"This probably sounds stupid, but until my father was caught at the Ministry, I hadn't really realized how well known my family were. How hated we were. When I came back in the sixth year, everyone seemed to know who I was. They'd heard from their families about my father's first trial, and some of them even knew about my great-grandfather's… experiments on muggles. He was considered a learned scholar once, you know. What he did might have been controversial, even at the time, but it certainly wasn't illegal. Now, however… In Slytherin quarters it was all right, but as soon as I ventured outside I was open to catcalls and questions about Daddy. We were on the wrong side, but people weren't afraid of us. They couldn't reach the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters, but they could hex us and jinx us and trip us in the corridors. They felt powerless in the face of his return, but that was one thing they could do. Of course, in seventh year Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle would make them pay for the indignities they suffered, but they didn't know that then. Although everyone was afraid that year, it no longer worked as a source of power for us. The imprisonment of our fathers was humiliating."
"It must have been hard for you," I say, sarcastically.
"It was!" Nott looks annoyed.
"Come on. It's not like you were a muggleborn student, terrified of being picked off or having your whole family killed. Your pure blood and your father's standing in Voldemort's inner circle protected you," I say.
"From some things," he says. "But it wasn't a cakewalk, you know."
"It was still easier for you than it was for the muggleborns. You can't imagine what it was like for them," I say, thinking of Hermione's tears as she told us about hiding her parents.
"I can," he says. "But it's not like it was. There are fewer options for someone like me now."
I laugh hollowly. "How can you deny that you have a lot more options than muggleborns? Yes, even now. You've got connections – you're probably related to half the people in the wizarding world."
"If I achieve anything now it'll be down to that, my privilege and connections," Nott says. "So any success does seem rather hollow."
"I'm surprised that matters to you," I say. "I thought that as a Slytherin the end would justify the means?"
"We're not all the same, you know, and yes, it does matter to me, very much." Nott looks thoughtful. "I like to achieve things for myself. I guess that's what ambition means to me. I'm dreading dying having made barely a ripple in the world, or worse still just floating along in my family's wake. The money and position I've inherited have meant that if I wanted to I wouldn't have to work a day in my life, but in a way that's frustrating. Nothing matters. I might as well be a Squib."
"You're in your twenties," I say. "I don't think you need to worry about your legacy yet."
"Thanks." He smiles bleakly. "You do get the irony that it's you that's telling me this, right?"
"I'm serious," I say. "There's plenty of time for you to make your contribution to magical knowledge or whatever it is you're hoping to do and I seem to remember from school that you're a talented wizard. You got good N.E.W.T.s, didn't you?"
Nott bites his lip. "I think I'd better show you something."
"Look," Nott says. He gets out his wand. I draw mine, covering him; Aurors don't take things on trust. He points his wand at the photograph of Ginny and James on my desk in its silver frame, a heavy, substantial thing.
"Wingardium leviosa," he says. Very slowly, the frame judders into the air. It hangs there for a few seconds, then crashes to the floor and shatters.
"Reparo," I say, almost a reflex. "What was that?"
"I'm losing my magic," Nott says quietly. "I couldn't admit it to myself for a long time. I still don't want anyone to know. You're the first person I've told and I'm only telling you now because I know it's all connected."
"What's connected?" I say.
"Everything!" says Nott sharply, irritated. "It's been happening since I watched her die. Faster… faster since I left school. I can't do anything anymore. I can still remember how to do the spells, exactly how it felt to do them, but when it comes to it, there's no power left. My magic is almost gone."
I think of Tonks in my sixth year. "That can happen," I say, "when a witch or wizard gets very depressed. I take it that it only started happening after that night?"
"Since I've been able to see Thestrals, yes," Nott says. "It's been a slow decline."
"I remember," I say. "We had that Care of Magical Creatures lesson with Hagrid. Only three of us could see them – you, me, and Neville."
"I wondered how many people could usually see Thestrals in a class like that," Nott says.
"It did seem an unusually high proportion, even then, of people who could see Thestrals at the age of fifteen." Strangely, I recall with clarity Ron remarking upon it at the time.
"I wonder how many people in that class can see them now," Nott says, toneless and incurious.
"It wouldn't surprise me if it was everyone," I reply.
"We saw some horrific things in that war," Nott agrees. "On both sides. As far as I know Longbottom's grandfather died of natural causes, but neither of us would have seen death if it hadn't been for the Dark Lord, would we?"
"No, I suppose not," I say.
"I don't think anyone guessed that it wasn't my mother I'd seen die, but I was worried," Nott says. Despite the fact that we are sitting in my office at the Auror Headquarters in the Ministry of Magic, his tone is low, confidential. "I was very young when it happened. I thought someone must suspect that it was a murder I'd seen, my father was a Death Eater after all."
"I did wonder," I say. "Later. At the time we were all thinking about Umbridge and the way she was stacking her questions so as to get Hagrid sacked."
"Well, now you know," Nott's shoulders droop slightly. "Can I just ask you something, though? If you thought that… if you suspected… why didn't you do anything about it?"
"Well," I say, slightly taken aback. "It wasn't like I had anything conclusive to go on. It could have been anyone's death you saw, and it wasn't necessarily a murder. Even if it had been there was nothing to implicate you. When we investigated, after the war, your father already had been caught and punished and you had been questioned and released. We had no legitimate reason to detain you further."
We sit in silence for a moment, Nott pulling at a hangnail and me just watching him. Nott looks up and says abruptly, "Will it be in the papers, that I turned myself in?"
"I expect so," I say.
"You won't mention it, will you?" He asks, with a nervous toss of his head.
"Mention what?" I say.
"My… problem." He can barely get the words out. "I really don't want anyone else to know, but I knew I'd have to tell you."
"Of course not," I feel a slight stirring of guilt. There is no way I can guarantee that this information will stay out of the press, particularly if it comes up at the trial. But he is anxious and ashamed, and I want to set him at ease.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter guys, very helpful. I kind of want to redo it now in the light of your comments because I think I can make it a whole lot better, but thought I'd put this chapter up first, hope you all enjoy it. Also, anyone else on Pottermore now?
