“Blimey, how did this even happen?” Enzo Berkshire whispered from the entrance of the Slytherin Common Room, his eyebrows furrowed at the sight across the room.
“I don’t think even they know, mate,” Blaise Zabini said, the stone entrance wall shutting behind where he stood transfixed, his dark-brown eyes locked on the two entangled dozers.
You and Theodore Nott had both skipped out on dinner for the night, opting instead to work on the Potions essay Snape had assigned the pair of you — which you had both conveniently pushed off for weeks, and immediately regretted once you saw the workload that had been assigned.
Your identical copies of Advanced Potion Making lay open on the small table in front of the fireplace, along with twenty other library books you had borrowed; which Madam Pince would have a right fit about if she saw the notes you had sprawled in the margins.
Somehow, the two of you had ended up curled together on one of the leather sofas in the Common Room, your three-foot essay on Golpalott’s Third Law long forgotten.
Theo’s head was dangling off the arm of the sofa, his brunette curls tousled. Your head was resting on his chest, one hand placed over his beating heart. His arms were locked around you, holding you flush against him, your shallow breaths syncing with one another.
“Should we wake them?” Pansy Parkinson asked, her arms crossed as she stared at your sleeping forms.
“Ah, let ‘em rest,” Mattheo Riddle said, taking a swig from a bottle of Butterbeer he had brought back from the Great Hall for Theo. “Theo’s been having a hard time sleeping for days now, anyway.”
Draco Malfoy smirked, watching as Theo instinctively pulled you closer to him as he slept.
“Someone should go find that little blond stepstool who’s always following Potter around with that camera,” he suggested. “This is way too good to pass up.”
Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge
A/N: I fear this was better in my head
credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!
There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.
She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.
That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.
The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.
First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.
What do I do?
In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.
Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.
For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?
It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.
You scoffed.
They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?
And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.
You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.
“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.
“Watch it—!”
Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.
You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.
And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.
Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.
A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.
Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.
All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.
Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.
The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.
Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.
When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.
Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.
“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.
You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"
Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.
You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.
But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.
“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."
You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”
The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”
You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.
If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.
They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.
“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”
Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."
Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.
When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.
"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.
It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.
You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."
“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."
Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”
Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”
You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.
He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."
Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."
You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.
Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”
Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.
This was a bad idea.
But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.
So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.
When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.
Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.
You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”
He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.
The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.
Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”
You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”
You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”
Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.
The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.
They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.
Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.
They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?
Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.
“Can I have one?” You asked.
"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”
You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”
There was another beat of silence.
“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”
“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”
“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”
You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”
Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”
“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”
Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.
"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.
“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”
You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”
Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."
You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.
Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.
All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.
Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.
Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.
She was there.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.
Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?
Her head snapped up.
“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”
You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.
Your heart almost opened the door.
Your mind slammed it shut.
“No.”
She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”
“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”
“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”
You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”
Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”
Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”
She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”
Heat surged under your skin.
“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”
“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”
You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.
“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”
With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.
She didn’t back down.
“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”
Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.
You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”
One more shove.
Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.
“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”
The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.
“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”
You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”
His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.
“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.
His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”
You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”
And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.
Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”
The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.
Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.
You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.
“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”
Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”
Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.
The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?
Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.
“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.
You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.
Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”
The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.
Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.
You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.
Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.
And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.
Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.
How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.
You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.
She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.
And then froze.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.
The room erupted.
Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.
You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.
Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.
With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.
“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.
You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.
“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.
You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Oh, poor girl.
That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.
The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.
You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.
“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.
Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.
You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.
A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.
Especially the power it held over you.
You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.
It was baffling.
Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”
You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”
He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”
And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.
Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.
They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.
It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.
You didn’t.
Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.
But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.
Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.
“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.
What happened next was beautiful chaos.
A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”
You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.
The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.
For now.
The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.
“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”
You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.
You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, bella.”
“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.
Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.
Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.
When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.
Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.
“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.
A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.
Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.
But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.
Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”
You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.
“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.
“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”
The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.
Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.
You couldn't argue with that.
But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.
Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.
You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.
You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.
“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.
Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”
“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”
The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.
You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”
“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.
“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”
Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”
The problem was you weren't really his girl.
So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?
When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.
Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”
You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.
When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.
Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.
So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.
“Thank you.” You whispered.
You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.
“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.
“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.
You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”
“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.
“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”
He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”
Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.
You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”
Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”
You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”
Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"
You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.
You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.
The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.
His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.
His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric,
"Che bella, carissima."
"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.
"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.
If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.
Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.
But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.
You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.
"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.
When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.
"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."
His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.
"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."
Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.
"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.
He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."
Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music.
"If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"
You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.
“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”
“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.
You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."
Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”
Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.
“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”
Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.
“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”
You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.
“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"
You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.
And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.
The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.
“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”
You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."
"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”
With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.
“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"
Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.
You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.
When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."
"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.
You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.
You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.
“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.
“Hi. You alright?”
You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”
“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.
“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”
Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?
"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."
You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.
"Are—Are you being serious?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.
You frowned, “What’s this?”
“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.
You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”
His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”
You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:
I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.
Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”
The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”
He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.
“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”
Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”
He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”
Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”
His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.
The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.
Bonus:
Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.
You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.
And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.
How had you missed all the signs before?
Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.
“Everyone!”
The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.
Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.
“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.
The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.
“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”
His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.
Your hand tightened around Theo's.
“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”
The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.
Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.
A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.
A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?
"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.
Your ex’s confident smile faltered.
Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”
Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”
You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."
Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)
The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.
Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.
“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”
Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”
He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”
You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”
The air went still.
Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.
He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”
Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.
Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.
And then—
“HE’S HERE!”
Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.
“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.
The door swung wide.
Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.
“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.
“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.
Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”
“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.
Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.
Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.
"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."
“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
theodore nott x reader who was promised to him at birth with pure blood politics blah blah blah
she's his future wife, everyone knows this. it's like... a blood pact, etc.
except they grow up like the bestest of friends
except they're already each other's person and they think it's just being best friends
except when they're old enough to understand romance, they're horrified at the thought of resigning to the cliche
jokes like:
"Theo?"
"Mhm."
"I'm going to hogsmeade with hermione and the others this weekend"
"No.'
"...Excuse me?"
"That group contains five Gryffindors, Weasley twins included. Statistically, you will either be arrested or blown up before you even got to Hogsmeade"
"I wasn't asking for your permission"
A lazy smirk. "Pity. Denied anyway."
"Oh my God, Theo, you don’t own me."
He finally looked up then, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
"Technically,” he said smoothly, “according to several ancient contracts, ministry-recognized family accords, and at least one magically binding inheritance law- I do, so-"
Smack.
You hit his arm hard enough to make him wince.
"OW-"
"Shut UP."
Theo started laughing immediately, actually laughing, head dropping back against the sofa while you tried not to grin.
"You truly are insufferable."
"And yet," he said, catching your wrist before you could hit him again, still smiling, "you remain legally obligated to tolerate me."
UGHHH i have an exam tomorrow but who gives a fuckkk
"Jesus swwetheart" harry mutterd fingers digging into your hips as you sat on his lap placing sweet kisses down his jawline.
harry hadn't seen you all summer. and when he realized for the first time, that you had surprisingly gotten a compartment on the train all to yourselves, he quickly pulled you onto his lap kissing you harshly.
you loved kissing harry. the soft giggles inbetween, the quick pauses so he can fix his glasses, you loved it all.
a soft groan left Harry's mouth as you tugged on his hair pulling him deeper into the kiss.
you would have been lying if you said you didn't miss harry, because you did lots. and you hated that you were stuck working in some muggle coffee shop with rude people all summer.
this time, it was harry who broke the kiss planting rather harsh kisses onto your jawline and neck, and you let out a gasp of shock "Merlin harry."
harry looked up at you with that stupid grin rubbing his thumb over the newly placed mark on your neck.
Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in fact—spending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his day.
Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine morning when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.
With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.
"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.
Daphne squeals.
"Oh Teddy—"
"Don't call me that."
Daphne ignores him.
"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.
She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.
"Look there. The Two of Cups—signifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.
Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.
"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.
It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.
Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.
You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.
All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.
Just as you're about to finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.
You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.
"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoyles—"
Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.
"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.
"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."
As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.
"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.
Your desk partner snorts.
"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.
You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.
The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.
After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.
"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.
You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.
The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.
"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.
The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.
"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.
"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.
Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.
"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.
He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.
So they were from America. Huh.
Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.
Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.
But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.
Fate was cruel.
And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.
Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.
"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.
Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.
He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty blonde sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.
"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.
Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assume—Why was he being like this?
"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"
"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."
Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.
"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.
Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.
"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."
Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.
"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."
Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.
"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"
Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.
"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.
You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.
"Probably at least—" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.
You glare at the boy pointedly.
"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."
"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.
Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.
You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.
It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.
"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."
You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.
"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."
The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.
As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the door—a disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark now—you knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.
Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.
You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.
"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.
You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.
"And what's funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.
"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.
"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.
You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.
"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start getting—sorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"
You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.
"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."
You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.
"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.
You let out an exasperated sigh.
"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."
You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.
"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.
Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.
"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.
"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.
Had he always been standing so close?
"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.
"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.
Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.
"A kiss."
You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.
"Thanks Theo!"
Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete joke—Theo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.
"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.
"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting Enzo’s arm away from him.
"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."
Theo glares.
"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.
Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.
"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.
Theo's eyes bulge at the bold—albeit correct—observation.
"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.
Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.
"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.
Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.
"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.
Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.
"Sure."
Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.
The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.
Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.
"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.
"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.
"Look closer."
Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.
"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axe—" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."
Theo stares blankly at the old woman.
"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.
As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.
"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.
The Axe—problems overcome
The Butterfly—success and pleasure
Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.
Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each other—just being there together was enough.
Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.
"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.
You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.
"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.
Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.
And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.
When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.
"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.
You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.
"The first day we met—that morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."
A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.
"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."
Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.
"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.
"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, so—" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.
"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.
There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.
"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."
His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.
"I think I'm half way there too."
Everyone say thank you to the beta readers @simplyastra and @nottendo 🫶🏽
Synopsis: Theo sneaks into your dorm late at night, only to find you asleep. When he finally wakes you up, he eats you up for his troubles.
warnings: smut, oral fem receiving, carnal implications
Word Count: 6.5K
Masterlist
xoxo!
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You were deep, subterraneanly deep, in a sleep that felt earned, your limbs feeling weighed down by anvils after a grueling week of double Potions and night after night studying seshes. You’d collapsed into bed with your sweet vanilla oil still potent on your pulse points, the scent intertwining with the faint herbal notes of the lavender sachets tucked under your pillow. You were completely, utterly, blissfully out.
So, imagine your lover’s dismay as he finally completes the death-defying journey to your dorm, dodging prowling Prefects and the jagged sensors of the castle wards, only to find his prize knocked out. He stands in the threshold, expression mixed with adoration and genuine offense that you aren’t already awake and waiting to devour him.
There’s a faint shift in the room, like the air itself has changed, warmer somehow, closer. You’re wrapped in blankets and half-buried in a dream purely psychedelic, when something nudges at the edges of your awareness. It’s not loud, nor urgent, not a bit. It’s just...there, a presence that definitely wasn’t there when you closed your eyes.
“Hey… hey, bella mia…”
From a distance, the voice is even more shushed, dragging you upward through the layers of sleep. It’s familiar, so so familiar. The voice that lived in the margins of your mind all damn day.
Your brows twitch slightly, a reflex you can't quite kill, but you don't wake. Your eyes are almost anchored shut in your rest.
A brief moment passes. You can hear him breathing, smelling faintly of the peppermint tea he always drinks to settle his restless mind. His eyes scan your form once over.
“…you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath, softer now, like he’s talking more to himself than to you.
There’s a quiet click of the door latch behind him. He has spent his entire life navigating the shadows of a house that didn't want him heard, and now, ultimately, a boarding school with the same desire. He’s done this before.
You’re still asleep. Well, you’re supposed to be.
A hand brushes your shoulder, initially light as a feather, testing the waters. His fingers are cool yet his palm remains warm; the heat seeps through the fabric of your sleep shirt.
“Hey,” he tries again, a little firmer this time, his fingers giving you a gentle shake that makes your head roll lazily on the pillow. “Wake up.”
You don’t. Not really. But your body reacts just enough. With just a shallow hitch in your chest and your breathing changing for half a second you slip right back into the slumber you’ve maintained for some forty-five minutes now.
He sucks his teeth in a tsk, letting his stocky shoulders slump just a taste. Too bad you’re asleep, you miss the way his eyes sexily roll to the ceiling in his light frustration.
“Unbelievable,” he murmurs, and you can hear the weary tilt in his voice. “I risk my damn life sneaking into your dorm and you’re dead asleep?” He lets a hand push his tousled waves off his forehead, an act of habit, only for them to fall back to nearly the same spot. “‘Dodged like three wards.”
There’s a faint rustle of fabric as he takes a moment to glance around your room. His eyes scan your mahogany desk, parchment messily strewn about, three wide spined books dog eared in a makeshift bookmark. He can get an idea of what you were up to before you dozed.
Darling, you should probably wake up. Definitely should sit up and ask him what the hell he's doing in your room at three in the morning.
He hovers over your form, so close you can smell the sandalwood and the wintry bite of the outdoors clinging to his robes.
“…guess you really are asleep.” he says it halfway disappointed and halfway fond.
The quiet, heavy thud of his dragon-hide boots hit the rug. One, then the other, tossed shoddily in the doorway. Moments after there’s a faint drag of fabric when his charcoal cloak slides off his shoulder, probably slung unceremoniously over the chair where your desk is still disheveled. He’s making himself quite at home.
The mattress groans under his weight, a compression that pulls the silk sheets taut across your hips and rolls your body just a fraction of an inch toward the center of the bed. That sudden dip is what cracks the heavy shell of your slumber, finally. Your survival instincts could use some work.
Your consciousness wades to life, but your eyelids feel like they’ve been sealed shut with lead in your exhaustion. You know damn well you’re not alone. But you also know it’s undoubtedly Theo based on his weight alone. You’ve sat with him so many times, you could probably pinpoint his exact mass in less than three tries.
You obviously wonder why in the world he’s in your room at this hour, and silently thank yourself for not being a mouth breather tonight. Truly, a win is a win. Yet, a flicker of pure perversity infiltrates your otherwise pristine superego. You’ll make him work to see your irises.
So, you do as any other sensible girl would do when there’s a very pretty boy encroaching on your personal space at an ungodly hour. You double down and make him work for you. Sinking down further into the pillows while letting your head laze a little more to the side, you commit to the act. Even let a tiny little sniffle of a snore out.
The sensation of his eyes on you was enough, but when those lanky pianist fingers reach to touch you, you feel yourself folding. They find the shape of your calf through the olive duvet, the warmth of his palm seeping through the layers. His thumb shifts slightly, brushing against the fabric in slow, absent-minded arcs. Or maybe not absent-minded at all. Theo doesn't do anything without intent.
“…yeah,” he murmurs quietly, his accent thick with familiarity. “Out cold.”
He gives your leg a tiny teasing shake, his fingers hooking slightly into the soft muscle of your calf. You don’t budge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’re surprised you haven't drawn blood.
His fingers begin to trace the faintest line along the curve of your leg, like he’s mapping the geography of you out, testing boundaries he’d think twice about doing with your eyes open.
The weight on your leg lifts, and for a split second you feel a surge of relief from the retreating warmth. Maybe he’s satisfied. Maybe he’ll just sit there and watch you sleep like a normal creep. Only then, his hand snakes under the covers, his fingers searching blindly until they find the cool, bare skin of your ankle. Your skin warms instantly as his fingers circle the bone, hairs on your legs spiking at the anticipation of the contact.
His hands grow sneakier, letting his grip fall lower, to the arch of your foot. He lets his thumb brush against the sensitive sole. Your lower body tingles at the unexpectedness of it. Biting your cheek turns to catching your tongue between your teeth, trying to suppress the instinctive jerk of your leg. You’re cursing him out in your head, calling him every name in the book, wondering how he always knows exactly how to get under your skin.
Bastard.
Then you make the smallest, most pathetic mistake when your lips twitch nearly imperceptibly. It was really only a hint of a smile at the gall of him. Yet under Theo’s scrutiny, it might as well have been a neon sign. You hold your breath hoping he didn’t see it, but you’d honestly be more surprised if he hadn’t.
He exhales softly, clearly amused. You can feel it in the way his hand stills for half a second before it tightens around your talus. “Mmm,” he hums quietly, “Funny.” From your ankle to your shin he climbs, taking his sweet time.
“You always sleep like this?” he asks casually, as if you were actually in dreamland. You let your smile widen just a teeny bit, and he huffs mirthfully at the sight. There’s a shift in the blankets as he reaches down, his fingers hooking into the edge of the soft duvet, giving it a playful tug. The cool air of the room slides to nip your skin under the blanket, hitting your knees and mid thigh. Only then do you realize the gravity of your predicament.
“Oh… okay,” he murmurs, a light chuckle coming from his chest in response to you. “Good to know.”
The mattress groans a pitch when he shifts his weight again, maneuvering himself tight into the center of your space. His finger slides under the meat of your calf, hooking higher under your knees and lifting you until your legs are draped right over his lap.
And you’re very, very aware of the fact that you’re pantsless. You’d tossed those cotton joggers where only the wizards would know. There was nothing but that scrap of lace between your skin and the rigid fabric of his trousers. You could feel the rough texture of his quads through his pants, the solid muscle of them pressing against your lower legs. It was so masculine, so heavy, and Gods, you’d almost pay to see those thighs bare and flexed right now.
He lets the silence fester for a heartbeat as he looks at the uncovered skin of your shin like a starved, starved man.
“Guess I gotta pull these higher. You should probably stop me.”
He pauses for another short moment, almost expectedly. He’s waiting for you to crack– you can almost see the way he’s likely smirking right now, that stupid sharp self assurity. But bratty, bratty you. You’d never give him the satisfaction so easily.
He huffs, annoyed with an undertone of endearment. The blanket moves again, sliding up until it was bunched at your waist.
“Dio m’aiuti,” he breathes out in a rough exhale that ghosts over your cheek. Lord, help me. “Damn…” he curses under his breath, mumbling your name, the syllables catching in his now dry throat.
You feel his shadow loom larger. He’s looking at you, really looking, in a way he’d never dare if your eyes were open to catch him. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, his intentions with you abundantly clear.
“Those look so good on you,” he whispers, and you can feel the compliment buzzing in your stomach. There's a ghost of a touch at your hip, his thumb hooking into the thin lace of the waistline of your thong. He tugs, lets go.The tension of the elastic snaps softly against your skin.
“You had to have worn this for me,” he says, his smile wryly returning, though it’s strained now. “No way you floss your ass every night with these. You’re too practical for that.”
He lets out a shaky breath that hits the bare skin of your stomach. His hands, usually so careful with his books and his potions, grow even more sure. He slides his palms down, settling them firmly on your inner thighs. The heat of his skin is a shock against the cool expanse of yours, almost a searing brand that makes your muscles tingle and jump.
“So, so sleepy…” he coos, very obviously mocking you.
He begins to rub you, his thumbs tracing spirals against the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving higher and higher with every stroke. They rest at the hem of your thong, tracing the fabric as if it were a riverbank. You definitely have a river going on in near proximity, and you feel your facade blend from cheeky fun to a genuine struggle to stay still. He’s waking up the familiar ache between your thighs, drawing all your blood to your throbbing center.
“E se…” What if…he murmurs, trailing off into a contemplative hum. He nudges your thighs apart just the slightest bit. Even in this state, he’s careful, wanting you comfortable as he settles his weight.
From his vantage, he can see how the thin scrap of lace barely contains you—the soft puffiness of your lips spilling out from the sides.You can audibly hear the way sighs, and at that point you give in, discreetly giving your own lip a bite. The way he’s reacting to you makes you feel a dizzying rush of giddiness, like an actual visceral thrill in knowing your body is reducing him to this.
“Oh, man,” he whispers, gravelly and overwhelmed.
He sits back for a second, dragging a hand roughly down his face, his fingers dragging over his features the way someone does when they’re trying to snap themselves out of a fever dream. What am I going to do with you? the thought is written in every sharp line of his jaw. He leans back in, his gaze fixed between your legs. “You’re so puffy here, pretty girl.” his voice nearly cracks.
His thumb migrates, sliding over the lace to run directly along the length of your lip. The feel makes your hips stutter upward, your body asking for what your mouth is too stubborn to formulate. He reaches down and takes the thin triangle of your undies, hooking his finger under the lace and tugging it upward.
A flash of pure perversion dances in his eyes. He watches, transfixed, like a lad playing with his favorite toy, seeing how your pussy swallows up the thread of the thong as he pulls it taut. He tilts his head to the side, tracking the way your wetness starts to seep out from the sides, glistening against the dark fabric.
You’re practically dying. For you, it feels like heaven, and he absolutely knows it. The tight friction of the lace slides up against your clit, right where you need it most. The texture of it is just rough enough to catch on all that sensitivity, soothing just enough of the ache he’s been building up.
His eyes are fixed on the way the lace is buried deep between your lips, lost in the heat he’s stoked.
“Look at you. Sopping wet for a piece of string.”
He chuckles a frustrated laugh, his gaze dropping to the wet, dark line of the thong and then drifting lower to where his own trousers are straining. He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “My cock would fit better there,” he muses. “But whatever. If you want to keep playing pretend, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with this.” The mental image of that makes you throb in a brand-new way, imaging him nestled in your crevice.
He leans down, his lips brushing the very top of your thigh, right where the skin is the softest. His thumb found the center of that drenched undergarment and ground into it with a heavy circle. You can feel the moisture spreading, the silk now completely saturated and acting like a conduit for every bit of friction he’s generating.
“Poor thing,” he coos, the mockery in his voice thick and honeyed. “Tossing and turning in your sleep because you’re so needy. I suppose I’ve gotta play with your pussy just to get her to calm down, haven’t I?”
His finger trails up, sliding until he finds where you ache. He takes your clit between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a hard squeeze that’s almost a demand for a reaction.
“Mhmm...”
Alright, everyone has limits. That was yours, the sound escaping you before you can choke it back, a sweet, quiet moan. The irony of it was you sounded exactly like you were answering his question.
“Oh, mhmm?” he asks, mirroring the sound back to you with a low hum. He knows he won, the smugness practically radiating off him.
“Did you say something, stellina?” he whispers, his voice dripping with honeyed mock-innocence. “I could’ve sworn I heard a sound. But... no. Not from someone so deeply, deeply asleep.”
"Such a shame," he muttered, his voice thick with teasing lust, his thumb circling you once more. "I wish you were awake right now so I could actually taste you. I’ve been thinking about it since the Great Hall."
He places a chaste kiss on your belly, minty breath fanning over your skin. "But I suppose I can’t exactly get your consent while you’re off in dreamland, can I? Much too bad.” You feel the coolness of his breath retreating. “I guess I’ll just have to wait…or leave."
He stays perfectly still, his hand just resting there, depriving you of the friction he’s been teasing you with for the last ten minutes. The sudden lack of movement is agonizing.
No way in hell you’re letting that happen. Your eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light of the dorm. Putting on your best ‘I just woke up’ face, a tiny, stupidly smitten smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him.
"Wh-what'd you say?" you murmured, your voice thick and honeyed with fake sleepiness.
Theo didn't buy it for a second. He stared down at you, not even trying to hide the way his eyes wandered all along your body.
Now that your eyes were finally open, you feasted on the sight of him. He wasn’t in his usual, stiffly tailored school robes. He’d clearly snuck out of his own dormitory in a state of undress, his only outer garment tossed carelessly into the shadows of your room. He was wearing a pair of dark, silk pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips, the fabric thin enough to hint at the hard, lean muscle of his quads underneath. He might as well not have bothered to put on a shirt, the dark fabric of his shortsleeve doing little to hide the shape of his pecs and biceps.
He looked uncharacteristically undone. His mousy hair, usually swept off his forehead, fell over it instead, messily, tips touching his eyebrows and framing those eyes you came to love. There was a smudged shadow of fatigue beneath them. You’d always scold him for drinking coffee late, yet you watched as he gulped down a mug at dinner, hours earlier. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.
You loved seeing him like this. So handsome in a way that felt private, like you were seeing a version of him the rest of the world was never allowed to touch.
"Sei una furbetta," he mumbled, the Italian sounding like an approval. "Must’ve been the wind, darling, ‘didn’t say a thing. Since you’re so, so asleep, I was just heading out."
He made a show of shifting, the silk of his trousers tickling against your bare skin as he started to lift his weight. The movement was tauntingly slow,giving you every second to realize exactly what you were about to lose.
"Theo, stay," you gasped out, your pride officially dead and buried. You reached up, your fingers snagging the hem of his silk pants to anchor him to the mattress. Your knuckles grazed the warm skin of his hip.
He stilled instantly, his eyes tracking the way your hand was nearly trembling against him. He sighed theatrically, starting. "Oh... I guess I can stay for a bit," he murmured, his voice dropping a few notches. He settled back over you, his weight a grounding comfort. His hands made sure to stay where you can see them. He looked down at you as if he were a saint. "But what do you want to do, bella? You look so tired. Perhaps we should just talk?"
He was being an absolute asshole, and he knew it. He acted as if he hadn't spent the last ten minutes between your legs.
"I want you to taste me," you whispered, painfully needily. "Like you said you wanted to."
He wet his lips with his rosy tongue as if on instinct. He really is like a puppy for you. Yeah, he may have the upper hand many, many times, including now. But truly he is at your beck and call. So of course he didn’t waste a minute of time, positioning himself over you, his knees framing your hips. "Merlin, you’re so bossy when you're awake," he muttered, trying to convince himself that he’s the one with all the control here.
“And asleep too. You did exactly what I wanted.” you look up at him, batting those lashes triumphantly.
He groans, shaking his head, hair messily falling into his eyes as he looks down at you. “Yeah, well, you were faking it,” he countered without any bite. “Brilliant performance by the way, truly.”
“Not the whole time I wasn’t.” you defend, weakly.
He just clicks his tongue at you, his eyes growing a little softer at the edges. He slid his large hand underneath your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to cradle your skull against the pillow. He leaned closer to you until his forehead was resting against yours, nose just barely brushing your own.
“I missed you, mamma.” he admits, almost as if it were a secret.
Goshhh. That nickname. You feel like literal putty, your face parting in a toothy smile.”Theo, I just saw you like, nine hours ago.”
He humphs. “Sì, certo, pero. I was tossing and turning. Without you. Nine hours is a small eternity when my bed feels that empty.”
Your smile impossibly widens. You know exactly the kind of charmer he is, and yet he woos you every single time. You lean up, closing the tiny space between you to kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, he meets you halfway, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that’s sweet and filthy all at once. He adds his tongue almost instantly, already knowing the shape and taste of your mouth so well that it feels like coming home.
One hand kneads into your scalp, massaging the skin soothingly. His other finds your waist. You feel his palm slide upward, slipping under the hem of your sleeping shirt, his skin a welcomed familiarity against yours. His thumb traces the curve of your side, the tingle of it making your breath hitch into his mouth. He groans in response, the sound caught against your teeth. A hand snakes around you, pulling you flush against him.
After a few more moments of those perfectly sloppy, wet kisses, you reluctantly pull back an inch. Your chest rises and falls quicker than it would standardly, lips puffy. “Okay,” you whisper, unable to mask the laugh in your voice. “Now, my other lips.”
Theo pulls back just far enough to look at you, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, boyish laugh bubbling up from his chest. One of his thick brows shoots upward in genuine surprise.
“Pardon?” he asked in disbelief, not sure he heard you correctly.
“I don’t know...” you tease, your eyes dropping to his mouth and then back to his. “I just think my other lips need some serious attention. They’re feeling a bit neglected.”
Theo lets out a short, incredulous laugh, his chest heaving against yours. “You’re such a... a deviant,” he accuses, shaking his head. He settles back on his haunches, even though he keeps his hand firmly planted on your thigh. “Is that what this is? Are you just using me for my mouth? Is that all I am to you? A tool for your pleasure?”
He places a hand over his heart far too dramatically in a gesture of hurt. He furrows his brows, giving you the most pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. With his sharp corners of his eyes, it looks like he’s trying to use telekinesis to scramble your brain.
“Yes!” you say, your voice dripping with fake seriousness as you reach up to trail a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight prickle of stubble. “Yes, absolutely. It would be a waste not to put your talent to work”
He stares at you for a beat, his jaw tightening as he looks at the flush on your cheeks. He knows damn well it isn’t true. He remembers the months of pining, the way you begged your friends to change their route to class so you could make eye contact with him for 2 seconds. And the way you used to turn scarlet even when he said something as simple as ‘Good morning.’ He knows you’re just as addicted to the soul of him as you are to his hands.
“Wow,” he sighs, a long, exaggerated exhale of breath that he lets fall against the bare skin of your stomach. He looks down at your navel, then slowly trails his gaze back up into your eyes, his expression lascivious. You can’t bear it when he looks at you like that, like you are the only thing in the entire castle worth seeing, like he’s going to take you apart and memorize every piece of you to put you back together. All you can think about is the blue of his eyes.
“I’ll remember that,” he muses against your skin as he begins to trail a line of nipping, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. “Treating a guest like this. After I risked a midnight run-in with Mrs. Norris just to see you. Truly heartless.”
“A guest who happens to be very, very hungry,” he whispers.
You let out a breathy, frantic little laugh, trying to keep your head above water as his hands squeeze your thighs. “You literally finished my plate at dinner, Theo. I watched you eat my last three potatoes.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his messy waves falling over his forehead, “A man can’t want dessert? I’m a growing boy, I have requirements.”
“That is more than okay with me,” you breathe, honestly, some of your confidence crawling back. You place your hands behind your head in a flourish, stretching out like a cat, and then slowly lift your legs, placing your feet firmly on his broad shoulders. The contrast of your soft skin against the hard line of his frame makes you woozy. “So what's the plan? Are you gonna eat me like a cannoli?”
He freezes. Like, actually stops moving, his hands hovering over your thighs as he stares at you in dead silence. “No way,” he says, his voice flat. “No way you just said that. Absolutely not.”
He pulls one hand away to run it through his already messy dark hair, tugging at the ends trying to process what you just said. He’s looking genuinely upset at your choice of pastry, and you could’ve sworn he even scoffed. You can’t help it; a snort escapes you, followed by a fit of giggles because the look of pure offense on his face is far too much to handle.
You catch your breath just long enough to look him in those icy, narrowing eyes, and you can't resist the opening. “Absolutely, Nott!”, you chirp, giving him a cheeky, lopsided grin.
The corner of his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile he’s clearly fighting to suppress. He hates that he finds you funny right now, that your puns actually land. You watch his cheek hollow with a bite, and he furrows those brows again.
“Ugh, baby, no. No, no,” he groans, shaking his head and leaning back over you, his expression suddenly very serious, though his eyes are dancing with tell-tale amusement. “You need to know this. You have to understand the geography of what’s about to happen to you. Cannoli? That’s Sicily, that’s the South.”
He rolls his eyes, and only then do you realize he’s being partly facetious, playing up his heritage just to tease you back.
“You know I’m from the North. My family is from Venice and Milan. We don't do cannoli like that. We eat tiramisu.”
He leans down and nips, quite firmly, at the soft fat of your belly. You squeal, half-laughing and half-moaning as he begins to trail those kisses lower again, his hands sliding under the crooks of your knees to pull you closer.
“Well,” you start, tiptoeing around your ask. “Could you..could you fill me up like a cannoli? Later?”
The words hang heavy in the air of your dorm, and you can almost see behind his eyes. Clearly his internal monologue’s a mess of good-natured disbelief.’what is this girl’s problem?’But the mental image attached to your phrasing does much to turn him on further.
He clears his throat, yet his voice is still raspier than before. ”For you, I think I can arrange that. Actually, I’m certain of it.”
He can’t even help himself. As he kneels there between your thighs, he lets out a jagged, frustrated breath and slides one hand low, disappearing into the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms.You watch the line of his shoulder flex as he cuffs himself through the fabric, his knuckles grazing the hard, insistent length of him as he tries to process the mental image of finally, finally being inside you. The sight of him touching himself, even for a second, just because of something you said, makes you feel higher than any drug could render you.
He looks down at his own hand, then back up at you, irises darkening in anticipation. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters, jaw tightening.
His fingers leap up to hook into the damp lace of your thong, slowly shimmying the fabric down your legs. He watches every inch of skin as it’s revealed, his breath picking up when the lace finally clears your ankles and gets tossed somewhere toward the foot of the bed.
“What a treat,” he sighs in pure adoration.
He moves back in, his chest brushing against your shins as he settles between your knees. He leans down and presses a fervent kiss right to your pubic mound. The heat of his mouth against that sensitive skin is a shock to your senses. He stays there for a moment, breathing you in, his nose brushing against the soft curls as he worships the very sight of you.
He looks up at you through his dark lashes, his chin resting right against your inner thigh.
“You want your pussy eaten?” he asks, uncharacteristically crude for him.
A breathless, shaky laugh bubbles up in your chest, trying to gain some of your footing.“I think,” you pant, your fingers curling into the silk of the duvet, “you mean my tiramisu, Theo.”
He smiles lightly, but doesn’t laugh this time, pressing a slow, soft kiss on the meaty part of your thigh. “Tell me, silly girl,” he murmurs, the words almost commanding.“I don’t joke about consent. I need to hear it. Is that what you want?”
You swallow hard, your voice coming out as a small, desperate thread of a sound. “Please... please can you?”
He nods as if it were a promise. He leans back in, using the tip of his nose to gently nudge your labia apart. The cool air of the dungeon hits your heat for a split second before it’s replaced by the warmth of him. He begins to pepper wet, open-mouthed kisses over your swollen folds, his tongue darting out just enough to tease the edges of your sensitivity without giving you the full contact you’re feining for.
Your leg gives an involuntary shake when he gets closer to where you need, even surprising yourself as your knee knocks against his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to check your face.
Inwardly, he is absolutely stoked. The sight of you already reacting so strongly while he’s hardly even started is a massive stroke to his ego.
“Mhmm,” you manage to whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your hips up, wordlessly begging for him to stop the teasing and just finish you.
He hums in response and approval, bringing his hands up to rest comfortably but firmly around your stomach. Grounding, yes, but also practical. He wanted to hold you firmly in place so you couldn’t retreat from what was coming.
His head dipped again, the slickness of his tongue dragging from your perineum all the way up to your tiny, throbbing point. Your chest falls in relief, the first shocks of the contact balming your overcoiled tension. He groans to himself at your taste, the sound muffled by your skin. He began to lick you softly, his tongue fluttering in light strokes over your swollen folds. He was acquainting himself with you, movements curious as he sipped at the moisture you were yielding for him. So gentle, so coaxing.
“Yes, Theo.” you squeak out softly, not really knowing what else to say, yet you wanted to spur him on somehow. It did just enough. His hands gratefully tightened around your waist. He looked up at you, his hooded eyes pulling you right into him. “Like this?” he asked, softly, his breath a minty fog that made your walls flutter. He flattened his tongue, placing a heavy, heavy pressure right at your center. The texture of it is slightly rough, catching against your supersensitive skin. He settles in, stubbly chin rubbing at your entrance as he grows more sure.
Your restraint said farewell a long time ago, your moans so lewd and guttural, punctuated by the wet sounds of him making out with your sopping lips. He’s meticulous, moving from side to side, catching the sensitive skin of your labia between his lips and giving a soft, playful tug that makes you gasp his name. “So loud, baby.” he sighs against you, praise disguised as a complaint. “Take what you asked for.” he continues, his thumbs rubbing circles over your waist. He’s enjoying the taste of you, his head tilting to the side so he can get a better angle, his tongue darting deep into your opening before returning to flick against your clit.
A daring hand slides down, reaching to pull your lips open wider, exposing you fully to his gaze and his tongue. He watches the way you pulse for a short moment, leaning back in to soothe exactly that. “Atleast, slow d-..slow down.” you stumble deliriously, the tension in your thighs coiling slink.
“Yes ma’am.” he tells you, almost too easily. He moves lower, nose brushing past your opening as he trails a line of wet, stinging kisses down, down down, toward the sensitive, tight skin below. He presses his mouth firmly against you, sucking a wet kiss directly onto the sensitive skin of your anus. You feel it from your center to your toes, so taboo and uncharted.
“Theo-” you gasp, ripped from your lungs, legs shifting involuntarily against his shoulders.
He pulls back just a fraction, the cool air hitting the wet mark he’s left behind. He looks up at you through the messy locks falling into his eyes.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, a half assed apology. “I missed.”
He migrates back up, his mouth wide and hot as he latches onto your clit with an uncontained hunger. He does the exact same thing, sucking a deep kiss right onto your peak—but he holds it this time. He stays there for twice as long as before, his tongue swirling in tight,damp circles.
With his mouth busy, he brings one of his thumbs down, circling your entrance teasingly, his digit slick with the mess he’s made. He traces the very edge of your opening, pressing just enough to make you feel the hollow ache of your own emptiness. From there, you know you’re a goner. Your legs are shaking violently against his shoulders, your breath coming in short panicked hitches that you can't control.
“Theo—I’m... I’m coming,” you mewl, torso twisting instinctively in an attempt to gather yourself.
He’s not surprised in the slightest, his hand holding you securely against him. He sweetly grunts against you in response, finally slowing down when he feels you trembling. The feeling’s consuming, starting at the base of your spine, wading outward, your whole body like jelly. You can feel the warmth of your spilling out slowly, across the cool skin of his chin and the heat of his tongue.
His fingers shift to the undersides of your thighs to hold you open, keeping you pinned to his mouth. He begins to lick up the small, pearly liquid that leaks out of you, cleaning up the mess he made. He ensured not a single bit of you is wasted. “‘Tastes so good.” he murmurs against your thigh. “You did so well for me.” he tilts his chin down to meet your eyes, a boyish grin on his lips. “Better than any dessert.”
He lets out a long, shaky exhale, resting his forehead against the inside of your knee for a heartbeat as he tries to regulate his own jumping pulse. You swallow hard, your voice coming out small after you finally garner the strength to shift. Your eyes drop from his face, trailing down the lean line of his torso to where… zoo wee mama.
The bulge in his pj’s is impossible to ignore, the insistent line against his pants belying to you just how much he was holding back while focusing only on you. “What about you?” you whisper, your fingers reaching out to ghost over the waistband of his pants.
Theo’s belly lurches, his entire frame going rigid at the suggestion. He looks down at your hand and then back up into your eyes, his features melting into something so much more raw. He sits back on his heels, rising up on his knees until he’s shadowed over you, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his silk bottoms.
It feels like a scene unfolding in slow motion, and all you could do was watch with your lips parted. As he pushes the fabric down, the sharp, sculpted hardness of his obliques melts into the lean muscle of his lower stomach, trailing down to the dark, soft dusting of hair that leads to his manhood. He stops his descent there, a deep smile line forming in his cheek at your needy expression.
“I suppose,” he starts, letting his hand dip in to cup himself, pumping a few times just to push your buttons. “I can cut my losses and make a cannoli for once.”
He doesn't have to clarify. You know damn well he isn't talking about dessert.
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hiii my loves i am so so sorry ive been AWOL for a bitttt. finals finals finals ughhhhhh. i have part twos and a full length fic in the works:) this is just a little somethin somethin ive whipped up in between;) huge kisses. soon as i get over this hurdle, so much more to come.
FUCK YOU to everyone who's posted memes under the harry potter x reader tag. all there is in the top section of the tag are memes. bitch fuck outta my face i wanna read fanfic not your horrible attempt at being funny
