Alice cornered a scrawny kid in the hallway outside the Great Hall.
"Theodore Nott, right?"
"From the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight Nott family?"
Theodore Nott was pale, with brown hair, wearing a wizard robe that was clearly old and faded. Every detail screamed tight budget.
The only things worth mentioning were his decent looks and the brand-new wand clutched in his hand.
He eyed Alice warily, knuckles white around the wand.
"Alice Norton. I haven't done anything to you."
Alice smirked, studying the tense kid. "In every case of bullying, it's not just the bully's violence that keeps the victim quiet—it's every single bystander staring."
"In other words, the onlookers' guilt might be slightly less than the bully's… but only slightly."
After a beat, Nott shot back: "Even so, going after me instead of the actual bullies seems kinda…"
He raised his wand in front of him, ready to fight.
"Ha-ha-ha!"
Alice burst out laughing. For a second, her bright smile actually threw Nott off.
He couldn't figure out how a girl this isolated could laugh—and laugh like that.
"Wondering why I can still smile?"
Nott blinked. "Huh?"
"Wanna build a brand-new Slytherin order with your own two hands?"
Nott's eyes went wide. He hadn't expected that kind of ambition.
He shook his head. "I don't want any part of that. I just wanna graduate in peace."
Alice gave him a really? look. "Don't kid yourself. Nobody ends up in Slytherin without ambition or drive."
"Don't bottle up what you want. Tell me—why are you here?"
Nott stayed silent, still on guard.
Alice didn't push. She met his eyes. "You've got a real knack for Potions, huh?"
She'd noticed in class—Snape ripped into everyone except Malfoy, but his face softened a bit whenever he passed Nott.
Nott didn't have a rich daddy backing him.
So yeah—Alice figured the kid was a natural. And from his reaction, he knew it and cared.
The second she said it, Nott's eyes flickered. "What are you getting at?"
"I'm not getting at anything. I'm curious—what do you want? To be a Potions master?"
"Tch. Big dream. But breaking into Potions takes serious cash."
"Snape's got the school's backing and his own skills—investors line up for him."
"You?"
Her words hit like needles.
Same Sacred Twenty-Eight blood—why was he broke?
Same Death Eater dads—why did Lucius Malfoy dodge prison and live large while his old man rotted in Azkaban?
Nott glared. "None of this is your business."
"Of course it's not. But everything's got a price—you included."
"100 Galleons to work with me. Depending on how it goes and if we're both feeling it, I'll throw in more."
Nott opened his mouth to say no—then "100 Galleons" stopped him cold.
He didn't want in on whatever Alice was planning.
But 100 Galleons…
No way he'd see that from any other Slytherin.
"What do you need me to do?"
Alice relaxed. Hook, line, sinker.
"I like helping people with dreams. That 100 Galleons? Startup cash so you can chase that Potions master title."
"What I actually want is simple: anything you hear or see that Slytherins are doing that might involve me—just tell me."
"I'll pay you well for it."
"I hope through this little intel deal, we build trust, see the spark in each other's goals, and end up as partners on the same path."
Nott cracked a small smile. "If I sell out my friends for your money, can we really be partners?"
"Sell out?" Alice looked genuinely confused. "If what they're doing is right, sure—betraying them would be low. But do you think what they're doing is right?"
"Or do you actually believe in pure-blood supremacy?"
Nott didn't answer. He just grabbed her outstretched hand.
"I will be a Potions master. And I'll pass you intel. This isn't about who's right or wrong—it's just the price I pay."
With that, he walked off.
Alice leaned against the wall, watching him go, lips curling into a quick smirk before smoothing out.
Price?
Pure tough-guy talk.
Alice could tell—Theodore Nott wasn't a pure-blood fanatic. No surprise. His dad got dragged down the drain by Voldemort and hardcore blood purity.
Nott's current mess? Direct fallout from his old man's beliefs.
Truth is, Alice bet there were plenty of Slytherins like Nott—quietly against the pure-blood nonsense, just buried under the house's majority vibe.
Her plan? Use Nott to crack the surface, sort the allies from the enemies, and build something new.
A soft cough snapped her out of it—she jumped.
She turned to find her snarky, creepy head of house.
How did Nott idolize this guy?
"Dean, when did you sneak up? Do you just float?"
Snape's face twisted into a fake smile. No answer.
"Cool, you're not talking—I'm out!"
She started to bolt, but Snape spoke.
"Norton, taking an interest in souls is dangerous… and stupid."
Alice spun around. "Dean, wanna know what I'm thinking right now?"
Snape's mouth twitched, like go ahead.
Alice barely held in a laugh. "Dean—you really need to wash your hair!"
Snape's face visibly darkened. He sucked in a breath and snapped, "Miss Norton, Slytherin loses—"
"Think it through, Dean! The House Cup! I heard Gryffindor snagged a genius Seeker."
"Every point counts—don't sabotage your own house!"
With that, Alice bolted.
Leaving Snape standing there, deep in thought.
Genius Seeker?
Since when? If there was one, McGonagall would be bragging nonstop—she lives for Quidditch!
Probably just Alice's excuse to dodge punishment.