Theodore Ignatius Nott (nott__to__chase) wrote in verit_aserum,
Theodore Ignatius Nott
nott__to__chase
verit_aserum

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Who: Theodore Nott et Pansy Parkinson
Where: Knockturn Alley a day or two before their return to Hogwarts
What: She broke his rat spleens, then recanted.



Wearing the same sullen, haughty expression that was his norm, Theodore exited a shady looking Potions shop in Knockturn Alley, carrying with him a bag full of ingredients he would bring back to Hogwarts wtih him in a day's time. He began to walk down a dark, rather narrow street, bag swaying slightly by his side. Not really paying attention, he began to go over the ingredients he'd just purchased in his mind, wrting and rewriting experiments for them. Reaching in, he began to move items around, making certain that the store clerk had given him his extra vial of minced porcupine quills; she had been rather inept, and knowing his luck, it was probably still resting on the shelf behind the counter. Suddenly, he felt him walk into another person with a good deal of force, knocking him to the ground. Hearing the breaking of glass in his bag, he neglected to look up, but instead closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. "You better pray that wasn't the rat spleens," he muttered bitterly, looking into his bag gingerly.

Pansy had been rather distractedly walking down the same narrow street, cloaked in dark green with the hood fastly secured over her head. She didn't particularly care for Knockturn Alley, the entire place made her nervous, but she had needed to visit one of her father's shops on an errand for her mother. She exited the shop in a bit of a flurry, hoping to get home soon, and in her haste, crashed into a rather surly young man. Pansy reflexively began to apologize, but at the boy's rudeness, she bit her tongue and straightened up quickly, not bothering to check if he was alright. "Well," she said flatly, straightening her cloak, "Aren't we a little gentleman?"

"I'm only a gentleman to ladies," Theodore retorted quickly, with an almost exasperated sigh. He managed to get to his feet, rolling his eyes as he felt the dampness that was covering the bottom half of the cloak. "Great. Slime and owl droppings. Absolutely wonderful." With great care, he picked up the bag, finally glancing up to see whom he had walked into. He'd known it was a girl, no doubt; it wasn't a difficult assumption to make from her voice. However, he hadn't expected to recognise her as one of his fellow Housemates from Hogwarts. Pretending not to have identified her, Theodore didn't falter as he sniffed the air with disdain, crossing his arms across his chest as his bag rattled unsettlingly.

Pansy let out an airy snort and lowered her hood to better inspect her own person. "Oh, the horror." She adjusted her bag and took a step forward, only then getting a good look at who she had knocked into. She, of course, recognized him as Theodore Nott, but pretended not to notice or care. "Well," she began, a bit awkwardly, "If you're not going to die, I'll be on my merry way."

Theodore looked down at his fellow classmate, raising his eyebrow at a jagged angle. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that strong, Parkinson," he said sarcastically, "Do what you must." With that, he stepped out of her path, and gestured exaggeratedly down the street, stopping hastily when he heard his bag rattle once more.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at Theodore, giving him a light sneer as she stepped past him and onto her path once again. The chink of glass in Theodore's bag, however, drew her to a reluctant stop, and she turned back to face him. "You know, if those are rat spleens, you're going to have a lovely time getting rid of that smell." She looked at him uncertainly for a moment, then firmly tugged his arm in the direction of her father's shop. She did almost feel bad for him. "I can fix that. I think."

Looking at his bag with disgust, he wrinked his nose, mumbling, "I know--" His sentence, which was going to be a rather cutting remark about unpleasant odors, was cut off rather abruptly as he felt a tug and began to move down the street. Where was she taking him? Why? Were they not just arguing? He furrowed his brow, and added rather confusingly, "Where? What do you mean?"

Pansy rolled her eyes and pulled Theodore to the back door of her father's shop. "You see," she said slowly and pointedly, gesturing widely as she pulled out the small silver key and unlocked the door, "This is a shop. There are lots of potions ingredients and the like in here which can fix that"- a glance to his reeking bag- "since I did help break it." She shrugged and pushed open the door. "Don't touch anything."

Theodore let out a small, indignant "Hmph..." as he allowed Pansy to lead him into the shop, snorting and adding, "No need for sarcasm. I apologise if I'm not accustomed to being pulled 'round by the arm in Knockturn Alley." Entering the shop, he took a look around, making sure not to get too close to anything that looked fragile. He tended to be clumsy at the worst moments. Running his finger along an empty shelf, he picked up a sheer gray layer of dust, and sneezed slightly. "How generous of you," he said in a monotone, nearly sarcastic voice.

"You ought to be more appreciative," Pansy murmured, setting down her bag and moving towards a cabinet loaded with different powders. "This one.. I think. Yes.." She picked up a vial of light brown powder and brought it over to Theodore. "Now, I'm fairly certain this is foxglove, which will take care of the spleens." She grimaced lightly. "Although, it could be powdered nosewart, which burns through things. So, Mr. Nott," she asked, an odd grin spreading askew across her face, "Tell me. Do you consider yourself lucky?"

"No. I don't. But I ran into you today, so maybe my quantity of bad luck will become overwhelmed by your presence and shatter, leaving me with good luck," Theodore said teasingly. As he reached for the vial, he felt the corners of his lips turn up slightly, and he placed his bag on the same empty table that he'd looked upon with displeasure. Uncapping the vial, he whispered, "We'll see how appreciative I am...", and began to pour the stuff in. Nothing was burned, and the extremely irritating odor faded. Peering in, Theodore saw that the spleens had shrivelled up and the liquid had been absorbed by the foxglove. "I would say that perhaps my luck is changing, but I just wasted nearly a Galleon on useless, dried up rat spleens," he added in a dry, disappointed voice, followed by a very frustrated sigh.

Pansy smirked lightly, watching carefully as Theodore bravely poured the powder into his bag, pleased with the results. "You're welcome," she said, with a cocky grin, moving over to another cabinet to search for animal bits. "What do you need rat spleens for anyways?" she wondered aloud, shutting a cabinet filled with assorted eyeballs rather hastily, hoping vaguely that Theodore hadn't noticed. "And a Galleon?" she clucked her tongue softly, raising an eyebrow and grinning ever so slightly.

Theodore turned his focus from the bag to Pansy, raising an eyebrow and frowning ever so slightly. However, when he realised his Housemate wasn't being completely serious and nosy, he allowed his expression to soften a bit as he studied her hustling about, closing cabinets that contained some ingredients that were a bit more disturbing than his rat spleens. Nodding his head totward the cabinet, he said, "You must think I'm blind," he crossed his arms over his chest, "I have my purposes. I bought in bulk because I won't be able to get them for some time, now will I?" the last part of the query coming out with a sarcastic edge.

Pansy shrugged. "That's what Owls and the like usually come in handy for. And in desperate times, Snape's private stores aren't at all difficult to get into. And I still find it odd you'd need that many rat spleens. Unless you're eating them or something." She grinned again, disappearing behind another cabinet door. She stopped a moment to try and recall potions which required any rodent organs, and after considerable deliberation, one hand was more than enough to count on.

"I don't like Owling. There's too much of a risk someone would find my letter and use it against me in some way. Plus corresponding with my parentes isn't one of my favourite pastimes..." Theodore let his voice trail off, rolling his bluish eyes in their sockets. "Snape's stores are sufficient, I suppose... But I'd rather have my own. I don't know if his are tainted or not," he looked up as Pansy was lost from view, and added, "Oh yes, rat spleens soaked in their bile. Very appetising. They taste suberb when pickled."

Pansy rolled her eyes as Chandler went on, and was about to say something about his tendency to whine, then something struck her as he mentioned his parents, and she felt dumb for not recalling sooner. "Sorry about your Father," she said quietly, shutting a cabinet more gently than she had previously and moving to rummage through a large set of drawers. "There!" she proclaimed proudly, pulling out a small jar of rat spleens. "Nice and fresh." With a slight grimace, she set the jar onto a counter and reset the drawer. The jar certainly wasn't as large as the one she'd helped to smash, but it was better than nothing.

Theodore stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking just past Pansy's shoulder, toward the cabinet she'd just exited. "Oh. Thanks," he replied tersely, almost automatically. How many times had he heard that phrase this holiday? How many times had he pretended not to care? He did so once more, shrugging slightly. Spotting the jar of rat spleens, he chuckled a bit, and picked it up, studying the contents to make sure they were satisfactory. "It's smaller," he said inadvertently, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Hurriedly, he added, "But it's of a much better quality than what I purchaed in Grimhelda's. Perhaps I'll come here from now on." Looking back up, he nodded to reaffirm his words.

Pansy frowned slightly at his reaction to her sentiment, but she hadn't expected much more than that. Everyone read the Prophet, and everyone knew who the children of Death Eaters were. The convicted ones, at least. She smiled a little at his inspection of the jar, reflexively raising an eyebrow at his blush, but pretending not to notice. If the store were her own, there would certainly be a very different inventory, one devoid of any rat spleens. She shrugged a bit at his praise of the small jar, smirking slightly. "Grimhelda's?" She made a face and shook her head. "No wonder."

Theodore scratched the back of his neck uneasily, biting a bit at his inner lip. "Yeah, they're strange people, kind of... dirty. Then again, who isn't either strange and/or dirty around here?" He chuckled tersely once more, sounding a bit awkward and strained coming from him. Looking at the jar once more, he placed it in the bag, lifting it from the shelf. "I better start back. My mother's probably waiting for me now."

"There are plenty of people neither strange nor dirty here," Pansy said, inclining her head slightly to peer into Theodore's eyes. "You're just not looking in the right places." She looked at him quizzically for a moment, studying him, then started slightly at the mention of his mother. "Mine too," she muttered unenthusiastically, pulling out her silver key to lock the door behind her. As they stepped back into the narrow street, she nodded politely in farewell to her housemate, but stopped shortly before turning back onto the path. "You know, you might want to relax a bit. Especially when you laugh." With that, she shrugged, refastened the hood of her cloak, and quickly assimilated back into the throng of Knockturn Alley.

"Well besides me, of course. i thought that part was implied..." Theodore said in a playful tone, following Pansy out into the street obediently. Just as he was about to nod in return and be on his way, he was slightly taken aback by his Housemate's words; not offended, but slightly befuddled. What exactly does she mean, 'relax'? Was he not relaxed? Standing there in a bit of a stupor, he shook his head disbelievingly and muttered, "Girls..." before heading back in the direction of Grimhelda's.
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