Theodore Nott: The Leopard Son

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When the tiger stalks the jungle like the lowering clouds of a thunderstorm, the leopard moves as silently as mist drifting on a dawn wind.

— An Indian Proverb

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Theodore mindlessly drew on the counter of the apothecary with his finger, watching a group of Muggles shoveling the sidewalks in their attempts to make some sort of path in the piling snow, completely obvious to Theodore or the shop. It had been a rather slow day — yesterday's blizzard had completely obscured the streets, making attempts to venture out laughable until it was cleared. Nicholas Addy had gone into London for some business, leaving Theodore in charge of the shop. He wasn't sure whether this responsibility showed his maternal grandfather's trust in him or his obliviousness to the world.

As a boy, his own father hadn't trusted his son enough for Theodore to be let out of his bedroom when he went "out." He remembered shivering on his bed through days of seeing no one but the house-elves who brought him three square meals. Once Theodore had started school Sylvanus Nott seemed to think it was easier not to bother with him at all — unless he was drunk, of course — and left him to his own devices.

He didn't know which was worse: his father locking him his bedroom or being so apathetic that he appeared to forget he had a son.

Grandad Addy, however. . . .

After his father's arrest, he had received a letter from the Ministry saying that his dead mum's father had agreed to take him in. They hadn't seen each other since his mother's funeral — almost twelve years ago now — and Theodore had always believed that he simply hadn't cared enough about him to ever acknowledge his existence.

Now, however, he had to admit he didn't think so.

Living with him was like being in a foreign country. His grandad wanted to know everything about him: what books he liked, what his favorite food was, whether he rode a broomstick. He had talked the whole train ride from London into town, ignoring Theodore's dark looks whenever he was required to give more than a one word reply.

Over the few weeks during the summer, he learned to put up with his grandfather's talkativeness and questions — even find them somewhat amusing at times. Once Theodore had let slip his aptitude for potions, he had immediately been put to work in Grandad's apothecary, which turned out to be pretty interesting. And the fact he was able to do magic while he was working helped; as long as he cast it in there any magic picked up was his grandad's.

Grandad had looked sad to see him go when he left for school again, and Theodore was surprised to find he was, too. Just a bit. Slightly.

Despite all this, there was the tiny problem that whenever the two of them were in the same room together: he couldn't help the feeling that there was some kind of veil between them. And Theodore didn't know if he was shielding himself behind it — or trying to hide his Grandad.

It had pestered him the whole time he had been at school, and he had come back for the Christmas holidays — something he hadn't with bothered in years — to figure it out.

But so far, nothing.

And now on top of all this, he'd be seventeen just a few days after Christmas. An adult. Soon it would be time for the decision he had been dreading for a year and a half. Once his father escaped (and Theodore had little doubt he would — after all, Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the most heavily guarded prisoners in his lifetime, had escaped; why not his father?), he would be expected to join the Death Eaters. Maybe even before, if anyone remembered that Sylvanus had a son.

He shook his head, trying to ignore this thought, but it kept niggling at the back of his brain. And the more it did, the more his stomach felt like it was going to crawl its way out of his body.

Theodore had never been sure he wanted to join the Death Eaters. And, to be honest, now that he had seen the effects, via Draco Malfoy, he had even less desire to do so.

One of his father's favorite things to do while intoxicated was rant about how great the Dark Lord was and how honorable it had been to serve under him. After Theodore's fourth year, though, all Sylvanus could talk about was how his son would "follow his footsteps to a new order" once he came of age and how the Dark Lord was going to change things into "the way they're supposed to."

He had grown up with the belief of pure-blood superiority — had believed that change was needed. But he didn't feel strong enough about it to march under the snake-and-skull banner of wizard who was twenty times more fanatical than his father.

Still, on the other hand, perhaps by joining, he could finally get some sort of respect from his father — the only thing, if Theodore was honest with himself, he had ever wanted from him. If the Dark Lord won, those who helped would without a doubt be rewarded. And if he mentioned his Potions skills, maybe he wouldn't have to do any stupid jobs like Malfoy was doing.

But what it came down to was that Theodore hated being a follower. He had learned to live independently, on his own cleverness and his own amusement. The thought of ending up as a mindless yes-man like Crabbe and Goyle, who had as much brain as an Ashwinder egg, or worse, being thrown into Azkaban because of some fool errand he had been forced to run, made him want to hang himself.

He would've given anything — anything — to not have to choose at all.

The bell above the door gave a small tinkle and a sudden cold draft blew into the shop, starting Theodore from his brooding. The visitor was wrapped in a thick fur coat that reminded him of a polar bear, and seeing her blond hair and pale face, he recognized her instantly.

"Greengrass?"

Daphne Greengrass blinked and stared at him. "Nott? What are you doing here?"

He could ask the same thing. "My grandfather owns this shop."

She smiled slightly. "Is he who you've been staying with? The girls and I have been wondering."

Theodore didn't know whether to be offended or interested that Daphne's group of Slytherin girls was discussing his business. He wasn't in the mood to be either, so he simply ignored it.

"What are you doing in town?" he asked. "Don't you live in Norfolk somewhere?"

"I'm visiting my aunt for Christmas," she explained. "But she has a cold and we're out of Pepperup Potion. She sent me down here to find out if you had any."

Theodore shook his head. "Sorry — last bit went out with Grandad. But if you're willing to wait about ten minutes, I'll make a fresh batch."

Greengrass considered it for a moment and then nodded. "All right."

Theodore snapped his fingers and a cauldron full of water floated from the back room to place itself in the fireplace. He didn't even have to consciously think when he began working. He knew how to whip up a Pepperup with his eyes closed from all he times he had helped make it with Professor Snape.

The water had just been brought to a boil when a silvery falcon flew out from the chimney. The falcon, which he recognized to be a Patronus, flapped above his head and opened its beak.

"I'm going to be a little later than I thought. Can you close up for me?" it said in Grandad's voice.

There was only one memory that helped cast a Patronus. Theodore thought hard about his message and his mother's laughing face — the only clear memory he had of her — then recited the Patronus incantation.

A large leopard formed out of his wand and was up the chimney in a flash. He turned to get back to the potion, only to find Greengrass staring at him. "What?" he demanded.

"You can produce a Patronus?"

"Grandad taught me over the summer." When she continued to gaze at him, he added defensively, "It's useful for sending messages."

She shrugged. "Sorry. It's just . . . I didn't think —"

"Didn't think the son of a Death Eater could do it?" he asked accusatorily.

"Well . . . yeah."

Leave it to Daphne to be blunt. "Well, us Death Eaters' sons do more than sit around drinking tea and plotting assassinations," he said dryly.

Greengrass looked stricken, then furious. "Don't joke about stuff like that!" she cried angrily. "It's not funny! It's — it's. . . ." She trailed off, blinking rapidly as her eyes began to water.

Oh Merlin. . . .

Even though he hated being around crying girls, he felt like he should say something, being her housemate and all. They had never been "friends" exactly, but Theodore was the one she went to when she had trouble with her Potions homework, and he . . . well, he had asked her about Charms theories a couple of times.

On second thought, maybe he didn't owe her anything.

But she looked close to blubbering anyway, and he could work while she talked.

"Are you all right?" he asked flatly.

"N-N-No!" she sobbed, looking half-relieved, half-anguished. "I don't . . . I'm worried. . . ."

Theodore rolled his eyes and handed her a clean rag from one of the drawers beneath the counter. "All right, all right. Calm down before you talk." I don't speak blubberish.

She blew her nose into the rag and took a couple of heavy gulps. Within minutes, she seemed to be calm enough to talk like a human being. Theodore had to commend Greengrass on her self-control.

She tried handing him back the rag, but he waved it away. She might need it if she began sobbing again. "I'm worried about Draco," she said finally.

Ah yes. Everyone in Slytherin knew about her not-so-secret fancy for Malfoy. Not that it mattered — it was a well-known fact that Malfoy was Parkinson's property. Still, Theodore had always thought Greengrass could do better.

"You know that he's . . ." she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "that he's working for him now, right?" Theodore nodded.

"Well, since then . . . he hasn't acted like himself. Have you noticed?"

"I live with him, remember?" he replied as he grounded peppercorn with a bowl and pestle.

Malfoy had never let on what he was doing all those hours away, only that the Dark Lord had given him the job, personally, and that it was essential to his plans. At first, he had held it over the entire Slytherin house to get what he wanted in a way that was mildly pathetic. Lately though, Malfoy was downright jumpy most of the time and looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks. Theodore had walked into their dorm more than once to see him sitting on the bed, muttering to his hands like some kind of madman. He had never been friendly with Malfoy, but no one deserved that.

"I don't — I wish he hadn't been so — idiotic," she admitted quietly.

He dumped the peppercorn into the cauldron, cocking his head at her curiously. "Idiotic?"

"Idiotic," she repeated firmly. "I don't know what he's doing, but . . . it's killing him, and messing up our — I mean, Pansy's — relationship."

She seemed to be trying hard not to blush as she went on, "I mean, your dad got himself locked up, too, and I don't see you out there trying to — I don't know — avenge him or something." She said it flippantly, as if his father had gone on vacation.

Theodore scowled at her, but she didn't seem to notice. She had no right to talk about him.

"Well, I guess Draco's braver than me," he replied coldly as he started cutting up lionfish fins.

"No — just more . . . impetuous," she said with a sigh.

He nearly scowled, again. Here she was, being stubbornly loyal to the git, and he spent most of the time ignoring her very existence. He didn't know whether to feel pity for Greengrass or anger at Malfoy.

"Well, I might be joining your Draco Dearest soon," he snapped.

Theodore didn't know what had made him say that, and he nearly blushed as soon as the words left his mouth.

"What do you mean?"

He couldn't turn back now, and knowing Daphne, she wouldn't let it go until she had the details.

"I mean . . . I'll be of age two days after Christmas." He poured the lionfish fins into the cauldron, and the mixture began to sizzle. "My dad wants me to practically shove my arm under the Dark Lord's nose."

"But your dad's in Azkaban!" she cried. "He can't make you —"

"He might . . . eventually."

"He can't!" she insisted. "It's your life — you don't have to if you don't want to." She looked blinked at him. "You don't, right?"

Theodore sprinkled some shredded Chinese Chomping Cabbage into the potion before answering. Now that was the Million Galleon Question, wasn't it?

If he searched himself, the answer would be no. If nothing else, because he didn't want to give his life for someone he didn't even like much.

"No . . . not really."

"There you go then," she said smugly.

He smirked at her naiveté. "You make it seem so easy. You don't know my dad."

"But I know you . . . well enough, anyway," she added.

Theodore lifted an eyebrow. "Well then, what do you know about me?" This ought to be good.

"I know that you have more brains then most boys in Slytherin house put together." She ticked off her fingers, staring at him fiercely. "Which means you're too smart to be a Death Eater drone. You're the only one Draco sees as an equal, and you're the only other boy besides Draco that I have respect for. You're probably one of the few in our year who can produce a Patronus. But you don't show it off because you're frightened of crowds or spotlights and avoid them like a plague." She smiled at him a little smugly. "How did I do?"

He had to work hard to keep his face impassive but was intrigued just the same. Perhaps he hadn't given Greengrass much credit: she was self-absorbed, true, but she must be more perceptive than he though to make all those observations.

"I don't want you to go through the same thing that —" she swallowed hard "— the same thing that Draco is, Nott. No one deserves that."

He stuck his wand into cauldron, shooting a Bluebell Flame into the potion. It bubbled and turned a bright red. After waiting a moment for it to settle, he took a jar from below the counter and ladled in the Pepperup.

"That'll be four Sickles," he said, closing up the jar.

She handed him the silver coins, her look pointed. "You'll think about what I said, right?"

He nodded as he dropped the money in the register.

"Thank you, Theodore," she said, picking up the jar.

He lifted his head at the use of his name. His first name. He couldn't remember her ever using it, and it sounded odd, coming from her mouth.

"You have a good visit, Daphne." They probably wouldn't ever be the best of friends, but there seemed to be some kind of understanding between them.

She smiled and left. There was a path now on the pavement, and Theodore watched her go until she turned a corner and disappeared.

He tapped his fingers on the counter a long time afterward, pondering over Daphne's unexpected observations about him. She had missed one thing, however, or had decided not to say it.

He was bloody scared.

He didn't want power, or glory, or even a reward. All he wanted was to grow old and make potions like Grandad. He didn't have to prove anything to his father. And Theodore didn't want to be him, either. What had they ever done for each other?

And then it hit him. Grandad was the one he had come to respect. Somehow, within the last few months, he realized at if there was anyone he wanted to make proud, it was Nicholas Addy.

Grandad was content to sit in this shop and do the thing he had a passion for — just like Theodore. He didn't expect him to join the Death Eaters. He just expected Theodore to do what Theodore wanted.

And Theodore preferred keeping his skin safe.

That was it. He had made his decision. Whether his father escaped or not, he wasn't going to team up with You-Know-Who. That didn't mean he'd join Potter or his lot . . . but he wouldn't fight against him, either.

He would be solitary — like his Patronus — in the shadows where the spotlight couldn't catch him, and he could avoid the future his father had wanted of him.

Yet, as he stood there in the empty apothecary, the realization of what his choice meant hit him with the force of the Whomping Willow. An odd feeling had taken hold in his middle — as though he had swallowed a frozen crap whole.

Trying to make the decision was the easy part compared with what would happen next: living with what he had chosen. The Death Eaters were like wolves: either you were one of them or you might as well be the day's meal. Theodore knew that as far as they were concerned, he was committing an act of betrayal, and there would be no forgiveness for that.

The Dark Lord and his followers had overlooked him for now, but it wouldn't be that way much longer. They would try to force him to join, he was sure of it — whether by torturing him or his grandad.

If he was going to survive to see his twentieth birthday, going at it alone was out of the question.

That evening, after he had closed the shop and gone home, he sent his grandfather another message.

"I want to talk to you when you get back. Wake me up if I fall asleep."

To his surprise, the Patronus that erupted from his wand was slightly different than his normal one. The spots were gone, leaving it sleek and dark, yet shaped the same. A panther, he realized. Theodore nearly smirked.

What do you know? I suppose leopards — what's the phrase? — do change their spots.

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"One's mind has a way of making itself up in the background, and it suddenly becomes clear what one means to do."

— A. C. Benson

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A/N: And we come to the last part. I hope I haven't depressed you too much.

Like "Flower Witches" there is a "curtained theme" going on within. This series was inspired by something Shakespeare once said (Ten points to the individual who can tell me what play that's from!):

"Be not afraid of greatness; some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them."

In this story, Harry was "born" great (the entire series are from Harry's POV, so I thought James would be more interesting), Ron "achieved" greatness, Neville had
greatness "thrust upon him," and Theodore was afraid of greatness. Interesting, eh?

There's a lot of people to thank for this story:

Applause to queenb23 for your sharp eye on my grammar — RedSioda for her in-depth advice on the tone for Theodore's part — and to shiiki for editing this so quick! You all have been wonderful and it has been an honor to work with you.

Thank you to honouraryweasley, missgranger2, and undercloakkept for their suggestions on Neville's and Theodore's Patronuses all those weeks ago.

And thank you to those who reviewed and took the time to read this little story. I am so pleased with the response to this, and I hope you have enjoyed this project as much as I have. (And in a shamless bit of pluggery, anyone who would like to visit my LiveJournal — the link is on my profile — is welcome to do so! I adore making new friends!)

Until next time,

MagikCat

.#cutid1