Changing Tides | Theodore Nott

I was up early the next morning, well before the birds. I knew the sun had yet to rise, despite the fact that the windows of my dorm only offered views of the Great Lakes deep blue water. I was used to getting up at this time; my mornings back home usually consisted of helping my parents take care of the sick creatures they collected on their travels to nurse back to health. I was also used to waking up from the nightmares.

My face was beaded in sweat as I sat, gasping for breath. I was glad Pansy and the other girls hadn’t woken up yet and even more grateful that I hadn’t needed to scream myself awake. I should probably work on learning how to remove a silencing charm non-verbally. That way, I won’t have to worry about waking anyone up.

Unable to get back to sleep and deeming it too early to head down for breakfast, I decided to explore the castle a little with the help of a map I had persuaded a third-year to give me. Making my way through corridors and flights of stairs, I eventually found myself standing at the top of the astronomy tower. The sun was just beginning to rise, colouring the sky in a beautiful myriad of pinks and yellows.

As I sat down on the ground to watch I felt something wet roll down my cheek. A tear. I wiped it off, but that was all it took for the floodgates to open. My sobs filled the air, and I could not control the flow of tears that streamed down my face; I did not want to. I was not the type to openly express my emotions, but for some reason, the peace of the tower was causing me to lose my composure.

A squawk caused me to look up and I realised Kamaria had flown up to the tower to check on me. Walking over to the railing, I stroked her feathers as she nuzzled into me. “It is ok Kamaria. I am alright. Just a bad dream.” We stood together, watching the sunrise for quite some time until it was time for me to leave for breakfast. I stroked her feathers once more before stepping back, away from the railing. “Thank you, Kamaria. This was nice. I'm glad you came to visit me. We should do this often, yes?" She let out another squawk and almost fell off the rail as she went to take off. “Alright, then we will,” I said, laughing as I watched her fly away.

“What in Merlin’s name… How long have you been sitting there?” said Pansy as she drowsily walked into the Great Hall yawning.

“About one hour,” I said, finishing the last of my breakfast.

“An hour! Why were you up that early?”

I shrugged. “I am used to waking early. Sleeping for longer would feel strange.”

“You’re the strange one,” she mumbled as she took a piece of toast.

“True, though I wonder, is it a British custom to butter toast with a fork?”

Pansy’s face turned bright red. She quickly put the fork down, grabbing a knife to finish buttering her toast. “Shut up.”

“Well, well, well,” said a voice from behind us. “If it isn’t Hogwarts’ most famous witch. Good morning, ladies, you’re up early.” Mattheo slid into the seat next to mine, slinging his arm around my shoulders as his five friends took up the rest of the seats around us.

I shifted uncomfortably, attempting to remove the arm as Pansy glared at him in distaste. He did not take the hint.

“Cut the flirting Mattheo, everyone already thinks you’re weird enough,” said a very bored Draco, helping himself to some of the breakfast spread.

Mattheo withdrew his arm from my shoulders to put his arms up in mock surrender. “Just trying to be friendly, no harm done.”

“We’re not Hufflepuffs. We’ve no need to be friendly,” said Theo, glaring at me as if the situation was my fault. They were the ones who sat with us!

“Don’t mind him, he’s always grouchy in the morning,” said Enzo as he rolled his eyes.

“If you think I’m grouchy, I dare you to try talking to Tom.”

“He’s always like that, though. It doesn’t count.”

The boy in question ignored them, reading at the end of the table with an untouched bowl of cereal sitting next to him. His face was twisted into a slight scowl, and I wondered if it was his default expression.

“Are you guys always like this?” Pansy asked with her mouth full of toast. Several crumbs launched out of her mouth and onto her plate as she spoke.

“Yep,” replied all the boys, excluding Tom who was still focused on his book.

“Well, on that note,” I said as I stood, linking my arm through Pansy’s and dragging her up with me. “I think that the two of us should start heading to class. I recommend that the rest of you finish your food quickly so that you will not arrive late for our lesson. I doubt that McGonagall will appreciate tardiness on the first day of school.”

“Made it! Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?” Looking up from my parchment, I watched as Ron and Harry ran into the classroom, yawning as they stumbled towards their seats. I mentally facepalmed. Idiots.

Professor McGonagall leapt down from her desk in her animagus form and transfigured herself back into a witch as she marched up to the two unfortunate boys.

“That was bloody brilliant!” said Ron whose eyes were wide in shock.

“Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley,” said McGonagall with a stern frown. “Perhaps it would be better if I transfigured Mr. Potter or you into a pocket watch? Then one of you might be on time.”

“We got lost,” defended Harry, clearly not as ashamed as his new best friend.

“Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats.”

The two boys walked with their heads down in shame to their desks as I raised my hand.

“Yes, Miss Potter?”

“Professor, I wondered when you would teach our class how to become animagus’ such as yourself? I did not see it listed in the curriculum.” I had spent the previous night skimming through all my textbooks, hoping to find challenging spells, potions and other pieces of magical knowledge that would stimulate my brain during the school year. Unfortunately, so far the only class that I believed would be challenging was History of Magic, for obvious reasons.

“Well, that is because it is not a part of the school's curriculum. That being said, I will briefly touch upon the topic in your third year and any student who may wish to become one, may do so with my permission and strict instruction. Why do you ask? Do you wish to achieve an animagus form yourself?”

“I was merely curious. In Uagadou they teach us early in their curriculum. I have already discovered my animagus form.”

“And are you registered with the Ministry?” McGonagall did not seem surprised at my admission. Perhaps she had suspected it. My classmates on the other hand, well, their wide eyes reminded me that it would be a long time before I would be able to blend into their ranks.

“I believe so. All my records were transferred before I left Zimbabwe.” Merlin, I stick out. That is what the Slytherins say is it not? Merlin? I heard Pansy use it before. I know English quite well, but it is different here. The words I can understand, but their order and nuance are unfamiliar. I must learn this dialect if I am ever going to fit in.

“Good. Now, before I begin the lesson, to sate all our curiosity, I'm sure the class would be interested in learning which animal you are able to transfigure yourself into?”

“Of course, Professor. My form is a cheetah.”

Once the lesson was over, McGonagall called me over to her desk as the rest of the students filed out of the classroom. She placed her quill down next to her leather notebook as the last of them had exited, and I noticed the red-gold detailing on its shaft. It was subtle, but it indicated a pride in her house that had not been obvious to me before.

“Thank you for staying behind Miss Potter. I’ve no doubt that you wish to get to your Potions class so we will make this quick. How are you settling in here at Hogwarts? I know transferring schools can be a challenging process.”

“I have been doing fine, Professor, thank you for asking. There are a lot of interesting people in Slytherin; I think that I will enjoy living with my housemates.”

“And what about your brother?”

I stiffened. “I think we get on okay. It is too early to tell though, especially since we do not share the same house. But there will be plenty of time for me to get to know him over the school year.”

“Hmm. Well, speaking of houses; I wanted to discuss with you what’s going to happen at the end of the school year. Professor Dumbledore believes that you should stay in Britain during the end-of-year holidays. That you would be able to adjust better than if you were to travel home to Zimbabwe. He mentioned your parents travel around a lot and thinks that you would benefit from some stability. It was also suggested that I be the one to take you in." She paused as if waiting for a reaction, but I gave no verbal response so she continued. "The headmaster has already spoken with your parents, and I just wanted you to know in advance so that if you had any concerns, we could address them.”

Ok, what? Why was I not involved in this discussion? When was this decided? My heart skipped a beat as I leant forward, gripping the desk to stabilise myself, my nails digging into the polished wood, holding onto it like a lifeline. They were right in a sense; I could do with the stability. But when would I see my parents again? No matter where I was or what I was doing, I had always known I would see them again at the end of the year. But now, now for some strange reason, it felt like I wouldn’t return. Not for a long time. That was not a thought I wished to dwell on. I straightened up, releasing my nails from the desk and digging them into my palms, hoping they wouldn’t draw blood.

“I have no concerns, Professor. I look forward to spending more time in Britain and getting to know you better.”

This time the Professor leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her and her gaze a steely stare, piercing into my soul as if she could see right through me. “Are you sure? You realise you are free to speak your mind at any time. Do you have no concerns at all?”

“No Professor. None.”

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” drawled Professor Snape as he took his place at the front of the classroom, glaring at all our beady-eyed faces. “As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few…” he glanced over at the Slytherins, his gaze pausing at Draco, but stopping on me. There was something in his eyes as he looked at me. Recognition? Surprise? Sadness? I couldn’t quite tell, but for some reason, it made me feel sorry for him. I decided to push the feeling away for the time being, so I refocused on his voice as he spoke in his monotone fashion.

“who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death.” The Professor surveyed the room again, this time stopping on my brother, who unlike me, had not been able to maintain his focus.

“Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts with abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough not to pay attention.” Hermione nudged Harry, urging him to look up at Snape, whose sour frown could have made a potion bubble and froth. “Mr. Potter. Our new celebrity. What would I get if I added root of asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?”

Harry’s face went blank. I wasn’t surprised, he’d found out about magic barely a week ago. Hermione however, seemed quite eager to answer the question. Her hand shot up faster than a niffler chasing a galleon. The question was objectively easy, even if the potion itself was quite advanced. I could have answered it myself or simply spoken up for my brother. But I knew better, and honestly, I was still a little mad at him.

“You don't know?” the Professor continued as Harry shook his head. “Let's try again. Where would you look if I asked you to find a bezoar?”

“I don't know, sir,” Harry said. Hermione raised her hand higher.

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“I don't know, sir.” Harry’s face had turned deep red. With anger or embarrassment, I did not know. Perhaps a combination of both.

“Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything. Is it, Mr. Potter?” Hermione looked as if ready to burst out of her seat, yet Snape never even glanced at her. “Miss Potter,” said Snape, snapping his attention to me. “Shall we test to see if you at least, have more sense than your brother?”

I felt called out. Why was he calling me out? He knew I had prior education so what were his motives? Did he want to embarrass me as well? Either way, I sat up straighter. I would not back down in front of this man. “Go ahead, sir," I said.

“What colour is the potion for dreamless sleep?”

“Purple.” An easy question, easier than Harry’s. Was he trying to make Harry look like an idiot? No, he couldn’t be. He was a teacher. Teachers would never make their students feel stupid. Would they?

“Hmm. Correct. Though, that was a rather easy question, wasn’t it? Let’s try another. What ingredient can create an explosive reaction when added to a Cure for Boils?”

“Bulbadox Powder.”

“Correct. What is the primary use of Murtlap essence?”

“Soothing wounds. Professor…” I interrupted before he could confirm my answer. “As you are already aware, I have had prior education in the subject of potions. If you are attempting to test my knowledge, might I suggest asking a more difficult question?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Hermione glaring, clearly wanting to be in my place. I really needed to talk to her.

“Hmmm. Very well,” said Snape, surprisingly looking more curious than mad at my rude interruption. “One last question to determine where you stand in the subject. What type of potion does Golpalott’s Third Law pertain to?”

I took a moment to think. I had read about this law somewhere, in an advanced potions book during my French exchange, I think. What was it again? Anti-ageing? No that wasn’t it. Something to do with poisons. How to make them? Or maybe…

“Antidotes,” I answered, staring back at the professor as he appraised me.

Instead of responding, Professor Snape turned to Harry. The boy scratched nervously at his unkept hair but didn’t bother to straighten out his slouch. “Ten points to Slytherin,” said Snape, emphasising each word as he spoke. “At least your sister lives up to her reputation. I recommend you try to follow her example, Mr. Potter. Even if it is unreachable for you.”

When Professor Snape began the day’s lesson, he split the class into tables of three. I was placed between Theodore and Hermione, a grouping I at first disliked, considering both spent a substantial portion of the lesson scowling at me.

“You two realise that neither of you is brewing this potion correctly,” said Hermione, adding horned slugs to her cure for boils.

“You mean neither of us is following the instructions,” said Theodore, stirring in flobberworm mucus, an ingredient not listed in our potions book. “You can stick to the book if you like, I’m just speeding up the process for mine. Don’t know what she’s doing, though." He jerked his thumb back at me.

“But you can’t just change…”

“The term correct is subjective,” I said as I added in my pickled shrake spines. “There is more than one way to achieve results, and even improve them.”

“You think you can improve the cure for boils?”

“I already have.”

“But Professor Snape said to follow the instructions exactly.”

“Let’s make this a competition then,” said Theodore with an impish smirk. “We continue to make our potions in the way we believe is correct, and at the end we let Snape decide whose is the best.”

I leant over my cauldron, closing some of the distance between myself and Theodore. “And what does the winner get?”

Theodore paused for a moment; his mouth drawn in a thin line, and his nose scrunched up as he thought. He slowly began to grin. “How about a favour?”

I drew in a breath. A favour. A deceivingly harmless word that could lead to so many possibilities. He could ask me to lend him a pen or to betray a friend. Buy him a chocolate frog or blow up a classroom. Would I really want to risk owing Theodore a favour? For Hermoine I would, but Theodore? No, there was no risk. His potion would be completed faster, but there was no way that Snape would prefer efficiency over quality. My potion would be the best and he would owe me the favour. I narrowed my eyes and smiled back at him. “I am in.”

Theodore and I both turned to look at Hermione who was staring at us with her bushy eyebrows raised. “Fine,” she caved. “Let the best potion win.”

An hour later the professor came over to judge our brews. Theodore had completed his first but had waited for us to finish before he called over our teacher. He had decided to stand uncomfortably close behind me, looking over my shoulder as I finished my potion, his breath grazing my neck as he was slightly shorter than me. It had been distracting, but I was still sure that my potion had been brewed to perfection.

Snape produced a couple of severed boils from his pocket. From where he got them, I did not want to know. One by one he squeezed a drop of each of our potions over them. Theodore and Hermione’s boils both disappeared after about half a minute, whilst mine disappeared almost instantly with a small hiss.

“It seems as if all potions are effective at curing boils,” Snape droned, apparently loath to provide any praise. “Though whilst Miss Granger’s concoction is adequate, Mr. Nott seems to have realised a more efficient method for producing the potion. Ten points for Slytherin.”

Hermione pouted as Theodore bathed in the praise, barely attempting to check the growing smirk of satisfaction on his face.

“However, Miss Potter seems to have brewed the most effective potion. I have rarely witnessed a more perfect cure from a first year. Thirty points, to Slytherin.”

Theodore cornered me after we left the classroom, backing me against the wall in one of the castles many corridors. “What do you want?” he seethed. Despite his anger, his light blue eyes were cold and calculating as he assessed me.

“Excuse me?”

“Your favour. I want to know what it is.”

“I have not decided yet,” I replied coolly.

“Are you trying to rub it in?”

“Of course not!” The stone was freezing cold against my back as I felt Theodore slam his hand next to my head. “Give me time to figure out what I want.”

He backed up, raising his arm to point his finger at me in warning. “Don’t take too long.” He turned around and began to walk away. “I don’t like owing people.”