Rare Pair Entry: "Detention" (Theodore/Daphne, 1/13)
Title: Detention
Pairing: Theodore Nott & Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: the question is obvious
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1800-ish (Sorry!)
Summary: Theodore hated it when someone interrupted his potion-making . . .
Author's Notes: The first story for the rarepair_shorts
Link to Prompt Table: here
March 1994
For Theodore, the one thing he hated was distractions. Ever since he was a little boy making mud pies in the garden, once he started something, he hated being interrupted - which most people did.
So he was not happy when Professor Snape stuck his head in the Potions room in the middle of concocting a Calming Draught.
“Nott?”
Theodore started, nearly pouring in too much valerian roots into the cauldron. “Yes, Professor?” he said, trying hard to hold back a scowl.
“Miss Greengrass will be helping you finish Madam Pomfrey’s list as her detention.”
This time, he really did scowl. “Professor -”
“No arguments, Nott. Just keep her busy for an hour or two and she’ll be done.” Then he was gone without another word.
Great, he thought irritably. Just wonderful.
Greengrass wasn’t the worst girl in the world - she was a right more tolerable then Parkinson - but the last thing he wanted was her infiltrating his sanctuary.
For one, Greengrass was terrible at Potions. She was not as bad a Longbottom, who was so abysmal that he should be forbidden near a cauldron, but he had seen her ruin simple Shrinking Solutions because she was giggling with Pansy.
That was another thing - Greengrass was a giggler. Giggling girls always grated on his nerves, and now the girls at Hogwarts seem to do nothing but giggle since the foreign boys from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons started hanging around the school. He was sure he’d be driven mad with her whispering about “so-in-so-with-the-dimple” or some other kind of rubbish. It was enough to make him sick.
“Is this where detention is?” a bored female voice asked from the door.
Theodore didn’t bother to look at her. “Yes it is. Have seat.” He pushed a bundle of thin, pale blue stalks to the only space not covered in ingredients. “Chop up ten chamomile stems.”
Greengrass sniffed, but grabbed a stool and sat down next to him without complaint. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Theodore chanced a look at her work. He nearly choked.
She had slowly been slicing the stems one at a time into long pieces about the size of half her finger.
“Look, you’re going to take forever if you cut like that and your pieces are too big,” he snapped.
Greengrass gave him a sour look. “Excuse me if I’ve never made . . . whatever that is,” she retorted defensively. “Hoppy usually makes our potions.”
Of course she would have house-elf, he thought. “I’m sorry Hoppy isn’t going to help you now,” he said sarcastically. He grabbed three of the stems and cut them at one time so they were no longer than his fingernails. “If these are too long they won’t dissolve, and cut more than one at a time - you’ll go a lot faster.” He pushed his back to her. “You try it.”
With a look of fierce consideration on her face she imitated Theodore cutting.
“Even smaller, Greengrass . . . See, it’s not that hard.”
She said nothing, but there was triumph in her blue eyes.
Satisfied that he wouldn’t need to tell her again, he started dropping tiny Wheezy flower seeds onto a pair of rickety scales that had belonged to his father.
They worked in silence. Normally, Theodore savored it, but for some reason it felt odd with her there. Usually she didn’t shut up.
“What’s next?” she asked suddenly. He glanced at her work before replying. They were a little uneven, but not terrible.
“Take the thorns off the Jasper Weeds” - he pointed to a thick vine with bright red spikes - “and grind them into a power.”
Daphne pulled her hair back with a long green ribbon. “It’ll be your fault if my hands are ripped to ribbons.”
“It’ll be your fault if you can’t do it properly,” he retorted calmly.
“But they’ll all think it’s your fault if you don’t show me how,” she shot back in an overly-sweet voice.
Touché. He reached into his pocket sewn inside his robes and handed her a pair of tweezers. “Use those. Pull as close to the thorn base as you can.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow as she took them. “You keep nail-clippers on you as well, Nott?”
“Never know when you might need them,” he said with a shrug. That was one of his odder quirks - he had a habit of collecting odd things on him, “just in case” - string, a stick of graphite, paperclips, a comb, pens, a plastic card he had found on the pavement at home, among others. When Malfoy ran out of things to make fun of Potter with, he usually took to comparing Nott to a magpie.
They worked in silence as they continued concocting the Draught. Daphne seemed to grow bored of it after a while, though. “Tell me something interesting.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know - anything.”
Theodore rolled his eyes. “I turn into squash at midnight.”
“I’m being serious,” she insisted, trying not to smile. “Tell me why you’re spending your free Saturday evening making these potions in this icebox when right now Miles Bletchley has enough firewhisky to drown a giant?”
“I can’t stand drunks,” he said. Besides, he knew what would happen - the older students (and a few young ones who were sneaky enough not to get caught) would act like a bunch of mules and break into song all throughout the night, and by the next morning there would be bodies all over the common room like the remains after a battle.
It was nothing he hadn’t seen before at home.
“Well, you’ve always been the hermit,” admitted Daphne.
Theodore raised an eyebrow at her. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked stiffly, and he was pleased to see there was a deep, reddish glow - not on her cheeks, but all along her neck. He had never seen her blush before.
“The question is obvious, isn’t it?” Theodore said with a smirk. “What did you do to get detention?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I told you something.”
“Well, ask something else!”
“No.”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Fine.” He turned casually stirring the Potion. “It’s nothing I can't find with a little Veritaserum.”
Daphne’s mouth dropped. “You wouldn’t! You don’t know how -”
“I keep some hidden in my room - who knows what other dirty little secrets you might end up spilling.”
Daphne stared at him for a long time, and he kept his face perfectly blank. He was lying of course - the Truth Potion was far beyond even his expertise and pocket money - but she didn’t know that.
Finally, she met his eyes challengingly. “All right. I snuck out last night.”
Theodore waited for a moment. “And . . . ?”
“I got caught. That’s it.”
“That’s all?” he demanded scornfully. “You got your knickers in a twist for that?”
She whirled at him, her eyes flashing. “I ask that you leave my knickers out of it, thank you,” she told him in a snooty voice. “And for your information it was the reason I was out that’s embarrassing.”
“Well, go on then.”
“No.”
“You’re not -”
“I told you why I’m in detention,” Daphne said, looking positively triumphant. “You didn’t say I had to give you details.”
Theodore’s mouth opened and closed, knowing that she was right. His dad would go mad if he found out he was outwitted by a girl.
Part of him was seriously annoyed - the other part was . . . curiosity. He had never considered Daphne especially clever. She hung out with Pansy after all, and she had about as much wit as a Mandrake. But when she wasn’t with her friends, it turned out she had a brain behind forehead.
His curiosity vanished when he realized she was smirking. It irritated him. “I think you have enough thorns,” he announced gruffly. “Go ahead and start grinding.
“Don’t be a poor sport, Nott.” She was still smirking - an odd one that made her eyes glint and a dimple appear on one side. “Besides,” she added, picking up a pistil, “you didn’t give me details either.”
Another point for Greengrass.
The two of them didn’t talk much more after that, and except for a particular incident where Daphne added too much salamander blood to a Strengthening Solution - causing them to have to start over - they managed to get through the rest of her detention all right.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the last potion was complete.
“You should go ahead and go,” he said as he labeled one of the jars.
“I’ll clean up.”
Daphne looked relieved. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders - she had lost the ribbon holding her hair up about an hour before - and damp from sweat. She still managed to be pretty, though. “I owe you, Theodore.” She raced quickly to the door.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered. He wasn’t surprised though - she probably had a far more exciting life than he did to get to.
He flicked his wand at the ingredients, sending them sailing into the cupboard and shelves. One of the cauldrons went to the sink and a pair of scrubbing brushes laced with Mr. Clester’s Cauldron Cleaner began to removing the potion traces.
Suddenly a girl cleared her throat behind him. He turned and found Daphne at the doorway with her arms crossed defensively in front of her. It was odd seeing her nervous.
Theodore raised his eyebrows. “Yes?
“Could you . . . ? I mean, would you. . . .” She took a deep breath. “Look, everyone knows I’m about as good as a jabberknoll at potions, and the only reason we’re still alive is because you were there to keep me from doing something stupid.”
“Okaay,” he said slowly.
“Would you . . . tutor me? In Potions, I mean.” She said it gruffly but he could tell she was ashamed at having to ask.
He considered it for a moment. Daphne had surprised him more than once since she had arrived, and had been a hundred times more tolerable. The mere fact she had outwitted him had captured his curiosity. If Theodore were honest with himself, he . . . he wanted to get to know her more.
“You’ll never hear the end of it,” he told her bluntly. Theodore wasn’t popular among his housemates, and there was no use denying that she was an attractive witch. The first thing they’d all want to know is what he was paying her to stand his presence.
She stuck her chin up stubbornly. “I don’t care.”
He shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that she didn’t seem to find him repulsive. “Your choice. Thursday nights at six-thirty alright with you?”
“I think so.” She nodded, backing away to the door. “I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Theodore.”
About a minute after she had been gone he saw something long and green lying under one of the tables. It was the ribbon that had held up her hair. He picked up carefully - it was smooth and cool to the touch.
His magpie-like instinct overwhelmed him, and before he could think better of it, he placed it in one of the pockets of his cloak.
Just in case.
A/N: Good grief. I meant for this to be a drabble or ficlet at most - but I just couldn’t seem to stop writing.
I've had this fic in my computer for ages, but I debated about posting this because I already have a Theodore/Daphne fic in progress. But when I tried to shorten it, I didn't like it as much. So, you get some Theodore/Daphne interaction early.
Thanks for reading!
Pairing: Theodore Nott & Daphne Greengrass
Prompt: the question is obvious
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1800-ish (Sorry!)
Summary: Theodore hated it when someone interrupted his potion-making . . .
Author's Notes: The first story for the rarepair_shorts
Link to Prompt Table: here
March 1994
For Theodore, the one thing he hated was distractions. Ever since he was a little boy making mud pies in the garden, once he started something, he hated being interrupted - which most people did.
So he was not happy when Professor Snape stuck his head in the Potions room in the middle of concocting a Calming Draught.
“Nott?”
Theodore started, nearly pouring in too much valerian roots into the cauldron. “Yes, Professor?” he said, trying hard to hold back a scowl.
“Miss Greengrass will be helping you finish Madam Pomfrey’s list as her detention.”
This time, he really did scowl. “Professor -”
“No arguments, Nott. Just keep her busy for an hour or two and she’ll be done.” Then he was gone without another word.
Great, he thought irritably. Just wonderful.
Greengrass wasn’t the worst girl in the world - she was a right more tolerable then Parkinson - but the last thing he wanted was her infiltrating his sanctuary.
For one, Greengrass was terrible at Potions. She was not as bad a Longbottom, who was so abysmal that he should be forbidden near a cauldron, but he had seen her ruin simple Shrinking Solutions because she was giggling with Pansy.
That was another thing - Greengrass was a giggler. Giggling girls always grated on his nerves, and now the girls at Hogwarts seem to do nothing but giggle since the foreign boys from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons started hanging around the school. He was sure he’d be driven mad with her whispering about “so-in-so-with-the-dimple” or some other kind of rubbish. It was enough to make him sick.
“Is this where detention is?” a bored female voice asked from the door.
Theodore didn’t bother to look at her. “Yes it is. Have seat.” He pushed a bundle of thin, pale blue stalks to the only space not covered in ingredients. “Chop up ten chamomile stems.”
Greengrass sniffed, but grabbed a stool and sat down next to him without complaint. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Theodore chanced a look at her work. He nearly choked.
She had slowly been slicing the stems one at a time into long pieces about the size of half her finger.
“Look, you’re going to take forever if you cut like that and your pieces are too big,” he snapped.
Greengrass gave him a sour look. “Excuse me if I’ve never made . . . whatever that is,” she retorted defensively. “Hoppy usually makes our potions.”
Of course she would have house-elf, he thought. “I’m sorry Hoppy isn’t going to help you now,” he said sarcastically. He grabbed three of the stems and cut them at one time so they were no longer than his fingernails. “If these are too long they won’t dissolve, and cut more than one at a time - you’ll go a lot faster.” He pushed his back to her. “You try it.”
With a look of fierce consideration on her face she imitated Theodore cutting.
“Even smaller, Greengrass . . . See, it’s not that hard.”
She said nothing, but there was triumph in her blue eyes.
Satisfied that he wouldn’t need to tell her again, he started dropping tiny Wheezy flower seeds onto a pair of rickety scales that had belonged to his father.
They worked in silence. Normally, Theodore savored it, but for some reason it felt odd with her there. Usually she didn’t shut up.
“What’s next?” she asked suddenly. He glanced at her work before replying. They were a little uneven, but not terrible.
“Take the thorns off the Jasper Weeds” - he pointed to a thick vine with bright red spikes - “and grind them into a power.”
Daphne pulled her hair back with a long green ribbon. “It’ll be your fault if my hands are ripped to ribbons.”
“It’ll be your fault if you can’t do it properly,” he retorted calmly.
“But they’ll all think it’s your fault if you don’t show me how,” she shot back in an overly-sweet voice.
Touché. He reached into his pocket sewn inside his robes and handed her a pair of tweezers. “Use those. Pull as close to the thorn base as you can.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow as she took them. “You keep nail-clippers on you as well, Nott?”
“Never know when you might need them,” he said with a shrug. That was one of his odder quirks - he had a habit of collecting odd things on him, “just in case” - string, a stick of graphite, paperclips, a comb, pens, a plastic card he had found on the pavement at home, among others. When Malfoy ran out of things to make fun of Potter with, he usually took to comparing Nott to a magpie.
They worked in silence as they continued concocting the Draught. Daphne seemed to grow bored of it after a while, though. “Tell me something interesting.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know - anything.”
Theodore rolled his eyes. “I turn into squash at midnight.”
“I’m being serious,” she insisted, trying not to smile. “Tell me why you’re spending your free Saturday evening making these potions in this icebox when right now Miles Bletchley has enough firewhisky to drown a giant?”
“I can’t stand drunks,” he said. Besides, he knew what would happen - the older students (and a few young ones who were sneaky enough not to get caught) would act like a bunch of mules and break into song all throughout the night, and by the next morning there would be bodies all over the common room like the remains after a battle.
It was nothing he hadn’t seen before at home.
“Well, you’ve always been the hermit,” admitted Daphne.
Theodore raised an eyebrow at her. “What about you?”
“What do you mean?” she asked stiffly, and he was pleased to see there was a deep, reddish glow - not on her cheeks, but all along her neck. He had never seen her blush before.
“The question is obvious, isn’t it?” Theodore said with a smirk. “What did you do to get detention?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I told you something.”
“Well, ask something else!”
“No.”
“I won’t tell you.”
“Fine.” He turned casually stirring the Potion. “It’s nothing I can't find with a little Veritaserum.”
Daphne’s mouth dropped. “You wouldn’t! You don’t know how -”
“I keep some hidden in my room - who knows what other dirty little secrets you might end up spilling.”
Daphne stared at him for a long time, and he kept his face perfectly blank. He was lying of course - the Truth Potion was far beyond even his expertise and pocket money - but she didn’t know that.
Finally, she met his eyes challengingly. “All right. I snuck out last night.”
Theodore waited for a moment. “And . . . ?”
“I got caught. That’s it.”
“That’s all?” he demanded scornfully. “You got your knickers in a twist for that?”
She whirled at him, her eyes flashing. “I ask that you leave my knickers out of it, thank you,” she told him in a snooty voice. “And for your information it was the reason I was out that’s embarrassing.”
“Well, go on then.”
“No.”
“You’re not -”
“I told you why I’m in detention,” Daphne said, looking positively triumphant. “You didn’t say I had to give you details.”
Theodore’s mouth opened and closed, knowing that she was right. His dad would go mad if he found out he was outwitted by a girl.
Part of him was seriously annoyed - the other part was . . . curiosity. He had never considered Daphne especially clever. She hung out with Pansy after all, and she had about as much wit as a Mandrake. But when she wasn’t with her friends, it turned out she had a brain behind forehead.
His curiosity vanished when he realized she was smirking. It irritated him. “I think you have enough thorns,” he announced gruffly. “Go ahead and start grinding.
“Don’t be a poor sport, Nott.” She was still smirking - an odd one that made her eyes glint and a dimple appear on one side. “Besides,” she added, picking up a pistil, “you didn’t give me details either.”
Another point for Greengrass.
The two of them didn’t talk much more after that, and except for a particular incident where Daphne added too much salamander blood to a Strengthening Solution - causing them to have to start over - they managed to get through the rest of her detention all right.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the last potion was complete.
“You should go ahead and go,” he said as he labeled one of the jars.
“I’ll clean up.”
Daphne looked relieved. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders - she had lost the ribbon holding her hair up about an hour before - and damp from sweat. She still managed to be pretty, though. “I owe you, Theodore.” She raced quickly to the door.
“You’re welcome,” he muttered. He wasn’t surprised though - she probably had a far more exciting life than he did to get to.
He flicked his wand at the ingredients, sending them sailing into the cupboard and shelves. One of the cauldrons went to the sink and a pair of scrubbing brushes laced with Mr. Clester’s Cauldron Cleaner began to removing the potion traces.
Suddenly a girl cleared her throat behind him. He turned and found Daphne at the doorway with her arms crossed defensively in front of her. It was odd seeing her nervous.
Theodore raised his eyebrows. “Yes?
“Could you . . . ? I mean, would you. . . .” She took a deep breath. “Look, everyone knows I’m about as good as a jabberknoll at potions, and the only reason we’re still alive is because you were there to keep me from doing something stupid.”
“Okaay,” he said slowly.
“Would you . . . tutor me? In Potions, I mean.” She said it gruffly but he could tell she was ashamed at having to ask.
He considered it for a moment. Daphne had surprised him more than once since she had arrived, and had been a hundred times more tolerable. The mere fact she had outwitted him had captured his curiosity. If Theodore were honest with himself, he . . . he wanted to get to know her more.
“You’ll never hear the end of it,” he told her bluntly. Theodore wasn’t popular among his housemates, and there was no use denying that she was an attractive witch. The first thing they’d all want to know is what he was paying her to stand his presence.
She stuck her chin up stubbornly. “I don’t care.”
He shrugged, trying to ignore the fact that she didn’t seem to find him repulsive. “Your choice. Thursday nights at six-thirty alright with you?”
“I think so.” She nodded, backing away to the door. “I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Theodore.”
About a minute after she had been gone he saw something long and green lying under one of the tables. It was the ribbon that had held up her hair. He picked up carefully - it was smooth and cool to the touch.
His magpie-like instinct overwhelmed him, and before he could think better of it, he placed it in one of the pockets of his cloak.
Just in case.
A/N: Good grief. I meant for this to be a drabble or ficlet at most - but I just couldn’t seem to stop writing.
I've had this fic in my computer for ages, but I debated about posting this because I already have a Theodore/Daphne fic in progress. But when I tried to shorten it, I didn't like it as much. So, you get some Theodore/Daphne interaction early.
Thanks for reading!