott. She imagined Pansy or Astoria trying in vain to tame her wild hair.
She thought about Draco.
The quiet competitiveness they always exhibited toward one another in classes was addictive. Most professors would post their class marks outside their doors. Draco Malfoy’s name was always right next to Hermione’s. He was a bright wizard, though she never remembered seeing him study. Nott would be in the library, but she never remembered Draco with him. She spent hours pouring into her studies, and it seemed like all that knowledge came naturally to Draco. He spent hours messing around on his broom, practicing for the next match, or just showing off for any underclassmen who would watch him zip effortlessly around the pitch.
He’d figure her out soon. She knew he would. If he was already this close after a year, then there was no way she could keep it up for much longer.
“I need your potion,” she told Theo. “He’s getting too close.”