Statutory disclaimer: I make no money from this and do not own any of the characters, locations, etc.

WARNING: this story contains underage sex, teen pregnancy, character death, brainwashing, miscarriage, and themes of rape, domestic abuse and sexual assault. There are mentions of child abuse and neglect. There is also some seriously unpleasant bullying. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

This currently unbetaed story is being cross-posted to AO3 and updates daily. Please note that the version on AO3 has a longer summary due to AO3's less restrictive character limit.

Harry had missed Hogwarts over the summer, but, as Ron had already pointed out at least six times, no international tournament could possibly substitute for Quidditch. Besides, it was very hard to be enthusiastic about magic when faced with the Bubotuber, a plant which could charitably be said to resemble a slug covered in swellings.

"It's more useful than it looks," Professor Sprout informed them, stabbing a particularly large swelling with her wand. Yellow-green pus seeped out into the bucket she was holding. Lavender and Parvati made revolted noises, and several of the Hufflepuffs retreated. "It's the pus we want, you know. Not something you want on your skin. Does anyone know why it's useful – yes, Granger, we all know you know. I was just wondering if anyone else did."

Hermione flushed, put her hand down, folded her arms, and glared at the floor.

"Nobody?" Professor Sprout encouraged, glancing around the sea of blank faces. "None of you at all? Shall I pick on somebody?"

Harry crossed his fingers and prayed she wouldn't pick him; if he was meant to know anything about Bubotubers, it was news to him.

"Longbottom," Professor Sprout decided, to Harry's relief. "Do you happen to know why we harvest the pus of this most unpleasant-looking plant?"

"It can cure acne," Neville squeaked, his round face a picture of confusion. "If – if you process it."

"Good," Professor Sprout said. "Right, chop chop. Take a bucket each and get collecting."

Harry and Ron fetched buckets. Hermione stayed where she was, pink-faced and wet-eyed.

"Here," said Ron, shoving his bucket at her. "I'll get another."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and set about stabbing the swellings like they had done her personal offence.

"Care, Granger," Professor Sprout chided, passing behind them. "Pull yourself together. It's about time they learnt something for themselves."

Hermione did not seem appreciably mollified.

After Herbology, they trooped across the vegetable patch and the lawn to Hagrid's hut, whereupon Hagrid produced for the horrified examination of the mixed Gryffindor-Slytherin class several crates of rather fishy-smelling creatures which looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters. They were about half a foot long, and crawling all over each other like insects; Harry, squinting, discovered that they didn't appear to have heads.

"What are those things?" Draco Malfoy demanded, from behind Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, la, I am quite overcome," Ron mimicked. Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors laughed.

"Not funny," Hermione snapped, hitting Ron on the shoulder with The Monster Book of Monsters.

"Then why's everyone laughing?" Ron asked.

"They're Blast-Ended Skrewts, Malfoy," Hagrid said, beaming. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Harry glanced into the nearest crate. One of the Skrewts emitted some sparks from its rear end and flew forward a few inches with a loud phut. They certainly resembled no creature Harry had read about.

"Now," Hagrid continued, "you can see some of 'em have suckers and some of 'em have stings. I reckon the males have the stings. And what we're going to do is we're going to try out a few foods on them, see what makes them tick. Sort of a little project to impress the examiners with next year."

Malfoy's face was a picture. "What did you breed them from, dragons? These can't be legal. You tell him, Theo!"

One of the Slytherins, a tall boy with a face like a rabbit's and curly black hair almost as long as Pansy Parkinson's, peered down into one of the crates. "They're crosses, Draco. Salamander, maybe, and Plimpy, perhaps a bit of Flobberworm."

"Manticore and Fire Crab," Hagrid said, seemingly pleased, "but good guess, Nott."

"But where in the name of Merlin did you get them?" Theo Nott asked. Butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth, and, most unusually for a Slytherin, his blunder didn't seem to embarrass him one bit.

"Well," Hagrid said, his face lighting up, "I was down at the Hog's Head collecting summat for Professor Dumbledore …"

Everyone groaned; Hagrid could go on for hours in such vein, and often did.

"Can we go?" Ron muttered.

"No," Hermione said. "He's our friend."

"Besides," Harry joked, "fifty Galleons says these things are wrapped up in Voldemort's latest plot, and we end up having to know they only stop attacking if you do an Irish jig or whatever."

Hermione flinched. "You-Know-Who isn't even in the country, Harry, and he hasn't got a body, remember?"

"Yeah," Ron said, glancing at the Slytherins and lowering his voice, "and Dumbledore destroyed the Philosopher's Stone, so he can't get one."

"He didn't have a body in first year, technically," Harry pointed out. "And second year, he was – I don't know, back in Albania. He still managed to Petrify half a dozen people, get Dumbledore sacked, force the school to close, and nearly kill Ginny."

Ron winced. "Didn't you say that was just a memory? Terrible things, books with minds. I did tell you about Sonnets of a Sorcerer, right?"

"And so I got these," Hagrid was saying, smiling indulgently down at the Skrewts, which were rocketing around the crates.

"How were they bred?" Nott asked, staring down at his feet. "It must have taken a lot of work. My cousin does that sort of thing, and he's always complaining about it."

And Hagrid was off again, to another chorus of groans.

At long last, the bell rang for lunch.

"Well," Hagrid said, frowning, "I suppose you lot ought to go. Of course, you're welcome to stay –"

"Catch me," Malfoy muttered. The rest of the Slytherins laughed.

"Come on," Ron said, grabbing Harry's arm.

They fled to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Didn't you say Nott was doing it for an easy O?" Ron asked, serving himself some shepherd's pie. "I mean, if Charlie was home more, we'd have an easy time of it."

"There's no such thing as an easy O," Hermione said primly, "and I don't think I've ever mentioned Theo. He won't get an O, anyway. Plimpies, I ask you. Any idiot can tell those things aren't water-dwelling. I didn't think he had it in him to play Hagrid like that."

"I didn't want to touch those things one bit more than Malfoy did," Harry said, piling roast potatoes onto his plate. "How did Hagrid even get a manticore? He didn't happen to meet some Greek chappie down the pub, or run into a hooded bloke who just happened to have a dragon's egg in his pocket?"

Hermione snorted. "He didn't, thank Merlin. There was a man in the Hog's Head who works with manticores, and another man who'd come into some Fire Crabs, and Hagrid proposed they try crossbreeding. They agreed, presumably due to being drunk."

"You were listening to that?" Ron said incredulously.

"Well, yes," Hermione said, taking a large serving of peas. "Just in case Harry had a point, you know."

Harry stared. "I was joking, Hermione. Voldemort got Hagrid expelled, remember? He's hardly going to stop off and check out Hagrid's stock of eldritch abominations. We only had to know about Fluffy because of the Stone, Buckbeak had nothing to do with Voldemort, and the basilisk didn't have anything to do with now-Voldemort. And you worked that out after Hagrid left, anyway."

"No, she was Petrified before that," Ron said, "or she'd have come with us to meet Hagrid's bloody great monster of a spider –"

"It's an Acromantula, Ron," Hermione said wearily.

Ron groaned. "Cheer up. You've got Arithmancy next. You like that, right? And we've only gone and got Divination."

Harry groaned too. "She'll have stored up loads of death predictions over the summer. What's the betting she starts going on about the Grim again?"

"You should have taken Arithmancy," Hermione said smugly. "And Ron, you should've taken Muggle Studies."

"Why?" Ron asked. "Can't I just ask you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to follow you around telling you how to pronounce electricity for the rest of your life. Do you even know it's considered odd to collect spark plugs?"

"Well, yeah, Mum says so all the time," Ron said. "They had a fight about it the day before you arrived. Ginny cried for hours."

"Amongst Muggles," Harry clarified. "It's like trainspotting, except even weirder."

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the meal explaining to Ron what, exactly, trainspotting was. Hermione also explained what the appeal was; apparently her father enjoyed doing it. Harry was slightly befuddled by this, for he had always been under the impression that trainspotting was the sole province of weedy loners in anoraks, and one thing Mr Granger was not was weedy.

"Muggles," Ron said fervently, as they headed off to Divination, "are so weird."

Harry didn't think wizards were exactly normal, either. For example, if he had been a Squib and ended up at Stonewall, he probably wouldn't have spent his first afternoon back making a star chart for the day of his birth.

"I've ended up with two Neptunes and Mars inside Jupiter," he said, after about half an hour of consulting thick astrological tables. "That can't be right, can it?"

"Tremble," Ron said darkly, "for approacheth a specky git whose skill at chess is untold for fear of embarrassing him."

Harry faked shock. "You mean I won't die horribly?"

"Oh, yeah, well, obviously," Ron said, sniggering. "C'mon, mate, it's you."

After Divination, they headed down to dinner.

"Oi, Potty," Malfoy shouted, as they crossed the Entrance Hall. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi, Malfoy," Harry said guardedly. "Crabbe, Goyle. And … Nott, right? Hi."

Nott grimaced and took a pointed step towards Pansy Parkinson's gang of giggling girls.

"Hello, boys," Hermione said, appearing at Harry's left elbow. "Oh, hello, Theo. I didn't know you and Malfoy were friends."

Nott took another step back.

"Look, Weasley," Malfoy broke in, brandishing The Daily Prophet at them, "your dad's in the paper."

"Draco," said Nott, in a small voice, "perhaps a more private arena …"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Be quiet, Theo. Listen to this, everyone. It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of Miss Bertha Jorkins, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Mr Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins."

Hermione snorted. "Wizards."

"Mr Weasley," Malfoy continued, somewhat louder, "appears to have rushed to the aid of 'Mad-Eye' Moody, the aged ex-Auror, who retired from the Ministry –"

"Oh, let's just go to dinner," Hermione said exasperatedly. "Come along, boys."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and helped Hermione drag him to the Gryffindor table, where they engaged him in pointless (and, in Hermione's case, utterly uninformed) conversation about Quidditch until he calmed down.

On Thursday, they had Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins. Harry thought this was an eminently stupid idea which would quite possibly result in fatalities, but when he'd said as much Hermione had given him a lecture on how difficult timetabling was.

"Afternoon," said Professor Moody, pacing up and down before them. "Today we're going to be doing the Unforgivable curses."

Several Slytherins gasped, Neville Longbottom jumped, and Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth.

"Ah, I see we've heard of them," Moody said, with a rather nasty smile. "What are they? You. Yes, you, the one at the back who looks like he doesn't want to be here. Slytherin, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," said Nott, his voice almost a squeak.

Moody rolled his non-magical eye. "Name, and tell me what they are. And the penalty for them – I'm assuming you know it, seeing as you're no doubt related to criminal scum."

Nott stared down at his hands. "Theo Nott, sir. The Unforgivable curses are generally held to be the three most awful curses whose incantations remain widely available knowledge, hence their name. The use of any one of them earns you life in Azkaban."

"I suppose you would know," said Moody. There was a sadistic glint in his normal eye. "That father of yours ought to be in Azkaban by that standard, Theodore – oh, yes, I can read the register, you know. And those cousins of yours, the Selwyns. Terribly sad what happened to Madam Lovegood, but if you'll play with fire – is it true what folk say about the other one?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know what you mean, sir," Nott said, very calmly.

Moody snorted. "Yes, I'm sure too. You. Girl. Next to Nott. Name yourself and a curse."

"Daphne Greengrass," said Nott's neighbour, a very snooty-looking girl with lank golden curls, a bored air, and a spotty chin. "Imperius. The commanding curse. It comes from the Latin –"

"Yes, yes, Latin, Latin, spare me," Moody said, writing the name of the curse on the board. "Right, you in the front, the uncomfortable-looking one with all the hair."

Harry reckoned uncomfortable was something of an understatement; Hermione looked actively revolted.

"I've not got all day," Moody pointed out. "Name yourself and a curse, and be quick about it. Time and tide wait for no witch either."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said, "and the Killing Curse, and I really think that this is appallingly inappropriate –"

"Well, good thing nobody asked your opinion, isn't it, Miss Granger?" Moody snapped. "Take it up with Professor Dumbledore, if you're that worried. Anyone know the third?"

There was absolute silence, except for heavy breathing from some of the Slytherins; most of them looked like they would dearly like to strangle someone.

"Come on," Moody said irritably. "I've already said it."

A tall, dark-skinned Slytherin boy raised his hand.

"Ah," said Moody, his smile nastier than ever. "Zabini, isn't it? I knew your father. Awful, what happened to him. Good man. Unfortunate political allegiance, but he was a Greengrass so it's to be expected … yes, I see the resemblance. Out with it."

"Blaise Zabini," said the boy amiably. "The third curse is Cruciatus, the pain curse, and it's just not sporting to pick on Theo, you know? Maybe I should try Cruciatus on you, see how you like it."

Moody flicked his wand at Zabini, who promptly turned into a ferret. Several of the girls screamed, and Neville fainted.

"Leave my cousin alone," Daphne Greengrass shrieked, jumping to her feet so fast her desk fell over, "or my father will –"

"Nobody cares what your father's going to do, Greengrass," Hermione said, not unkindly. "Finite incantatem!"

Moody rolled both his eyes. "That doesn't work on human-to-animal transfiguration, Miss Granger, because, as the name suggests, it is not a charm. Kindly take the fainter to the hospital wing, and if you haven't got over your principles by the time you get back, take this subject as a free for the rest of the year."

Hermione, white-faced, levitated Neville from the room and slammed the door behind her so hard that Lavender Brown, who was nearest the door, fell out of her chair.

"I won't take any cheek," Moody continued, his voice quiet and deadly. "Do you lot understand? And you, Zabini, the Unforgivable Curses are not a joke – drat and blast, I've forgotten the counter. It's been years since I used this. I remember I turned Frank Longbottom into a ferret once. Good times."

"Who's Frank Longbottom?" Dean Thomas asked.

Several of the Slytherins winced.

"Neville's dad," said Ron, in very final tones.

"What's the spell?" Harry blurted; he could sense Neville's parents were something in the manner of a taboo subject. Perhaps they'd been Death Eaters. Last year, he wouldn't have considered it, but Wormtail had opened his eyes to the possibility of Death Eaters who hadn't been Slytherins, and House affiliations didn't always run in families; Parvati Patil's twin sister was in Ravenclaw.

"Just a transfiguration," Moody said, grinning. "You imagine the ferret, and you point the wand at the fellow, and down he goes. Great party trick, not that Professor McGonagall will teach you anything near it for a few years – afternoon, Professor McGonagall."

Professor McGonagall marched in and pointed her wand at the ferret, which promptly turned back into Zabini. "Out," she snapped. "All of you, out! Shoo!"

They all gathered their things and fled.

"Well," Harry ventured, as McGonagall closed the door behind the last stragglers, "that was fun."

"You're heartless," Pansy Parkinson hissed, linking her arm through Zabini's. "Rot in hell." She dragged Zabini away. The rest of the Slytherins followed.

"It was a bit insensitive of you, Harry," Hermione said, glowingly righteous. "It was really rude of him to talk about Nott's cousins and Zabini's dad like that – he's dead, you know, Zabini's dad. A Lethifold got him during the war."

Harry stared. "Moody basically said the bloke was a Death Eater. And Nott's cousins – I didn't even get what he was saying about Nott's cousins. One of them died, right?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, as they ambled along the corridor. "Pandora Selwyn. She was three years below my mum. Married a Lovegood, but there you have it, her mum was a Nott and they're all mad as hatters. Got herself blown up the year before I came to Hogwarts. Nasty business. Her daughter's in Ginny's year, I think. The other one's a petty smuggler. Used to be a Death Eater, according to Dad, and rumour has it he taught Nott Legilimency – mind-reading, you know. You're not meant to teach that to people our age. Charlie says he's alright, though."

"Mm," Harry said. He liked Charlie Weasley, but someone whose friends would willingly smuggle an illegal dragon across several borders didn't exactly strike him as a good judge of character.

"It's against school rules to transfigure students, anyway," Hermione said. "Hufflepuff banned it because of something Gryffindor did to Slytherin. Hogwarts: A History didn't elaborate any further, because she was translating and that witch knows less about Old English than I do about the dark side of the Moon, and even if I knew enough Old English to do a text that complex, I can't find her source anywhere –"

"Hermione," Ron said fondly, "shut it."

Hermione sighed loudly and dragged them off to the library, where she proceeded to slam all her books down onto the table one by one.

"What bit you?" Ron asked.

"I can't believe Moody," Hermione complained.

Harry stared. "Are we doing homework, or not?"

"Bags I not," said Ron, leaning back in his chair.

"You're incorrigible," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Just because he's a professor, that doesn't mean he should be able to bully the students –"

"It was a great laugh," Harry pointed out.

"I don't think Blaise Zabini was laughing," Hermione said tartly. "Wizards just have no sense of justice. Remember Buckbeak?"

Ron shrugged. "That turned out alright, didn't it?"

"No," Hermione said. "There's so much injustice here."

"You win some, you lose some," Ron said philosophically. "And, I mean, most of the people who end up in Azkaban deserve it."

"How many Death Eaters are there in Azkaban?" Harry asked.

Mid-flinch, Ron shrugged. "Ten? No, wait, eleven, I always forget there were two Lestrange brothers – no, it is ten; there was eleven, but one of them died. There was this really big scandal, because he was Barty Crouch's son. Plus Sirius … but eleven to one isn't bad."

"It isn't good, either," Hermione pointed out, opening her Arithmancy textbook. "And what if it's ten to two? Or worse?"

Ron laughed.

"Well," Hermione continued indignantly, "it's just … everyone knew he did it. What if he wasn't the only one everyone was wrong about?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," Ron said, pulling Hermione's History of Magic notes towards him. "The Lestranges are definitely innocent. It isn't like someone walked in on them torturing some Aurors. And those five Death Eaters who killed my uncles, it was You-Know-Who with a Time-Turner and some wigs."

Hermione clapped her hands to her mouth. "I didn't – I never knew. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Ron said, shrugging. "They died before Ginny was born. Look, it's a good idea, but … we were lucky with Sirius."

They worked in silence for several minutes.

"You know what?" Hermione said suddenly. "We can prove Sirius is innocent. We should catch Wormtail and take him in front of the Wizengamot, and then Harry won't have to live with the Dursleys."

"Fat chance," Ron said, without looking up from his Charms essay. "Once the Wizengamot make up their minds, you're done for."

Harry stared. "But – they didn't make up their minds. Sirius never had a trial."

"Trial?" Ron repeated. "Don't make me laugh, mate. Everyone knows he's guilty."

"I don't think you can do that," Hermione said doubtfully. "Trial in absentia, yes, but not trial in the court of public opinion. And we can prove it."

Ron snorted. "Oh, yeah, they'd just love that. Here, look, this rat turns into Peter Pettigrew, it was all him. We'd be laughed right out of court. Besides, who knows where he is?"

"He's with Voldemort," Harry said.

"Fat lot of use that is," Ron pointed out. "We don't know where sodding Voldemort is either."

"We could write to one of them," Hermione suggested. "Harry's always writing to Sirius, and we don't know where he is. If we used Pig or a school owl, he wouldn't know it was us –"

"Yeah," Harry said, "except who writes to a dead man? Peter Pettigrew's been dead thirteen years, and I bet Tom Riddle vanished the moment he left Hogwarts." He gingerly patted her back. "It was a nice thought, though."

Hermione bit her lip. "Alright. Forget it."

Harry suspected she intended on doing no such thing, but they didn't go to the library on Friday and Hermione spent all of Saturday morning focusing on homework.

"I'm bored," Ron complained, at lunch; they'd been working non-stop since breakfast. "Honestly, the homework won't die if we procrastinate for a few hours. We can go for a walk or frolic down by the lake or something wholesome like that."

"With lashings of ginger beer?" Hermione said tartly. "We aren't the Famous Five –" ("Who?" said Ron) "– and this isn't Malory Towers or St Clare's, either. The sooner we do it, the more guiltless fun we have."

"I concur."

Harry jumped.

"Piss off, Nott," Ron muttered.

Nott didn't so much as blink. "I have that book you wanted."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," Hermione said, flushing. "I don't mind waiting for Arithmancy, honestly. Won't you sit down? It's allowed. It says so in –"

"Hogwarts: A History," Harry and Ron finished along with her.

Nott sat down next to Harry and handed Hermione a large book. "Please don't tell anyone you have this. Lord Withington thinks it is Daphne's birthday present to me."

"Of course I won't tell," Hermione said, stuffing the book into her bag. "Thanks, Theo, really. It's so kind of you and Daphne to go to all this trouble. When does Daphne want it back?"

"She doesn't," Nott said. "Lord Withington has at least a dozen copies."

Ron stared. "Isn't one enough?"

"The margins don't expand," said Nott.

"What kind of book is it?" Harry asked.

"History," Hermione said firmly. "How much background reading do I have to do?"

"Not much," said Nott. "Do you read Latin?"

Hermione frowned. "I thought you said it was modern."

Nott flushed. "It's –"

"Oh," Hermione said, flushing too. "Right. Sorry. I see."

"I don't," Harry said.

"Nobody writes in Latin these days," Ron said, taking a second serving of steamed cauliflower. "Just evil wizards … Merlin, Hermione, even Bill minds his step around folk who write in Latin."

Hermione glared. "It's Dark wizards, actually. Dark is not evil."

"I don't think we've ever met a good one," Harry said doubtfully.

"I don't think Professor Hagrid's evil," said Nott. "Do you?"

Harry stared. "Hagrid isn't a Dark wizard!"

"Well, I mean, it depends on who you ask," Ron said reluctantly. "I mean, Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent's banned in Prussia, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Everything down Knockturn Alley's Dark Arts, Harry, and Hagrid shops down there all the time."

"It's mostly illegal," Harry admitted, "but we committed our first crime when we were eleven."

"Do tell," said Nott.

"Back to homework," Hermione said quickly. "Coming, boys?"

"Might as well," Ron said.

"Fine," said Harry.

"Theo?" Hermione prompted.

Ron groaned. "Can't he hang out with his own friends?"

"Daphne's asleep and Draco's procrastinating," said Nott.

"Don't blame him," Ron muttered.

The four of them trooped up to the library.

"So, Nott," Harry ventured, trying not to sound like he was regretting this, "what electives are you doing?"

"All of them," Nott said, smiling at Hermione.

"Oh, yeah, Hermione did that last year," Ron said, a tad stiffly. "But she couldn't stick Divination and she dropped Muggle Studies because she didn't see the point … her timetable was absolutely insane."

"I wish I'd thought to drop Divination," said Nott.

Ron nodded. "Same. A month's predictions, honestly. It's like she thinks we've got nothing better to do."

"Have you done yours yet?" Nott asked.

Ron produced his list of made-up predictions from his bag. "Only took me two hours."

"That's because you made them up," said Nott, almost at once. "You are drowning twice, you see, and then getting trampled by a Hippogriff."

"No," Ron said, pointing, "I crossed out the second drowning, see? I didn't carry the one or whatever. And I mean my corpse will be trampled. At the funeral, you know."

"Ron," Hermione said reproachfully. "What did you put, Harry?"

"Mine are fake too," Harry admitted readily; he reckoned his predictions were at least as ridiculous as Ron's. "Who cares? Everyone knows she's a fraud."

Hermione snickered, then looked worried. "You shouldn't say things like that, Harry."

"I'm not a sneak," Nott said, looking affronted. "And she isn't a good teacher."

"Too true." Hermione laughed.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "You could do so much better."

Hermione collapsed into incredulous giggles.

"Are you flirting with me?" Nott asked Hermione, very seriously. "You know I don't like it when witches flirt with me."

Hermione sighed. "Ron's just being an idiot. What do you mean, I could do better, Ron?"

"His dad was a Death Eater, everyone knows that," Ron pointed out. "He's also got a Death Eater cousin and a Death Eater uncle. Rodolphus Lestrange is his godfather, for Merlin's sake!"

"Rabastan's my godfather, actually," said Nott. "He was at school with my mother."

"Not helping your case, mate," said Ron. "When was the last time he spoke to a Muggle? I mean, he's a Slytherin, Hermione. A pureblood one. I bet he's called you that word."

"He hasn't, actually," Hermione snapped. "Being in Slytherin isn't a crime, and he can't help being related to Death Eaters any more than I can help being Muggle-born."

"Alright," Ron said grumpily, "but when was the last time he spoke to a Muggle?"

Nott shrugged. "I could ask you the same question, and I imagine I'd get much the same answer."

Ron stared. "And – while you're answering questions, why don't you like being flirted with? Is there something wrong with you?"

"There is nothing whatsoever wrong with me," said Nott, who had gone very pale. "Perhaps if you possessed functioning hearing organs, you might have noticed I don't like it when witches flirt with – forgive me. That was rude."

Harry boggled; he'd never met a gay wizard before.

"Oh," Ron said, the tips of his ears going bright pink. "Sorry. I – my brother's the same – oh, Merlin, don't tell him I said that. Mates?"

"Alright," said Nott. "Yes, I see – no, that's a good idea, don't cross it out."

Harry presumed this referred to Hermione's Ancient Runes homework, which she had out on the table in front of her.

"It's completely spurious," Hermione said.

"It would convince my dad," said Nott.

"Your dad makes Hufflepuffs look canny," Ron objected, peering down at the parchment. "And what's so interesting about your homework?"

Hermione ducked her head. "Nothing. You can't think that's going to work – oh, and that's a they, Theo, you wanted a we."

"I thought you said you were forgetting it," said Ron.

Nott and Hermione stared at him.

"I'm the only one in my family who hasn't taken Runes, but I've picked some up," Ron continued, "and you really shouldn't be writing to Nott's dad, Hermione. He's the type who'll care you're Muggle-born, and you're not exactly hiding it."

Hermione glared. "And I really don't care. Come on, Theo, let's find somewhere quieter to work."

Nott obediently followed Hermione to the other side of the library.

On Sunday, Nott monopolised Hermione again. Harry felt this constituted enough of an acquaintance to wave at him on the way to Care of Magical Creatures, but he was resoundingly ignored.

"He's scared, I bet," Ron said, as Hagrid emerged from his hut. "Wouldn't you be, if Hagrid thought you liked those things? The only good thing about these bloody Skrewts is one might bite Malfoy."

Hermione tutted. "Remember what nearly happened to Buckbeak?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "but I'd pay Lucius Malfoy to have these executed."

"Right," Hagrid said loudly. "Today we're going to try feeding them."

"What do they eat?" Nott asked.

"My will to live," Pansy Parkinson suggested, to much laughter.

Hagrid frowned. "I don't think so. We could try it, I s'pose, but I was thinking we'd just try them out on different kinds of meat and so on."

The Skrewts did not appear to have mouths, so the lesson mostly consisted of everyone standing around their crates and gossiping; if Hagrid drew near, they pretended to be feeding the Skrewts, but the moment he moved on they were back to talking. It was not a fun lesson by any stretch of the imagination.

Afterwards, Nott came up to them and started talking very earnestly about the nutritional benefits of various types of liver. Harry couldn't have cared less if he'd tried, but apparently Hermione found it very interesting. By the time they got to the Great Hall, the conversation had shifted to Arithmancy, in which Nott and Hermione both seemed so absorbed that Harry didn't have the heart to suggest Nott return to his own table.

"Sit next to me," Ron told Nott, to Harry's surprise. Nott did so without pausing his explanation of some complicated-sounding arithmantical procedure.

"What was that about?" Harry asked, sitting next to Hermione.

"Well," Ron said, serving himself some carrots, "I reckon we'll have to put up with him anyway, so we might as well make nice with – oi, piss off, Greengrass."

"Hello to you too," said Daphne Greengrass, depositing herself on Harry's other side. "Theo, Draco says to tell you he won't be held responsible for what happens to you if you don't stop messing about."

Nott's shoulders stiffened, but he didn't reply.

"Look," Ron said, "must you?"

Daphne shrugged. "Draco sent me."

"Who died and made him king of the world?" Harry asked.

Ron made a show of thinking very hard. "Arcturus Black, maybe?"

Daphne, though, let out a delighted laugh. "Even Tracey doesn't have that much money."