Then there's a pair of us!
Ten-year-old Theodore Nott wouldn't say his life was boring, exactly, but there was a certain sameness to it, and little prospect of change. As the son of Lord Nott, he took part in the semi-official circuit of gatherings for Wizengamot members and senior Ministry officials, and as his father's son, he was discreetly and semi-politely shunned at said gatherings, though those doing the shunning tended to be the kind of immature, loud, and tiresome children it would have been a burden to socialise with, had he been supposed to. Jules Potter, swollen-headed poster-boy for the Light and unthinking spouter of Light propaganda, exemplified the category, but Theo didn't exclude the self-satisfied children of unimpeachably neutral Ministry officials, or for that matter the devoted offspring and connections of convicted Death Eaters who resented that Theo's father was still at liberty. "Say little," his father had charged him, "show less. A wizard without self-control is nothing." And Theo was surrounded by nothings.
Even at the smaller, more intimate gatherings, populated by his father's fellow 'Imperius victims' and their 'sympathetic friends' (viz. Death Eaters who had never even been formally charged), plus spouses and children, the children were likewise terribly disappointing. And there, Theo was obliged to actively ingratiate himself, or at least to hide his contempt, pretend he respected Draco Malfoy as an equal when the boy was barely cleverer than the lumpish thugs who followed him around, refrain from needling Pansy Parkinson enough that she would let slip what she really thought of people (she was very keen to keep up a front of demure and unthreatening femininity, probably following her parents' wishes), and listen with every appearance of fascination to Marcus Flint's showing off about being a real Hogwarts student with a wand of his own and a place on the Slytherin Quidditch team. (Admittedly, his cousin Roxanne's conversation mostly revolved around the delights of Hogwarts, too, but she at least was choosing her information with an eye to what might be useful and interesting for him to know, rather than what she thought made her look good.)
Daphne Greengrass - whose parents only intermittently attended such gatherings, neither of her parents ever having been Marked, despite having been up to their eyeballs in certain behind-the-scenes business dealings - was at least less tiresome than most, not feeling any particular need to leash her sharp tongue beyond the usual demands of propriety, and not liking the other children much more than Theo did. She at least wasn't witless or pretending to be so; but he couldn't say he found her congenial, either, and the way she alternated between frostiness and a rather terrifying quasi-flirtatious demeanour - 'Theo, darling' indeed - was every bit as unsettling as she intended it to be. He'd watched her with her sister, with her cousin Anthony Goldstein at the larger gatherings, and he'd occasionally seen her with her 'friend' Tracey Davis - clearly an unacknowledgeable cousin or perhaps even closer relative, from the way the family treated her - he knew she was capable of unbending, but equally clearly, she had no intention of doing so with him. And, besides, she wasn't a reader. Theo might have liked to have a friend and confidant besides his father, but he had standards, thank you very much.
Hogwarts, by all accounts, promised to be more of the same. The same tedious children; a different library to seek refuge in; different but no less ancient or comfortable surroundings; the same scrutiny for 'dark' leanings, less intense than when he only appeared briefly at social gatherings, but more prolonged in proportion; the same need to hide who he was and fly below the tree-line as much as possible. He was looking forward to getting his wand; he was not looking forward to frequent sightings of Albus Dumbledore, the wizard who had killed his mother, and being under that man's nominal tutelage. His books were his comfort and refuge as it was; and at least his father was kind enough to take him on regular book-shopping expeditions. And despite its 'safely Light' reputation, its punctilious adherence to Ministry censorship laws and even guidelines, it was in Flourish and Blotts that Theo first got to know the two people who would, separately and later together, upend the old assumptions about how his life at Hogwarts would be and go.
Of course, when he saw the bushy-haired girl sitting cross-legged on the floor in the Defence section, apparently collating and cross-referencing two different books, wearing plain black robes open over a navy blue patterned under-robe, ginger kitten curled up in her lap, he had no idea this would be important. He was motivated by nothing more than mild curiosity when he edged closer to see what books had merited such focused attention, and there was more than a little condescension in his voice when he drawled:
"Don't get Viridian's book, it's rubbish." She looked up at him when he spoke, and her face held curiosity and confusion, but also an assessing look. He elucidated, and she introduced herself, took his handshake without qualm. His name apparently meant nothing to her, beyond a label for a new acquaintance, and that was mildly intriguing, but not nearly as much as her next inquiry.
"Well, I don’t know if anyone would… that is, there doesn’t seem to be a section for it. Darker creatures. Ancient forgotten spells. That sort of thing," she said hesitantly. "Purely academic interest, of course." Had it not been for his father's rigorous lessons in self-control, his jaw would have dropped. This Granger girl was standing in the middle of Flourish and Blotts, telling a complete stranger, in a veiled-but-completely-unsubtle manner, that she was looking for Dark Arts books? Maybe his surname hadn't been new to her, after all. He wouldn't have thought the Aurors would stoop to use children as plants to gain compromising information on other children and their parents, but one never knew. To his other sense, she seemed magically strong and Dark-inclined, but that didn't always count for much: upbringing could well trump inclination. So at first, he tried to keep the information he gave suitably bland, steered the conversation towards academic subjects of mutual interest. Granger was every bit as much of an avid reader as he was, shared his fascination with history, was also studying astronomy and music, mathematics and plants (why not say Arithmancy and Herbology?), was deeply interested in how different societies functioned, political and legal structures and suchlike. She really didn't seem to know much about Wizarding Britain, to the point where he was wondering whether she had been raised abroad, or by very reclusive guardians. Of course she might be feigning ignorance in order to have him explain how Wizarding Britain really worked and expose himself to potential sedition charges.
"Of course, with A History of Magic on the official Hogwarts list," he said faux-casually, "I suppose Flourish and Blotts will be less hesitant about stocking Bathilda Bagshott's other books than they might otherwise have been, even The Decline of Pagan Magic. She's supposed to be old friends with Albus Dumbledore, you know, and that counts for a lot. And Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts is very informative, even if it's very much taking the approved line on certain matters. As it should, of course. Censorship is a societal necessity, for our own protection." That got a reaction.
"Wizarding Britain practices censorship?" she almost squawked, waking her kitten. He was then treated to a short tirade about the moral evils of censorship, complete with quotations from a variety of philosophers. Some of them, like Plato, he knew and shared her views on them, others he did not. And there was not a single post-Separation wizarding thinker in there. How interesting. He named a few (the ones whose works weren't actually banned, even if the Light and the Ministry didn't approve of them), and promptly found himself scouring the appropriate section of the bookshop, her kitten now making itself at home on her shoulder. Naturally they weren't there; and there was an entire sub-section dedicated to adoring analyses of Plato. By that stage, he had a quill and parchment out to make notes, and she had a small notebook and her own (very peculiar-looking and oddly featherless) quill. She insisted he look over her choices of history books - and tell her which ones were biased, whether any of them practised actual misinformation, and whether there were better options in stock here. Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century ended up being replaced with The Romans in Britain: Arrival, Departure, Legacy and The Statute of Secrecy, Conception, Implementation and Consequences, both by the same author and apparently translated from French. He then had to explain to Granger that even though she might prefer to read both works in the original, she was unlikely to be able to buy or owl-order foreign books here, and yes, naturally the translated version might be abridged a little. And while yes, Flourish and Blotts had a large legal section, that wouldn't necessarily include studies of the history and extent of censorship in this country, as such a thing would, naturally, be censored. (He couldn't keep himself from smirking at her pout.) Introduction to Wizarding Law joined the other books in her basket; the Self-Updating Compendium of Wizarding Law was eyed longingly, but it cost more than all the other books she wanted put together, and so was set aside. By then he was almost certain this girl was not a Ministry plant; but even then her next question gave him pause.
"One thing I was curious about - what are the rules about religion here? Is there an official religion for the whole society, or is it more pluralist?" He said nothing. She frowned. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, and I'm sure there'll be something in the books I've already got - especially the law and history books - and I was already planning on going through them with an eye to that kind of thing - but if there's anything that won't be there that I need to know - I don't want to get into trouble..." she tailed off. He sighed. In for a knut, in for a galleon.
"Wizarding Britain has no official religion," he said eventually, "and many wixen practice no religion at all, while others are Christians, some only vaguely so and some actively attending church and suchlike. There are also Muslim and Jewish wixen, though they are very much minorities. Some of Wizarding Britain's cultural traditions are rooted in older faiths, though those traditions are becoming increasingly eroded." The incident with Ernie Macmillan was mere months in the past. He had used the word 'Litha' in passing, as part of some small-talk about plans for the summer, and Ernie (no, Macmillan now) had backed away from him in horror, and there had been talk, and the Aurors had visited the family manor several times, and his father had had a very grave discussion with him. He must do better. "You'll find mention of these things in The Decline of Pagan Magic, but nobody will admit to practising the old ways now. Even the parts that aren't officially outlawed... well, let's say it would give someone a very bad reputation if they were thought to be like that. Dark. And it might make law enforcement very keen to check they weren't breaking any other laws, if they were the kind of person who had tendencies that were known to lead to criminality."
"Of course nobody wants a bad reputation," she said, nodding fiercely. "I'm glad I don't have to pretend to be Christian, at least."
"You'll find most wixen don't really talk about religion at all," he said, "so it shouldn't come up, really. Just as long as you don't do or say anything that outrages Christian sensibilities too obviously. The Introduction to Wizarding Law does mention pre-Statute canon law and its role in the prohibition of specific fields of magic, so that should give you a good idea, not that you're really in danger of accidentally stepping over the line on that one."
"Of course not," she said, with the same tone she had used to speak of her 'purely academic interest' in the Dark Arts.
"And while one doesn't normally read etiquette manuals for fun, A Meditation on Manners is quite interesting as it goes into the historical reasons why certain things are considered polite or offensive. Like how refusing to shake hands with someone suggests you don't trust them not to hex you if you take your hand off your wand. Though I doubt that rule varies much from one country to another." He raised his eyebrows.
"I've only been abroad for holidays and things," she said, "so I'm afraid I don't really know much foreign etiquette, but that makes sense. And I think refusing a handshake was a lot more offensive among ordinary people - muggles I mean - in the past than it is now, because it used to be normal for people above a certain social status to carry swords, and shaking someone's hand would mean your sword arm was occupied."
"You're more familiar with muggle history than wizarding, then," he said slowly.
"Oh yes!" she replied. "This is my first visit to Diagon Alley - it's very impressive. I'm glad I've got the best part of a year to go before I start at Hogwarts - there's just so much to learn."
"I'll be starting then, too," he said, a thousand thoughts buzzing in his head, speech coming slowly. "So you were raised... in muggle society, then?" She nodded. "Are your parents-" He didn't quite know how to finish the sentence to avoid causing offence. But she spoke quite cheerfully of her parents' surprise at the arrival of her Hogwarts letter, their professions as muggle Healers specialising in teeth, her non-magical education alongside muggle children.
"You're not at all like I would have expected a muggle-born to be," he said slowly. "They tend to be Light-sided Christians, and one of the reasons given for the erosion of cultural traditions - and the censorship, for that matter - is so as not to make them uncomfortable."
"Well, that's silly," she said. "And I'm not any of those things, and I wouldn't want to be used as a justification for oppression, either."
"No, I can see that," he said. Looking behind her, he could see a figure he recognised from photographs as Professor McGonagall approaching, trailed by a pair of robe-less adults who must be Granger's muggle parents. "I should probably be off, but I'd like to Owl you, if I may. This was an interesting conversation."
"Owl? Oh. Write me a letter by owl, you mean," she said, and smiled. "Yes, that would be lovely." He slipped away just in time.
"Who was that you were talking to?" Calvis Nott asked, guarded as he always was in public, but still a firm and reassuring presence. "I didn't recognise her."
"Her name's Hermione Granger," he replied, doing his best to conceal his trepidation. "She isn't a Christian, and she disapproves of censorship and cultural repression. I've never met anyone my age as interested in history as I am before. And she's muggle-born."
"How unusual," his father said drily. "I will insist on you taking every possible precaution, but I shan't forbid you from corresponding. Not for now, anyway." Theo thanked his father, and they walked a little way discussing Theo's latest purchases, until the sound of their own name made them break off and listen.
"...a certain reputation," the voice was saying, and they drew slightly nearer to discover it was the Hogwarts professor, Theo's future teacher, damaging his reputation and attempting to curtail his social connections, before she so much as met him. Delightful. "...well known that that family was on the wrong side of the war... much more appropriate children to befriend once you're at Hogwarts, who won't object to your family background." They exchanged a look, and Theo assumed his father was thinking the same thing as him, here we go again, when a man's raised voice answered.
"If no charges were laid or proven, then it’s innocent until proven guilty. If Hermione’s made a real friend for a change, then I don’t care if the Nott family is a notorious gang of international jewel thieves! And I’ll thank you not to sneer at my family background like it’s something to be ashamed of!" Theo felt a warm glow of happiness - perhaps his hope hadn't been so foolish after all, though it must be kept in check for now - and Granger grinned back at him. And then Theo's father, whom he knew to hold views about the undesirability of muggle presence in Diagon Alley and wizarding areas in general, gave the muggle - Mr Granger, Theo assumed - a formal nod of acknowledgement, as to a near-equal. Theo let himself be guided away to the Apparition point - it would not do to be drawn into an argument in public, especially not so soon after the Macmillan incident - but he did wonder how the rest of that conversation had gone.