Part 2: Within and Without
After parting ways with Terry Boot, Nott followed his trail to the hall on the third floor. Tables lined the wall and were stacked orderly. Traces of streamers and party favours marked the floors. A collection of glass cups were together in a corner. The hall was the location of the Honours Party the night before. It was one of the smaller halls in the school; the proper size to comfortably fit the honours students and members of the faculty. If the trail passed through it, Nott must have returned after his night. The room looked barely tidied. The staff must have only done a rough cleaning the night before. Banners and name cards were stacked on a table, probably thrown without precision. Nott felt it was fitting, showed the disorganized nature of the event, and of the school.
The hall was rarely used for other events. Nott was unaware of what else specifically took place here. It was one of the nicer halls. The room was filled with different flourishes and details. A number of fireplaces filled one side. Carpet, a strong red, covered the floor. The ceiling was raised; expensive looking chandlers rained down over people's heads.
The room had a proper aesthetic fitting of Hogwarts. The school liked to pretend it was filled with tradition, tradition with value. Standing inside the hall the allure was evident. Brick fireplaces were covered in small indents and details alluding to founding of the school. The ornaments on the walls spoke to a long history; each named by either a noteworthy alumni or Latin phrase. An appeal to the past was assumed to mark worth. The school was good because of the chronicle through time. This hall was probably used to entertain guests to the school, either government officials or visiting men of worth.
Nott assumed the room was chosen to hold the Honour's Party to remind the student's of their responsibility to the school. The school was bestowing on them a gift of education, and needed their success once they have left the school to maintain the school's prestige. Parties and amenities for the good students were to reinforce their pedigree. If they continued to succeed, then they would enter the history of Hogwarts. Their names would join the chronicle.
Through his time at Hogwarts, Nott wondered why this history was so important. What did the history give them right now? How did the past make now better? It seemed like a backwards way of thinking. Instead, to Nott, it seemed as though looking back at the past was only an action of those in the present. Those in the past were always in their present too. There were no truths in the past, for the past never existed except in the moment of the present. Why did Hogwarts need to look like it did back when it was founded, if the Hogwarts of the moment was all that existed? The hall may try to appeal to the past in its aesthetics, but Nott was sure the room was renovated within the past ten years. It tried to hide its modernity, but the hall existed in the present just as Nott did.
The thought of it reminded Nott of his grandfather's hall. With the windows blinded and the light dimmed, it always felt to Nott that his grandfather wanted to keep the present out. If he was able to remove the sun, then the room would be in the proper time: the past. Perhaps that's why Nott always felt like the hall came alive during Midnight. At midnight, the outside and the inside were the same. There was no hiding from the elements or from the time. Midnight is the threshold of the past and the present. When a new day is introduced and the old day is lost. The moment of midnight is that ambivalent point of the new and old meeting.
The glorification of the past was prevalent throughout Nott's childhood. His grandfather loved talking of the family's past. The first story off of his tongue to any visitor was the tale of the Nott family's rise to riches. Each of the statues lining the hall was made over a century earlier. Many of the paintings were medieval with gold leaf. Nott thought they were all ugly: the art and his grandfather's views.
Nott remembered one statue in particular that had a classical look. Carved in marble, a naked man pointed towards the sky. His muscles were well shaped and defined. Curly hair donned his head; a light cloth draped off of his back. His penis was small and subtle. There was no expression on the statues face. The emotion of the work was empty. It was an idealization without character. An appeal to a time which never occurred.
The statue looked like the ones carved in antiquity. Nott remembered looking at pictures similar to it during his lessons with his private tutor. His tutor would bring large books with lush pictures of ancient works, probably by the request of his grandfather. His grandfather wanted Nott to learn about the old art and to be able to appreciate it. Many lessons were spent going over the Hellenistic shape and the revival during the Renaissance. Instead of growing an appreciation for the work, Nott felt he learned how to appreciate what the works were not. His position, currently sour, was not a fan of the proper art.
At the back of Nott's mind, he often wondered how old the statue that looked like it was from antiquity was. It is not hard to fake ageing to the untrained eye. Nott's grandfather liked to believe he was an expert on old art, but really he was a naive collector who liked the word 'classic'. Secretly Nott hoped the statue was only a replica made within the past century. It would be a private victory, and demonstrate how much of his grandfather's life was really a joke.
During some of Nott's theatre with the statues at midnight when he was younger, he named the statue Adonis. Standing in the middle of the hall, Adonis was favoured by the other statues. Adonis, Nott imagined, spoke with a deep voice. Through Adonis' speech, he exercised great control and authority. A theme often present in Nott's make believe was the wish to gain Adonis' favour. The other statues valued his esteem. Yet, this isolated Adonis from the other statues. He would only be aware or afforded the proper actions. Rarely would he be allowed to see the other statues as they were: debase and with flaws. And never did Adonis allow the others to see his own flaws.
Whenever Nott remembered the character of Adonis, a particular conversation was brought to mind. Another statue, which was more of bust, named Catherine, had told Nott a story of trying to appease Adonis. She performed well; kept her mouth shut when she was required; wrote out her lines properly; had the tutor say nice things about her, yet Adonis still ignored her. All she wanted was a little bit of attention or reinforcement. Nott, enraged, followed the magical path towards Adonis, where he was to act accordingly. With emphasized emotions, he asked why Adonis still did not acknowledge Catherine?
"Theodore, I will tell you the truth of the world," Adonis began. "Truth, loyalty and respect do not matter. They are words, which refer to nothing and no one. What's important Theodore, is power. Power and beauty, for they are both the same. In power, and in beauty you control others. In power, and in beauty you define what truth, loyalty and respect mean. I am beautiful, and as such I am powerful. And if I give away beauty and power, then I lose it. If I gave power to Catherine, then she would be able to exert her own influence over what is truth, loyalty and respect. I can't let that happen, Theodore. That's why I'm the one in the middle; that's why I'm the important one. No Theodore, I cannot acknowledge Catherine, for then I would lose who I am."
Nott felt uneasy. His hangover beat a rhythm into the inside of his head. Tired and defeated, he sat down. Leaning against a wall, he tried to position himself outside of the sunlight. His spot rested in the shadows.
A little disoriented, Nott tried to set his barrings. What time was it? He looked at his bare wrist; his watch was absent. Quietly, he swore under his breath. It had not been on his bed side table. Why had he not looked for it? He had no idea of the time, just like how he had been unaware of his black eye. A disgust for his current situation built up in the dryness of his throat. He was tired of his lack of knowledge. He was tired of feeling like shit. If it were convenient, he'd head back to sleep. But he was too far. His curiosity paradoxically was too strong. He needed to reach the end of his trail.
It seemed a little odd for the magical path to pass through the hall. For it to have been placed, Nott must have walked back through it the night before. He was not usually such a risky person. What if someone had been in the room cleaning? Considering the state he had been in, there could have been serious repercussions. Especially with the black eye, fuck, even the notion seemed absurd to Nott.
The after party had taken place in a classroom far from the hall. If Nott's memory served him well, which apparently it was not at the moment, the classroom was at the base of one of the towers. Ernie had a key. People claimed Ernie stole it off a teacher and used it as his personal party room. Admittedly, Nott could not remember why Ernie was with them at all. He was surely not one of the Honour students. Must have shown up afterwards to hit on Hannah. He always did.
Why return to the hall of the party? Nott's drunken self was incomprehensible. Almost as if he was a different person altogether. It was a headache, surely.
As far as Honours Parties went, the evening had not been special. The usual suspects were present accordingly. Nott kept to himself next to a table. The different professors discussed with Draco. They rarely approached Nott, whose clothing spoke a message of displeasure. Mostly, Nott kept silent and watched the other crowds surrounded. All of the honours kids from the different years were present, but Nott could spot those in his year. Terry was surrounded by a crowd of Ravenclaws hanging on his every word. Their attention was consumed by his presence, like metal shavings to a magnet. Hannah and Zach were the only Hufflepuffs; a couple other Hufflepuffs generally attend, but apparently none were doing well enough. The other Slytherin kids could fuck off, for all Nott cared.
Nott's attention was drawn mostly to the few Gryffindor students hanging under one of the windows. Parvati and Dean kept arguing, and Neville wore a full suit. But that was not Nott's focus. His eyes kept on Hermione Granger, alone sitting on the windowsill. She wore the most interesting outfit: what appeared to be a long black dress with a green army jacket over top of it. The jacket was zipped fully up. Her attention was self absorbed. She was ashamed of her attire; she was trying to hide.
Hermione and Nott knew each other casually. They had often talked within the halls or debated in class. Their association was largely by convenience. Hermione spent most of her time with Ron. Every once in a while they'd be joined by Harry Potter, but Nott had not seen much of that recently. Harry was a very popular kid, who was also captain of the Quidditch team. He must not have had much time for them. Neither Ron or Harry were Honours; she was alone at the event, distant. Without her support, and wearing an outfit she did not feel comfortable in. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Patches lined her chest.
Maybe there was some larger reason behind it, but Nott was consumed. He stared through the corner of his eye enamoured. In the back of his head, different details were imagined. What was she wearing? What was she hiding beneath that jacket? Her slim wrists buried, or her graceful fingers hidden, or ashamed of her figure in black, or the shallowness presented by her cleavage? Or perhaps nothing in particular about her body. It could have just been a convergence of little details, that made her uncomfortable with herself. Nott understood the feeling. The deep seeded unease with himself, and the shame he felt at the party. He wanted to drink. He wanted to make sure he could forget himself. But, for the first time, he wanted to discover Hermione Granger too.
Throughout the party, as Nott tried to set up an after party, the Hermione girl stayed in the back of his head. Draco handled the Slytherins, and kept up to pace with Terry. Terry was easily convinced of the plan, and the rest of the Ravenclaws quickly followed suit. Nott was more than happy to let Draco handle those two houses. He was not very good in these sorts of social environments; the longer he could keep to himself by a table, the happier he was.
Talking with Hannah and Zach was easy enough. Nott was friendly with both of them. They were natural loners at these events, being the only regular attendants from their house. The three of them often gravitated towards each other, willing to share different complaints directed towards the administration and lameness of the Honours Party. Zach was content to attend Nott's after party; Hannah gave Nott a half smile.
Hannah was a different sort of presence than Hermione. Hannah wore a tight laced shirt and a tanned skirt to her ankles. In the weeks preceding, she had dyed her hair a bold red. It was cut short and shaved on one side; she wore her bangs asymmetrically towards one side of her face. The look was well planned and unapologetic. She was confident in her form, and willing to adapt it towards her liking. Her skinny, tall, shape helped with the versatility.
Yet Nott often felt sorry for her. She was beautiful, and almost every boy in HufflePuff was in love with her. But she was smart. It was plain for her to see how shallow their advances were. They all liked how she looked, not herself. Even those who recognized she was more than her form: that she was an intelligent, confident, bold woman, still loved an idea, and not her.
Nott unfortunately had been in that latter camp. There had been many shitty situations between the two of them because of it: selfish advances, undue expectations, needless conflicting. She did not deserve any of that. Nott went through a long time of pain and shame due to his own actions. The regrets Nott felt in her presence sometimes overwhelmed his body. He'd close himself off, and lose the capacity to speak. The whole experience had been a learning process, where Nott was taught just how awful of a human being he was.
The prospect of inviting the Gryffindor kids to the party felt daunting. Students from their two houses rarely mingled. Different possibilities to how the group would react played out in his mind. A part of him hoped they would accept, just to have some of the 'good' students from the 'good' house break the rules. There was a little catharsis in the fantasy. He hoped some of them would squirm at the idea of doing something 'bad'.
The real plan, formed hastily, was to hang out with Hermione. Earlier in the night he had large ideas. He was going to show the Honours Kids, the biggest stick in the moods of the whole school, how to party. He was going to have the ultimate conclusion to the Honours Parties. But, standing next to the table, that did not matter. The others lost their value. He wanted to know why she was wearing such an ugly -but wholly amazing- jacket. She had kept her hands in the pockets the whole night. The top honours student hiding from her own party. Nott wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know why. And he wanted something more.
Her hair was tied back; her focus tied to her shoes.
Could he just walk up to her and talk? His anxiety was high. It seemed simple in theory: walk up to her, ask her to the after party, mention all of Gryffindor is invited, tell her she's pretty. Yet even the first step seemed like a leap over a wide gorge. And he was terrified to fall in.
Nott spent much of the night consumed, dreaming of walking towards her. The watch on his wrist served as a constant reminder: there was a time limit. Soon the party would end, and he would miss his window. He needed to do something, something now. His left arm started to shake; his stomach started to fold. If he failed, then could not stand himself. This was the last Honours Party. He would never have another chance. Sure, it was just some small fancy, but it was an opportunity. He'd been hiding for most of his time at Hogwarts. Years were spent by himself. He did not want to miss another opportunity. Otherwise he was just a kid again, walking through a room of statues. Dreaming of conversations; dreaming of meaning; dreaming of friends. He did not want that. He did not.
But sometimes luck comes into things.
Near the end of the party, Hannah and Zach talked with a number of the Gryffindor kids. At the end of the conversation, Hermione jumped off of her windowsill -hands still in the pockets of her jacket- and walked towards Nott. She bit the zipper of her jacket as she approached. Her large black boots left small dark traces as she shuffled her feet.
"Hey Nott," she spoke quietly.
"Hey Hermione," Nott replied, leaning against a wall.
"You're looking awfully punk rock tonight," Hermione observed. Nott could have kissed her.
With a smile, Nott responded "thanks, it's what I'm going for. I'm a big fan of the jacket, I think it looks sweet."
Hermione looked down at her jacket and sighed. "I guess it's cool," she commented with reservations. Her hands brushed the patches over her chest, and she fiddled her fingers while trying to reinsert them in her pockets. Her focus kept to the attire, until finally she unzipped the jacket. Underneath she exposed a high cut black dress. The top of which stayed at her neck line. The dress showed no cleavage, but emphasized her shape well. Nott questioned why she would want to hide it. Hermione did look relieved after unzipping it. She tried to crack Nott a smile; "I don't know why I'm wearing it."
"Looks pretty hip to me. That sounds like reason enough," Nott tried to compliment without sounding too forward.
"Thanks," replied Hermione, still sounding a bit flustered. "I was talking with Hannah, and it sounds like you're planning on having an after party. Were you planning on inviting us Gryffindors, or are you too cool for that?"
"No, no, not at all. You're all invited. This is an open party for all seventh year Honours students. I just haven't made my way over there to talk to y'all."
"Well you were sure taking your time. The party's almost over. What if we decided to leave a bit early? Or if Hannah was not gracious enough to let us know? We could have missed out on this 'open' party."
"Hey look," Nott started, "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. It's not like I do this all of the time. Look, to make up for it, I'll let you have one of my bottles, just for yourself."
"How much do you have?"
"Enough to incapacitate this entire room, hopefully."
"Fuck, that's a lot. Shouldn't this bottle be for Gryffindor, and not just for me?"
"This can be our little secret. No reason to let the others steal your rightly earned ware."
"They might be a little peeved that you ignored them too."
"Well, I don't fucking care about them."
"So you fucking care about me? I feel so special."
Nott regretted his choice of words: "whatever."
"Anyways," Hermione paused, "thanks for the offer, but we brought enough liquor for ourselves. We were hoping someone would plan a party, otherwise we would have had to do it all ourselves. Where are we going to meet afterwards?"
"In the stairwell on the fourth floor, to the right." Nott pointed towards the direction he was intending.
Hermione turned around. Her jacket unzipped. "Cool." She put her hands back in the pockets and rejoined Gryffindor.
That was some night. Nott breathed deeply. He felt a faint throbbing in his temples, but he could not tell if this was from trying to remember or the hangover. The hall was silent now. All of the sounds and sensations of the room were emanating from him. Surrounded by the pushed aside remnants of the Honours Party, he felt the loneliness of the night before slowly returning to him. When he first started to drink, back in sixth year, he actually expected that to go away. He would be able to stand in a room at a party, and feel like he was actually a part of something. But he could never quite achieve the goal. As if he was cursed, he was trapped as a phantom: always watching and separate. Never together.
Nott lingered in his unsated place on the floor. His hair felt musky and greasy. It dragged on his skin, and irritated his senses. The back of his throat stayed at a constant dryness, sanding each breath. If only he had drank some water before heading out. The skin around his black eye throbbed. It felt as if his heart was resting over the socket, pushing downwards with each beat.
What was he doing here? What was he hoping to gain from this magical path? It was only a game. A stupid game he used to play with himself to make up for his lack of friends. He did not need that anymore. He was cool. So what if he could not remember? There was nothing he was going to find at the end of the trail. This was all in vain.
He remembered walking through his grandfather's statues. Playing his little theatre of make believe. Deep down throughout, he used to hope for a surprise. For something to happen which he did not expect. A statue would say something new and interesting, or change the meaning of a couple of lines. But it never happened. They always fell into line, and Nott would act as the ventriloquist to each detail. None of them contained anything new or interesting. They were only Nott, or not anything else.
It had been quite a shock when Nott started to attend Hogwarts. The different kids, with their different ideas, hopes, and actions. But Nott only traded one form of social isolation for another. He was still alone, just surrounded by a crowd. It took him a few years to open up to his fellow Slytherin, and that proved to be a mistake more than a step in the right direction. The move only stopped him from being bullied directly, and instead he was being indirectly pushed. Put into situations where he would need to fulfil the others unreasonable demands.
Thank God for Draco, for he was actually the one to talk to Nott. "I know you have trouble making friends," Draco started, "but trust me man, these are not your friends. They're shitting all over you. You might think you deserve this, but you don't. This is not okay. And you're better than this. You're better than all of them. You shouldn't have to put up with it. It's not your responsibility to do their school work, or do their little shits. Fuck them Nott. You don't need them.
"They're my friends too," Draco continued "but I can't break free. I'm too dependant on them. I wish I could be as independent as you. You can do it. Don't worry about me though. I know how to handle myself. They're not going to take advantage of me. But you don't need to put up with any of their shit, and you shouldn't have to."
Nott never totally understood his relationship with Draco. Draco, seemingly without reason, was invested in Nott. Draco was the first person to stand up for Nott, and the first person to emphasis how great Nott was. Initially Nott believed Draco was only doing it to make up for Draco's past sins. Despite being best friends in the beginning of first year, Draco's later bullying of Harry Potter was so intense that Harry had to switch to Gryffindor. Nott believed Draco always regretted his actions. Was Nott just a stand in for Harry? Nott doubted it now, because he and Harry were such different people. But Nott could not think of any other reasons. He was thankful though; he may not have survived Hogwarts without Draco.
The Honours Parties had been Nott's home of friends since then. It was a dysfunctional family, Nott barely knew most of them, but they were his house. He could be punk rock in the corner; his jeans too tight to breathe. They may have been mostly statues, but they were the only family he had. The real reason he had that after party was to thank them all. To convey his true feelings towards the whole theatre.
But now he could barely remember the night. He was such a fuck up.
Who had he fought the night before?
Hopefully it was not one of the Honours kids. That would not have been the proper note to end their time together. Nott would feel bad if he had inadvertently ruined such a finale. Although Terry did not appear to be upset about the ordeal. Maybe it was not a very serious conflict. At least it must have been entertaining. Terry seemed to have enjoyed himself the night before apparently. And Terry was not the kind of person to lie. If there was someone who would call out a night for being lame or ruined, it would have Terry. Terry had such a great presence that his criticisms were rarely taken as insults. It allowed him to be more honest than most of the student body.
Who would have even fought Nott? The Honours kids were not the most eager to punch each other. They were, by large, some of the most harmless students in Hogwarts. This was not universally true, particularly in the case of Draco, who would be more than willing to fight if the need arose. But Nott and Draco would never fight each other, Draco wouldn't let it happen. Draco was too invested in Nott. Deeply, Nott just hoped that the fight had nothing to do with Hannah. She was not the kind of girl who needed boys to fight over her. She was more than capable to take care of herself. But Nott had made those kinds of mistakes before. If he did fight over her, he did not know if he could ever stand to talk to her again. He'd be too ashamed.
Resolved, Nott decided to follow his magical path. His muscles were weak. They had become sedimentary while he was sitting. As he tried to stand, each little nerve begged to stay still. His body was overwhelmingly tired, but it was not going to stop him. He was going to follow through. He was going to follow that fucking path to the end. Afterwards he would rest. There would be endless time for that then. And he'd put some ice on his eye. It would probably be a good thing.
With a quick glance over the room, Nott left the hall. He whispered a final farewell to the Honours Party. He was ready to discover where the path would lead him now. The magical sensation brought him out to stairwell on the right. It was probably bringing him towards the classroom of the after party. What truth would be contained there?
High walls surrounded the stairwell. There was barely enough room for the seventh year honours students to have met up. They had been shoulder to shoulder, hiding in the darkness. A darkness as black as the bottom of the sea, where no light has ever reached. It was where they knew they could hide from the faculty, and begin searching for a place to drink.
The path climbed the stairwell into the tower. Nott's breath became heavy, exhausted by the walk. His knuckles were slowly turning numb from his firm grip on the handrail. The ache in his left leg flared up. He felt like a wreck.
Nott followed the magical trail down towards the door of the classroom which the after party had been held the night before. Initially he was doubting whether it was the correct classroom, but once he saw the door the memories came back. Ernie was the one who chose the place. He must have joined them on the stair well; he was probably meeting up with Hannah after the Honours Party, and decided to join in the festivities. The path continued into the classroom, Nott stood for a moment wondering if the door was locked. Would it not be a shame if he came all this way to be stopped by a locked door. Such a cruel fate would be too unbearable for Nott in his current state. He reached for the door knob and began to pray. Luckily, the knob turned under his hand, and the door opened.
Nott entered the room, to find Hermione Granger sitting on a desk with her legs crossed. She was playing with her hair. A smile grew on her lips as she noticed him.
"Hey Nott."
...
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm starting to feel more comfortable with this style. Feel free to review!