summary: (includes smut) a jealous theodore is not one you want to mess with. or maybe, for you, he's exactly what you need.
authors note: i wrote this in 30 minutes on my lunch break. i just couldn't get theo out of my head #workinghardorhardlyworking?!?! anyway enjoy guys!
🌷 masterlist
Theodore Nott doesn’t get jealous. No, he’s too good for an emotion as weak as pitiful enviousness. He’s way above wasting a single second on thinking about someone else. No, the feeling he’s getting from watching you flirt with another man isn’t jealousy. It’s hatred.
Theodore’s not jealous of the way your hand rests on the other Slytherin’s thigh. He’s not jealous of the other man who’s able to see the column of your neck up close when you throw your head back to laugh carelessly. He’s not jealous of your lips grazing the other man’s ear as you whisper something that makes the two of you giggle. Theodore is too busy devising a murder plot to feel jealous.
Theodore isn’t jealous, no. But then, what can he call the growing chasm in his stomach, the one that makes him feel like he’s freefalling? What can he call his roaring heartbeat in his ears, so loud he can barely hear Mattheo talking to him from a few feet away? How can he explain his clenched fists, his tight jaw, his hardened eyes?
Okay, so he might be jealous, which could be a reason for the predicament you’re in now.
“Tell me you’re mine. Say who you belong to, amorina. Say my name.” Theodore’s slow drag of his cock in and out of your wet pussy makes you feel tingles from your toes all the way to your finger tips, your head so far up in the clouds that you can’t even manage to talk properly, slurring your words to the point where they’re almost unintelligible.
“Theo,” you whisper his name, your fingers clenching the sheets under you. “Faster,” you whine desperately, your hips jerking up towards him, needing better friction, more precise movements, needing him deeper.
“That’s not what I said, bambina,” Theodore whispers in that gravelly voice he saves just for when he’s fucking you. “You’re mine. Say it.” He knows it’s irrational, the words he’s saying, because you’re not his. You're not his girlfriend or his partner, you’re not even his friend. You’re acquaintances. But once he found out from a drunk Pansy that your pussy became sopping wet just from making quick eye contact with him, and once he could admit to himself that he became painfully hard just from you sitting next to him, the two of you became, for the lack of a better description, fuck buddies.
You can barely breathe with Theodore’s cock inside you, and the sheer pleasure you feel from this new form of hate sex that you’re experiencing is rendering you completely stupid. So you can’t stop yourself from moaning his name over and over again, saying that you’re his and only his, and that you need him to go faster or you might actually die.
Sex with Theodore was always good, but you make a mental note to make him jealous more often. This was indescribable, his relentless pace, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he bends you into shapes you didn’t even know your body could make, his hand on your throat as he fucks you into the mattress, your moans echoing around the room so loud you’re almost positive someone’s going to walk in on the two of you.
“You going to cum, principessa, huh? Oh, look at you,” Theodore coos softly, acting like he’s not fucking into you so hard you can barely breathe. “Your tongue is falling out of your mouth, amore, be careful.”
“Theo,” you whimper again and again with every thrust. “I-I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I know you can, baby, c'mon. Give it to me. I want to hear my name on your lips as you squeeze my cock. I want to see your face as you cum.”
It’s like his words cast a spell on you; you cum after one particular thrust hits your g-spot, your hands curling into his hair as you convulse under him. You can hear him groan as his hips buck wildly into yours, his body stilling as he pumps a load into you. “Fuck,” you whimper repeatedly, hugging Theodore tight to your chest as the two of you come down from your highs.
“I got you, amore, don’t worry,” he whispers, and it sounds so scarily real and caring that you don’t even know what to think anymore as his soft lips meet yours in a tender kiss. You’re terrified at the way your heart swells, at the way you lose your breath and train of thought. You’re terrified because you might be falling for him.
pairings: brother’s best friend!theodore nott x fem!reader
warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, sneaking around, oral (f receiving), semi-public sex (bathroom), dirty talk, pet names, p in v sex obviously, MDNI
A/N: haii. sorry for being so inactive. imma try to post more often. especially your request, because i’ve got SO many to do. btw i didn’t reread the first part, so i’m sorry if this sucks ahh
word count: 3.8K
pt one here
masterlist
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three days later.
you couldn't look at your brother without feeling like a walking confession.
enzo sat across from you at the kitchen table, shoveling cereal into his mouth like a man completely oblivious to the fact that his best mate had bent his sister over the hood of a car under an open sky. your mother hummed by the stove, flipping pancakes. everything looked ordinary– too ordinary. the kind of quiet, domestic normalcy that made your skin crawl, because you were anything but.
your phone buzzed in your lap.
you didn't even look down. you already knew who it was.
theo: you're thinking about it right now. aren’t you
your thumb moved before your brain caught up.
you: i'm eating breakfast.
theo: didn't answer my question
theo: bet you’re blushing too
you shoved your phone face-down on the table so hard your fork rattled.
enzo looked up, brow furrowed. "you good? you look-"
"fine," you said too fast. "stomach thing."
he squinted at you for a second longer, then shrugged and went back to his cereal. gullible idiot, you thought fondly. your sweet, oblivious, never-find-out-about-this-or-he-will-actually-kill-theo twin brother.
your phone buzzed again.
you didn't check it until you were back in your room, door locked, back pressed against the wood like you were barricading yourself against a siege.
theo: i'm coming over tonight
you: no you're not
theo: enzo invited me. fifa tournament. apparently i'm ‘obligated’ to defend my title
theo: his words not mine
theo: but we both know i'm not coming for fifa
you: theodore.
theo: amore
you: you cannot fuck me in my childhood bedroom while my brother is downstairs
theo: wanna bet? ;)
your stomach dropped. then flipped. then dropped again like a malfunctioning elevator.
you hated yourself right now. but you were already pulling open your drawer to tind something to wear that wasn't flannel pajamas with wiener dogs or cats on them because apparently you had absolutely zero self fucking respect left.
he showed up at eight.
you heard him before you saw him –the low rumble of his voice in the entryway, your mother's laugh at something he said (traitors, all of them), your brother's enthusiastic finally, took you long enough, you prick."
you stayed in your room.
not because you were hiding. because you were composed. because you had a plan. the plan was to ignore him completely. pretend the last three days hadn't happened. walk past him like he was furniture. let him exist in your peripheral vision without acknowledging that you knew exactly what he sounded like when he fell apart inside you.
solid plan. excellent plan.
you lasted forty-seven minutes.
it was the music that broke you.
you'd come downstairs for water, barefoot in those ridiculous cat pajamas because your dignity had apparently clocked out early, and there he was. sprawled on the couch like he owned it. like he owned you. one arm slung along the back, legs spread in that infuriating way guys did when they wanted to take up as much space as possible.
enzo was in the kitchen, talking to your mother about something.
and theo was looking at you.
not the usual stare - the lazy, mocking one he'd perfected over all those years. this was different. this was hungry. his eyes dragged down your body slow enough that you felt it like a physical touch, and when they reached the little cats printed across your chest, his mouth curved into something devastating.
"cute," he said, voice low enough that only you would hear. "very demure."
"shut up," you whispered.
"come here."
"no."
"come here."
you shouldn't have moved. you knew you shouldn't have moved. but your legs carried you across the room anyway, and before you could think about what you were doing, he looped a finger around your drawstring and gave a gentle tug, pulling you down onto the couch beside him.
not beside him. into him.
his thigh pressed against yours. his hand dropped to your knee, casual, like it belonged there.
"what are you doing?" you hissed.
"watching the match." he didn't even look at the telly. his thumb was tracing circles on the inside of your knee, just above the hem of your shorts. "enzo's distracted. relax."
"i am not relaxing while you have your hand up my–"
"your what, hm?" his voice dropped lower, eyes glittering. “finish that sentence, principessa.”
you couldn't. because enzo chose that exact moment to walk back into the room with a bowl of popcorn and absolutely no idea that his best friend was two seconds away from sliding his fingers past the waistband of your pajama shorts.
enzo dropped onto the other end of the couch. turned on the playstation. handed theo a controller.
"you're going down tonight, nott."
theo's hand squeezed your knee once - hard, warning, promise- before he pulled away and took the controller.
"we'll see about that, berkshire."
you sat there for the next hour and a half, burning alive.
every commercial break, his hand found you again. your thigh, your hip, the small of your back. fleeting touches that lasted just long enough to set your nerves on fire before disappearing like they'd never happened. by the time enzo announced he was "crashing early, huge practice tomorrow," you were so wound up you could barely speak.
enzo clapped theo on the shoulder. "you good to lock up when you leave?"
"yeah. 'course."
"cool. g'night, sis."
"night," you managed, voice only slightly strangled.
the front door closed. your mother's bedroom door followed a moment later. silence settled over the house like a held breath.
theo didn't move. and neither did you.
the clock on the wall ticked. once. twice.
then he set the controller down, very deliberately, and turned to face you.
"your room or right here?"
"theo-"
"your parents are asleep, enzo's out cold, and we have unfinished business." he leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of your ear. "i've been hard for three hours watching you try not to squirm on the couch. so, which one is it?”
you stood up so fast you nearly knocked over the coffee table.
"my foom. and you're leaving before sunrise."
"wouldn't dream of overstaying my welcome."
he followed you up the stairs like a shadow, silent, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. your hand shook a little when you pushed open your bedroom door.
the second it clicked shut behind him, he pinned you against it.
his body was a wall of heat, and he was everywhere– hands on your hips, mouth on your throat, thigh pressed between your legs before you could even draw breath.
"been thinking about this," he muttered against your pulse point. "every fucking night since the car. you have no idea."
"then tell me," you gasped, fingers twisting in his hair.
he pulled back just enough to look at you. eyes dark. pupils blown. that stupid smirk finally gone, replaced by something rawer.
"i've been jerking off to the memory of you coming on my cock for seventy-two hours," he said flatly.
"theo-"
"so if you could just let me eat you out for approximately the next several hours, that would be great. because i am genuinely losing my mind."
you should have laughed. you should have made fun of him. instead you pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed him like you were trying to crawl inside his chest.
he walked you backward toward the bed, never breaking contact, hands everywhere at once. your shirt came off first – those stupid pajamas you wore, lost somewhere near the desk. then his hoodie. then his shirt, which you yanked over his head so aggressively you heard a seam rip. oops.
he didn't seem to care.
"bed," he ordered against your mouth. "now."
you fell back onto the mattress and he followed you down, settling between your legs like he belonged there. like he'd been mapped to the curve of your thighs. his mouth found your stomach first –open-mouthed kisses trailing down, down, down, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts.
"lift your hips, amore."
you did. he pulled your shorts and underwear off in one motion, tossing them somewhere across the room, and then he just looked at you. spread out underneath him. bare. wanting.
"fuck," he breathed. "look at you."
"theo, please-"
"please what? use your words." he was grinning now, that horrible gorgeous grin, settling onto his stomach between your legs.
"you know i like it when you beg."
"I'm not begging-"
his mouth found you before you could finish the sentence.
flat tongue, broad stroke, from entrance to clit in one slow, devastating lick. your back arched off the mattress. a sound came out of you that was embarrassingly close to a sob.
"there she is," he murmured against you, and the vibration sent sparks up your spine.
"that's what i wanted to hear."
he worked you like a man possessed – alternating between broad strokes and pointed flicks of his tongue, sucking your clit into his mouth just long enough to make you see stars before easing off and starting the torture all over again. one finger slipped inside you. then two. curling, searching, finding that spot that made your thighs shake and your hands fist in the sheets.
"right there- theo- please–"
"please what? let yoy come for me?" he lifted his head just enough to look at you, chin glistening, eyes wild. "that's the plan, baby. i'm not stopping until you come on my tongue. and then i'm going to make you do it again."
you came with his name tearing out of your throat, back bowed, vision whiting out at the edges. he didn't stop. kept licking, kept sucking, kept pushing until you were writhing away from him, oversensitive and shaking.
"one more," he said, not a question. "you can give me one more. c’mon, bella."
"ican't-"
"yes you can." he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, gentle, almost sweet. "one more and then i'll fuck you. promise."
your body believed him before your brain did. the second orgasm built faster, sharper, crashing over you while he watched with hungry eyes. you came apart on his tongue and he smiled like you'd given him a fucking gift.
"good girl," he murmured, crawling up your body. "my good girl."
you were too wrecked to argue about the possessiveness of that statement. you just pulled him down and kissed him instead– tasted yourself on his lips, and merlin- felt his hard cock pressing against your thigh through his jeans.
"off," you demanded, tugging at his belt.
"now."
he made quick work of his jeans and boxers, kicking them off the bed, and then he was there– bare, heavy, leaking against your hip. you reached down and wrapped your hand around him just to watch his face crumple.
"fucking hell-"
"you talked so much shit earlier," you said sweetly, stroking slow. "where's all that confidence now, nott?"
his answer was an amused chuckle and a sudden reversal of positions – one moment you were on bottom, the next he'd flipped you onto your stomach and hauled your hips up, dragging you onto your knees.
he pushed in - one thick, burning stroke - and you dropped your forehead to the pillows and screamed.
"shh, shh, baby." his hand covered your mouth, not hard, just there. "gotta be quiet. remember? enzo’s down the hall."
you nodded frantically, tears pricking at your eyes from the stretch, the fullness, the way he was already pulling back and slamming in again.
"that's it. take it. take all of me, principessa, i know you can."
he fucked you like that for what felt like hours-deep, punishing strokes that had you biting the pillow to muffle your moans. one hand on your hip, the other tangled in your hair, pulling just enough to tip your head back.
"look at you," he praised, voice breaking. "so fucking perfect. taking my cock like you were made for it. were you made for it, amore? made to be fucked by your brother's best friend in your childhood bed?"
"theo-"
"answer me."
"yes-"
"yes what?"
"yes, i was made for it, i was made for you, please, i'm so close-"
he reached around and found your clit with three quick rubs, and that was it. you came undone - shaking, sobbing, clamping down on him so hard he swore and buried himself to the hilt and followed, pulsing hot and deep, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
for a long moment, neither of you moved.
then he pulled out slowly– carefully - and you felt the mess of it dripping down your thighs. he grabbed something from your nightstand; a t-shirt, one of yours -obviously, and cleaned you up with shocking gentleness.
"gonna get water.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "be right back”
you didn't have the energy to argue.
he was back a minute later with a glass and a damp washcloth, and he cleaned you more thoroughly this time –between your legs, down your thighs, soft touches that made your chest ache.
"you okay?" he asked, settling back onto the mattress and pulling you against his chest.
"mm." your face was buried in his neck. he smelled like sweat and sex and that stupid cologne. "you're not supposed to be nice to me after. it ruins my hatred, y’know."
he laughed– quiet, rumbling through his chest. "wouldn't want to do that. hate away, amore."
"i will."
"i know."
you fell asleep like that. tangled together. his heart beating under your palm.
you woke up alone.
for a horrible second, you thought he'd left. then you heard it - low voices from downstairs. theo and enzo, talking in the kitchen.
you grabbed your robe and crept to the top of the stairs, pressing yourself against the wall where they couldn't see you.
"-so yeah, don't be late. pansy'll have my head if we miss her party." enzo's voice, casual.
"i'm never late." theo's voice, smooth as ever.
"except for that one time you showed up to my birthday dinner two hours late because you were 'helping an old lady cross the street.’''
"she was very old. and the street was very wide."
enzo laughed. "whatever, man. hey, you want breakfast? mum made enough pancakes to feed a small army."
"can't. gotta head out."
a pause. then enzo's voice, quieter now. "you stayed late. everything okay?"
your heart stopped.
"yeah." theo's voice was unreadable. "fell asleep on the couch. your sister didn't wake me."
lie, you thought. you were very much awake in my bed until three a.m.
"typical," enzo said, and you could hear the eyeroll. "she's been weird lately, you notice? like, extra hostile. did something happen between you two?"
another pause. longer this time.
"nothing happened," theo said finally. "she just doesn’t like me very much."
enzo snorted. "true. okay, well, text me later."
"will do."
the front door opened. closed.
you waited until you heard enzo's footsteps retreating toward the living room before you slipped back into your bedroom and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.
your phone buzzed.
theo: you were listening
you: i was not
theo: you're a terrible spy
theo: come to pansy's party with enzo tonight
you: why
theo: so i can fuck you in pansy's guest bathroom
theo: she has very nice tile
theo: good for your knees
you: you're disgusting
theo: you're coming
you: for fuck’s sake
theo: i meant to the party
theo: well. both :P
you threw your phone across the room. that kinda fell into a habit whenever you talked to him.
then you got up, picked it up, and texted him back.
you: fine. but you owe me
theo: i'll give you anything you want, principessa
theo: just keep looking at me like you aren’t whipped for me
theo: it's the hottest thing i've ever seen
pansy's party was exactly what you expected. crowded. loud. lit by string lights and too many candles to be fire-code compliant. someone had set up a speaker in the corner and the bass thumped through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.
enzo disappeared within five minutes –something about "finding the guys" and "don't wait up, sis" - and you were left holding a warm bottle of whatever that your brother found in the car, and scanning the room for a pair of dark eyes you definitely weren't looking for.
you weren't.
he found you first.
of course he did
"looking for someone, amore?"
you didn't jump. didn't flinch. just turned slowly and found him leaning against the wall behind you, drink in hand, wearing a black button-down with the top three buttons undone like he was actively trying to kill you.
"no," you said flatly.
"yeah?"
"i'm looking for the bathroom, actually."
his eyebrows rose. "already? we just got here."
"needed a minute." you shrugged, aiming for casual. "crowded."
theo pushed off the wall, stepped closer - close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. "i know where it is. pansy redid the guest bath last month."
your breath caught.
he wouldn't.
he would.
"show me," you heard yourself say.
he didn't smile. didn't smirk. just turned and walked toward the back hallway, and you followed like a moth to a flame… like a dog to a bone.
the bathroom was at the end of the hall. black and white tile, just like he'd said. a clawfoot tub. candles flickering on every surface.
theo locked the door behind you.
then he pressed you against the vanity and dropped to his knees.
"what are you-"
"told you," he said, already pushing up the hem of your dress. "good for knees."
you didn't get a chance to respond. his mouth was on you –through your underwear this time, teeth grazing your clit through the damp fabric, and your head fell back against the mirror with a thunk.
"quiet," he reminded you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. "party full of people who know your brother."
"then stop making me-"
he pulled your underwear down and licked a broad stripe up your center, and whatever you were going to say dissolved into a choked moan.
"that's it," he murmured against you. "let me take care of you, principessa. let me make you feel good. you deserve to feel good."
you came on his tongue in under two minutes– fast, desperate, teeth sunk into your own fist to muffle the sound. he worked you through it, gentling his touch until you were shuddering and oversensitive, then pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh before standing up.
his mouth was a mess. your fault. your doing.
you pulled him down by his open collar and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips, and he groaned like it hurt.
"need you," he said against your mouth.
"right now. need to be inside you."
"then do something about it, nott."
he spun you around, bent you over the sink, and fucked you from behind with one hand over your mouth and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. the mirror fogged with your breath. the candles flickered. somewhere beyond the door, music thumped and people laughed and lived their normal lives while you fell apart on your brother's best friend's cock in pansy parkinson's guest bathroom.
you came first. then him. then both of you, slumped against the counter, breathing hard.
"we have to stop meeting like this," you managed.
theo laughed– low, wrecked. "no we don't."
he helped you clean up. fixed your dress. tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with shocking tenderness.
"you look beautiful," he said quietly. "i should tell you that more."
your chest ached.
"don't," you whispered. "don't be nice to me. it makes it harder."
"makes what harder?"
pretending i don't love you, you didn't say.
"hating you," you said instead.
he looked at you for a long moment. something shifted in his expression- something soft and terrifying.
"you don’t hate me, amore. thought we already established that."
"i do."
"you don't." he kissed your forehead, feather-light. "and i don't hate you either. never did."
your throat closed up.
he unlocked the bathroom door, checked the hallway, and slipped out first. you waited a full minute before following, heart pounding, thighs still shaking.
enzo was waiting for you by the front door.
"there you are!" he frowned. "i've been looking everywhere. you okay? you look-"
"fine," you said. "just needed some air."
he squinted at you. "your lipstick’s smudged. your mascara too’”
your blood turned to ice. "what?"
"you been crying or something?"
or something.
"allergies," you said. "pansy's cat."
"pansy doesn't have a cat."
"dust, then. i don't fucking know. can we go home?"
enzo looked at you for another long moment– too long - and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes. but then he just shrugged and pulled out his keys.
"yeah, alright. come on."
you followed him to the car, hyperaware of theo's gaze on your back. when you glanced over your shoulder, he was standing in the doorway, watching you go. phone in hand.
it buzzed a second later.
theo: same time tomorrow?
you smiled despite yourself. typed back.
you: we’re too reckless.
theo: i'll climb through your window
you: i’m on the second floor
theo: i'm very motivated
you bit your lip. slid into the passenger seat. buckled your seatbelt while enzo started the engine.
you: fine. but if you break your neck, i'm telling everyone i pushed you down the stairs
theo: worth it
theo: see you in your dreams, principessa
theo: and then in your bed
you turned your phone off and stared out the window at the dark streets rushing past.
enzo glanced at you. "you're smiling."
"no i'm not."
"you are. that's weird. you never smile."
"maybe i'm just happy to be going home."
"whatever you say."
you glanced at him. he was watching the road, but there was a strange look on his face. something you couldn't quite read.
"enzo?"
"yeah?"
"nothing." you looked back out the window.
"just– thanks for takong care of me. you’re the best brother ever."
"always, sis." a pause. "you know you can tell me anything, right?"
-> after the eventful night at the party you hesitate to tell your brother about your relationship with his best mate, fearing his reaction- but theo doesn't seem to know what's good for him.
-> brother's bsf!theodore nott x riddle!reader; wc: 8.8k; cw: violence, smoking, alcohol, blood, suggestive; sfw; sadly there was some error with the tags and I couldn't tag some people, but I still hope you all found your way here!
( masterlist )
Taboos were a funny thing. Unspoken, implied, and yet, it seemed impossible to break them- making it all the more thrilling to throw them into the wind. Once broken, they settled in the depths of your heart as secrets, blossoming uncontrollable until your whole stomach was a resting whirlwind of pink rose petals, ready to be triggered at any minute. The memories of last night were like hidden-away treasures, replaying in your mind as you walked up the dungeon steps on your way to breakfast. It was as if you could still feel his hands on your skin, his velvety voice in your ears and see the look of hunger and adoration in his cerulean eyes.
Almost subconsciously, you ran your index finger along your thigh below the school skirt you were wearing and felt your stomach flutter at the reemerging memories of last night. Half an hour ago, you'd woken up, feeling more gleeful than ever and only after a few seconds realizing why. But now, it clouded your mind and projected a silly little smile onto your face. Theo was your boyfriend.
You could barely believe it, which didn't make it easier to sort out the conflicting feelings fistfighting each other in the back of your mind. The risk of going out with Theo, the betrayal Mattheo would feel, and the overpowering delight ignited by the mere thought of him, the image of his face, the whisper of his name. God could not have crafted a more perfect man- or a more unreachable one. Because you didn't dare picture what Mattheo might do to the both of you if he found out.
The corridor was quiet, the distant chattering from the Great Hall above growing ever more clear as you approached it. No one crossed your way, you were quite late. The cool stone beneath your fingertips as you trailed your hand along the wall was grounding, steady, until suddenly, it wasn’t. A firm grip caught your wrist, gentle yet insistent, and before you could react, you were being pulled- not harshly, but with a certainty that sent a spark of electricity through your veins.
You barely had time to gasp before your back met the cool stone, and when you looked up, Theo was there, his body caging you in with effortless ease. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hands meeting the wall on either side of your head. An easy smirk danced around your lips and the glinting in his eyes stirred other, more sinful memories in you. Though it was a much different setting than back then, the hunger in them was the same he'd stared at you with when he'd eaten out as if you were his last meal. “Caught you,” he said, under his breath, looking so damn irresistible with the teasing look in his eyes. He seemed much more casual than usual, as well as in a much better mood, and you could understand why.
“I wasn't running,” you replied in an unconvincing effort to keep your voice steady. You swallowed when he leaned in even further and tilted his head, eyes boring into yours as if he knew exactly what was going on in your mind- how you longed for him, for every bit of him, from his blue eyes to the sharp edge of his voice.
His fingers traced up your arm lazily, leaving you struggling to suppress a shudder, and if the flicker of his eyes was any indication, he was perfectly aware of how he made you feel. “No?” he asked with a knowing smile. “Then why do you look so nervous?” Your breath hitched in your throat when his lips hovered over yours, stilling in silent anticipation. You knew he was making you squirm, was getting you all hot and bothered for him so he would have the upper hand. And you were ashamed to admit that it worked.
In an attempt to divert him and avoid suffocating on the heavy tension lingering in the minimal space between you, you said, “I was just on the way to breakfast,” but it came out like a question and you bit down on your tongue when he raised an amused brow.
The intensity of his gaze made you swallow and blink, but you refused to avert your eyes from his pools of blue, refused to give him the satisfaction. “Oh, were you know?” he asked, voice low and laced with sarcastic humour.
Sarcasm. His defining feature. Sometimes you felt like he walked through life, disregarding all worry and bother with a sarcastic smile on his face. But you knew he could be genuine. His gaze would always be understanding when you sought out consolation with him, his smile gentle when you would tell him about your day. Last night, when Campbell had cornered you at the party, there had not been a trace of humor in his cold demeanor. When he’d eaten you out on that desk, he had looked up at you with such sincerity.
You instinctively leaned into the touch of his hand when it came up to rest against your neck, thumb running over your throat with featherlight precision. “You keep walking the halls in that skirt of yours and someone’s going to snatch you up.”
Unconvincingly, you rolled your eyes at him and his protectiveness. Your skirt was perfectly fine. Maybe it was the one from last year. Maybe it rode just a little higher on your thigh. Maybe you’d wanted him to notice and strain himself all day to not let Mattheo catch him looking at you. Maybe all you’d dreamed about that night was the feeling of his hands working on your cunt, producing the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever felt.
“And let me guess,” you said, challengily, and ignored the pounding of your heart against your ribs, “you’re just the right person to keep that from happening?”
Theo dipped down even more, making your eyes flutter shut in the expectancy of a kiss. It came, but it was a mere gentle peck to the corner of your mouth. “No,” he disagreed smoothly, “I’m the only person who is allowed to.”
You had enough. Enough of the tingling teasing of his fleeting touches, enough of the light touch of his lips. Taking initiative, you stood on your tiptoes to meet his lips, but he pulled away, smirking down at your frown. Just a shame you’d discovered how to make him snap last night. Theo smiled as your hand came up to his neck, pulling him down with pleading eyes, and made not the slightest attempt to assist your struggles. So, you had to get out the full arsenals. “Theo,” you whispered, gaze firmly locked on his cerulean eyes. “Theo, baciami.” (Kiss me)
“Maledizione,” cursed Theo through gritted teeth and you knew you’d won. In one fluid motion, both his hands came up to cup your face and his lips clashed onto yours with unknown ferocity. They moved vehemently against yours, eliciting a high-pitched little gasp from you. It made him chuckle into your mouth as his tongue slipped between your lips, taking charge of the kiss.
Though passionate, the kiss was still controlled, no matter how wildly, he still consumed you with meticulous mastery. Every movement of his soft lips, every brush of his fingers, every wandering of his hands was expertly staged to get you riled up. Kisses with Theo were not satisfaction, they were carefully controlled build up. And once you gave into his push, he guided you more and more to a point where you almost moaned against his lips.
One of his hands had wandered down to your hip, then your thigh. Unexpectedly, he gripped the underside of your upper thigh and lifted it, squeezing the flesh between his long fingers. Departing from yours, his lips latched onto your neck, and you pushed wildy against his chest. He broke away, brows furrowed with a hint of irritation, still pressing you against the wall with his whole body and massaging the flesh of your thigh as he held it, lifted up to his waist. “Wh-”
“Mattheo will kill you!” you whispered, voice shaking slightly. Instinctively, you looked up and down the hall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Anyone could walk by. Even if they were another student, they would spread the news around the whole castle and you wouldn’t be spared Mattheo's wrath. You weren’t sure whether he’d be angrier at his best friend for stealing his sister, or at his sister for stealing his best friend, but you did know you weren’t eager to find out.
Theo only laughed lightly at your grim prediction, and the sound was so entrancing that you forgot to be angry at him. Though they spared your neck, his lips traced your jaw with featherlight kisses. “Worth it.”
You felt your breath grow unsteady, not just because of his wandering hands. Hastily, you looked in both directions, up and down the corridor, listening for footsteps, however distant they may be. “It’s not,” you disagreed, biting down on your lip as his fingers slipped beneath your shirt and the calloused tips ran along your bare skin. “Theo, seriously. What if he hurts you? Remember what he did to Dylan Walker?”
Walker had taken you out on a date once, and for that alone, Mattheo had landed him in the hospital wing with second degree burns and a lung full of lake water. When you’d confronted him about it, he had refused to tell you why and Walker had never exchanged another word with you. “Vividly,” said Theo in a dry voice, not even bothering to glance up at you. “I was there.”
“Wha-,” you gasped in indignation, but a sharp pinch of your stomach between his fingers got the words stuck in your throat.
“He talked trash about you,” he explained in an indifferent voice, as if it didn’t matter at all.
You let out a frustrated huff of breath and dug your fingers harshly into his shoulders. “Doesn’t matter. Just because you beat up people and chop at your life expectancy together doesn't mean he won't do the same to you.” There was now actual panic in your voice as you nervously anticipated the steps, the people. Eyes widening, nudging friends, running off to tell the whole school, maybe even Mattheo himself.
But Theo seemed completely unfazed as he trailed kisses up your jaw. “Aren’t you just irresistible, all worried about your boyfriend, carina.”
The use of the word ‘boyfriend’ almost made your thoughts stutter and a tender bloom blossomed in the pit of your stomach. Right. He was your boyfriend. You couldn't suppress the small smile forming on your lips, and by the look he gave you, he knew exactly what he was doing. Theodore Nott was your boyfriend. Not anyone else’s.
All the girls you’d secretly envied when you saw them walk off with him to his dorm in the midst of a rowdy Slytherin party, his arm around their waists, knowing from the stories they told they had to be in for a good time. The following day, you’d visit him at his dorm to do coursework together and try to shut out the fact that on the very bed you sat on, he’d kissed and fucked a girl that wasn’t you. Your gaze would linger on the crumpled up sheets, picturing it, how he would be towards them. Would he be rough, or gentle? Would he be mean, or sweet? Where would his hands wander, where would his lips caress, what would they whisper into the space between the heated bodies?
And then, his voice would pull you out of your sinful thoughts, as he leaned against the headboard and studied your expression, teasing you for your lack of concentration. You wondered whether he had known how it would seize your heart, the way he smiled at you, the way he looked at you. The mere act of regarding you. It was embarrassing, pathetic even, but you felt no greater love and adoration for anyone.
Theo’s thoughts seemed to have wandered off to similar pölaces. As he guided your lips back onto his, he whispered words in between the kisses that made your cheeks burn. “I want everyone to know,” he whispered, and despite your reluctance, you sighed contently against his lips. “I want everyone to know you belong to me,” he said in a murmur, his front pressing against yours.
You nearly choked on your own spit when his thigh slotted neatly into the space between yours, and you were glad your embarrassing little mewl was swallowed up by his hungry lips. “I want them to know,” he repeated, as if it was a mantra, as he devoured your lips over and over again. “I want them to know who they will have to answer to if they ever mess with you again.”
“But who do you answer to?” you asked, voice barely audible in between the hungry ministrations of his lips.
But he understood, you knew he did, somehow he always did. Because he scoffed lightly and tilted your head to give himself better access to your lips. “Not your brother.”
It was hard to concentrate on his words when his hand squeezed your thigh so deliciously and his hips moved teasingly against yours, driving all thoughts about getting caught right out of the forefront of your mind, leaving only thoughts of him, him, him. “He may be my best mate, but he has no damn say in this,” Theo said firmly, voice barely above a whisper but rich with his baritone. “And he’ll have to accept that you are your own person, and you can make decisions for yourself that are right. Not because he approves of them but because you made them.”
All this was whispered hurriedly against your lips and you barely registered half of it, but still, a certain warmth spread in your chest- and not only in your chest. Theo’s lips departed from yours and he looked down at you, noticing your still worried expression as you returned his heavy gaze. Gentle fingers brushed over your face, over the frown, smoothing it out with a smile. Letting out a long sigh, you contemplated his words.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, suddenly with such disarming tenderness that you swallowed.
“Alright,” you breathed out, voice still full of doubt. You weren’t at all convinced that Mattheo would accept the fact that you were your own person, and even less convinced that he would resolve the issue without violence. The last thing you wanted was for Theo to get hurt. But then again, they were best mates. Maybe Theo would finally be the one he would accept, he would deem worthy of you. How ridiculous that notion was. The more Mattheo kept you away from boys, the more desperate you got- hence Terry Campbell. But maybe he would see how misguided his previous overprotectiveness was if Theo talked him out of it. After all, Theo was a master of words.
“If you want to risk it,” you finally said, meeting Theo’s gaze steadily, “I won’t stop you. But not now. Not at breakfast. I’m actually hungry and I want to enjoy it without you getting your head torn off.”
“Qualsiasi cosa per la mia principessa,” he said, smiling. (Anything for my princess)
Because it would look suspicious if Theo and you just so happened to arrive at the same time, you let him go first and waited for a few minutes before making your way to the Great Hall as well. It was relatively late when you arrived, many students were already on their way back up to their common room as it was a Saturday and they had no classes to attend.
When you walked into the hall, you spotted your friends as one of the last groups at the Slytherin table. Walking over to them, you were first spotted by Pansy, who lifted her head from Blaise’s shoulder to wave you over with an eager grin. Suspicion curled in your stomach when you saw the excitement in her expression, the eager smile could mean nothing good.
As you approached them, you avoided looking at Theo, who had perched himself on the bench in between Pansy and Draco. You went for the seat opposite him, Enzo and Mattheo making room for you in between them. Theo lounged far more casual than usual, smirking slightly as you sat down next to your brother, his eyes flickering over you shortly. “Took your time getting here, tesoro.”
Your eyes flickered over to Mattheo in alarm- in his presence, Theo usually made use of less romantic nicknames. But Mattheo didn’t seem to have picked up on it, seeing as he didn’t pause in his scribbling on a torn piece of parchment. Somewhat calmer, you picked a piece of toast from a plate, avoiding his piercing eyes to not give anything away. “Shut up, Theo. I need my rest,” you said as casually as possible. “Not all of us survive on caffeine, nicotine and no sleep at all.”
On the opposite side of the table, Theo rested his chin on his palm, propped up on the polished wood. His eyes were dark with amusement as he watched you spread butter on your toast. “Hm,” he made vaguely, voice dripping with insinuation, “Thought maybe you got held up.”
Stiffening mid marmalade application, you looked up from your toast to glared at him. But he had already averted his eyes, as if they had been resting on you by mere chance. Instead, you met Pansy’s gaze, who narrowed her eyes slightly, a suspicious look on her face. Pansy had known of your feelings for Theo for even longer as you yourself had, she had a certain instinct for romantic intricacies. One that now came to your inconvenience, as her attentive eyes, eager to pick up on any further signs, flickered between you and Theo. Then, she turned to you, a misleading smile spread across her features. “How was the party yesterday, darling?” she asked, wiggling her brows, “How was your date?”
Mattheo, who had barely been paying attention up until now, froze next to you, eyes snapping up from the parchment and to you with scrutinizing estimation. Trying your best to look indifferent at the memory of Campbell, one that you had already half suppressed, you shrugged, not meeting Theo’s eye. “It was pretty uneventful. He was a bit of a bore.”
Mattheo seemed agitated. He leaned back on the bench, fingers tapping on the wood restlessly, knee rocking under the table. “You missed the briefing,” he said to you, in a not so subtle attempt to change the topic of conversation. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Pansy’s face fall. No doubt would she have asked about the details of the evening, but you weren’t that good at lying- especially not to her.
“The what?” you asked, before she could bring Campbell up again, and raised your brows at your brother. Mattheo grinned at your scepticism and draped an arm over your backrest. Years and years living with him had taught you when his smiles could mean no good, and your brows drew together in a frown as he leaned towards you with a smirk.
“The party briefing. We’re throwing one tonight. No, you don’t get a say. Yes, you’re going. No, you’re not bringing some random guy.”
Deadpanning, you took a bite out of your toast. “Didn’t ask for your permission, actually,” you said sharply when you’d swallowed.
With a mock gasp, your brother clutched his hand over his chest. “You wound my pride as your older brother.” You sighed a long sigh. It was pointless reminding Mattheo that he wasn’t even the oldest and him acting like he was most likely stemmed from some deep-rooted control issues- he would never hear it. You exchanged a short look with Theo, who seemed amused at your frustration and quirked his lips at you. It was hard not to smile back.
“Do we really need another party?” asked Draco, frowning, as he cut his toast into neat pieces for consumption. “Didn’t we just have one?”
Pansy, leaning against Blaise, took her eyes off you to roll them at him. “You say that every time.”
“And you always show up,” Mattheo grinned triumphantly, seemingly very content with himself ever since you’d shown so little enthusiasm regarding your date of last night. If only he knew…
“You've got scratches on your neck, Nott,” Pansy said suddenly, making your meandering thoughts snap back to the present. A present in which Theo had frozen mid-stretch. His shirt seemed to have ridden up when he’d strained his arms over his head and indeed, with horror, you noticed the marks your nails must’ve left on him. You felt heat rush up into your cheeks at the memory, but Theo seemed completely unfazed and smirked at her. “Do I?”
Enzo chuckled into his tea next to you, turning a page in his newspaper and glancing up at Theo shortly, a knowing smile on his face. “Rough morning, mate?” A lazy, unbothered smile spread across his face, and you were momentarily awestruck by the glinting in his blue eyes as they reflected the morning sun, forgetting all about Pansy’s watchful gaze. Looking from you to Theo, she narrowed her eyes once more as Theo idly spun his spoon between his fingers.
“You’ve been in a suspiciously good mood all morning.” Blaise grinned at Theo, who didn’t seem unsettled by the attention at all- other than you. “Must’ve been a real good fuck,” Blaise laughed, making the corners of Theo’s lip twitch. Quickly, you looked away from him. If he looked at you with those damn eyes of his now, your reaction would for sure give you away.
But Theo merely raised an eyebrow at Blaise, readjusting his collar. “Why do you care so much about my sex life, Zabini? It’s disturbing.”
Even Draco now joined into the conversation, and you could only pray your silence would be interpreted as tiredness, rather than nerves and utter embarrassment. He leaned back and frowned slightly at Theo, who was pouring himself another cup of coffee. “It’s just weird when you smile, Nott.”
That seemed to finally take Mattheo’s mind off the party- though you’d rather have them all occupied with something else. He pointed his fork at Theo, suddenly interested. “Actually, yeah. What’s with you?”
Theo deadpanned, sipping his coffee and scanning them all over the rim. “Maybe I’m just happy.”
Next to you, Mattheo snorted disbelievingly. “You’re never happy.” The sarcastic look on Theo’s face made everyone, including you, laugh. Even Theo’s lips twitched humorously and once again, his eyes found yours for the split of a second, brow raising.
“Alright,” groaned Mattheo, matter of factly, once the laughter had subsided, and rose from his seat. “I have some orphans to cannibalize before noon.” his gaze landed on you, voice casual but suddenly firm. “No bullshit tonight, yeah? I don’t want to have to drag some idiot off of you.”
“How about you don’t do that?” you suggested dryly, knowing he would never even consider the possibility. He considered your business his business and justified it by spewing stuff about protecting you, shielding you from the world. But he had to know he would not be able to forever. And you, for your part, were perfectly content with pushing more boundaries, especially when it had felt so damn good yesterday.
As you had suspected, all you got from Mattheo was an unbothered grin. “Not up to you,” he said, simply.
Even Pansy rolled her eyes now. She had always been your advocate, the one who got you talking to boys at parties and smuggled you drinks, lended you her unholy book collection and gave you makeup tips. Now, she gave Mattheo a pointed glare. “You act like she’s a kid, but she’s an adult just like you, you big idiot,” she snapped.
Indignant, Mattheo crossed his arms over his chest. “No, I act like she has terrible taste in men.”
“He does have a point, darling,” Enzo chimed in from your other side, and you gave him a look, conveying just how unhelpful he was being.
“She’s going to end up with someone eventually,” Pansy pressed on, making Mattheo’s expression shift into one of irritation. “And you’ll have to face it.”
Mattheo scoffed, returning her glare. “Not if I have a say in it.”
“You don’t!” you reminded him, voice more heated than before. The stress of keeping a secret from him paired with the worry this conversation sparked off inside you.
The smile on Mattheo’s face was forced, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard and unyielding. “It’'ll be a cold day in hell before I let some idiot get near you." And unfortunately, you believed him.
The Slytherin common room was buzzing with restless, pent up energy of countless students of all houses. The air thick with cigarette smoke and the sickly-sweet smell of smuggled firewhiskey. The emerald glow of the fires cast wildly dancing shadows against the walls, where the portraits had left their frames to spent the night somewhere less in risk of being splashed with alcoholic substance. A large mass of people was swaying to the deafeningly loud music in the center of the room, and in the corners, intertwined bodies engaged in far riskier affairs.
Theo stood against the far wall, posture deceptively relaxed, grip tight round the bottle of some alcohol he was holding. When Blaise had pushed it into his hands an hour prior with a promising smirk, guaranteeing him it was “good stuff”, he had been too distracted to question it, but he didn’t recognize the taste. Normally, that would have been enough of a reason to discard the bottle- Slytherin parties were notorious for the impending risk of being poisoned- but tonight, he couldn’t bring himself to care, needed the deliciously burning trickle down his throat and distract him from this. From you.
His jaw clenched every time he caught sight of you- twirling absentmindedly to the music, smile shining beneath the lights as you let Pansy drag you all over the dance floor in search of Blaise. Unaware of the way his gaze followed you like a magnet, like a tether he couldn’t sever. Every now and again, his eyes flickered over to the opposite end of the room and he took another sip of the unknown drink. Your brother was as loud and reckless as ever, downing shots and laughing with Enzo about something while Draco stood stiffly beside him, eying the dancers critically.
He had been working them out all afternoon. The words, that now sat heavy on his tongue, burning hotter than the liquor. Theo exhaled slowly, set his bottle down with a muted clink, and pushed himself off the wall. The crowd of dancers shifted around him, bodies moving in a drunken haze, some girls clinging to him, but he barely registered it. He slipped through the chaos like a shadow until he came to a stop behind Mattheo and Enzo, still caught up in their conversation.
When they took notice of his presence, Mattheo turned to him with a crude grin. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Plenty,” said Theo dryly, hiding his twitching fingers in the pockets of his trousers. Mattheo seemed to take notice of his restlessness, an impressive feat, taking into account how many shots he’d already downed. His brows lifted in vague confusion. “Need something?” he asked, voice rough from smoke, head tilting as he noticed the tension in his best mate’s stance.
Theo swallowed, throat tight, pulse a heavy drum in his ears- or was it the music? “Yeah,” he finally said, voice low and steady, masking the way his heart rattled against his chest like it wanted to break from its cage. He tipped his chin toward the stairs, toward the shadows of the quieter corner. “Need a word.”
Though he looked surprised, Mattheo gave a small nod and placed his drink on a couch table. He followed his best mate along the cold stone walls that seemed to swallow the loud thumping of the music. When they reached the stairs and immersed themselves in the shadows, the music seemed to grow slightly fainter, though still a prominent beat mirroring the one of Theo’s pulse. “I’ve got to talk to you about something,” he said, seriously, leaning against the wall and scanning Mattheo, gauging his mood, how quick he would be to snap.
Mattheo had had a great evening so far. He’d dunked one guy's head in the punch bowl, made out with both of the Patil twins and the firewhiskey from their new supplier was way better than the one they usually got from the hogshead. He sniggered at Theo’s grave expression. “What are you so serious for, Nott?” he drawled easily, already tipsy from the few rounds of firewhiskey. “Could we have one night where you don’t look like your nonna was just run over?”
Theo made no effort to conceal his scoff. Usually, he had his fun at these parties. Even if he didn’t present the most cheerful face, his needs would remain somewhat satisfied by the end of the night. He highly doubted that tonight would be the same. “It’s about your sister,” he said steadily, watching Mattheo’s grin change into a frown.
“Ah,” he said, sounding somewhat sobered up. “Heard you sorted out Campbell pretty bad this morning. What did he do?”
Vivid images of your wide, teary eyes flashed in Theo’s eyes, of the way that tramp Campbell had grabbed you, how pathetic he had looked this morning as a bloody, crumpled mess at his feet, begging for mercy. “No matter,” he said, remembering his promise to you. “It’s something else.”
“Merlin, Nott, you ‘re acting like she caught a deadly disease,” groaned Mattheo in exasperation, but Theo could see how his vague wording unnerved him. If there was one person Mattheo would burn down the world for, it was his sister. Theo understood the sentiment, but he didn’t like his practices. “Spit it out,” growled Mattheo, pushing himself off the wall to come closer. “Can’t be too bad, can it?”
“It can,” Theo said with pursed lips, knowing that the news he was about to share would bother Mattheo more than a natural disaster could- after all, he was one himself. Mattheo's face fell with the words, and his frown only deepend. “Why do I feel like I’m about to hate whatever comes next?”
It was the way Theo stood so still that caught your attention- a statue carved from tension, jaw locked, shoulders taught beneath his shirt. You almost missed it, lost in the relentless pull of the music and Pansy's hand tugging yours as you spun, but something inside you twisted, as if instinct was dragging your gaze to the far side of the room. and there they were. Theo and Mattheo, cornered in the shadows, their heads inclined towards each other. It was hard to read their body language through the sea of dancing people and flashing light, but you could make out the way Theo’s lips moved, wrapped around words that seemed to struggle their way past his lips.
In reaction to them, Mattheo leaned in, gaze dark and sharp, while Theo's fingers curled into fists at his sides, the muscles in his forearm twitching like live wire. The room around you seemed to blur at the edges, the pulse of the music fading into a distant hum. You couldn’t hear the words exchanged, but you didn’t need to to know that something was very, very wrong.
With a tug at her arm, you caught Pansy’s attention and inclined your head toward their tense figures. Pansy, who had lived through her fair share of dragging Mattheo away from fights, like all of his close friends, frowned, nudging you away from the thick knot of bodies that was the center of the room. Suddenly, your eyes caught the way Theo said something to Mattheo that made his jaw fall slack. Dread pooled in your stomach, your legs uncoordinated with the conflicting wishes to run or to get in between them. You decided upon the latter, slowly walking towards their corner as Mattheo’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
Mattheo laughed in Theo’s face, but it was devoid of any humour, no more than the promise of something darker, of impending doom. “You're joking,” he said, almost commanded.
Theo’s voice was steady, his gaze unwavering. “I’m not.”
But Mattheo seemed unwilling to accept the truth of his words. Shaking his head with a wild smile, he paced around the very limited space, knuckles turning white around the bottle he was holding. “No, no, no. You’re not.” But the hard look on Theo’s face made his face fall. The color seemed to vanish from his cheeks. Without a warning, his hands reached out and suddenly got a hold of the taller boy’s collar, the bottle meeting the ground with a soft thud that was drowned out by the music. Theo looked unfalteringly into Mattheo’s eyes that flickered between, desperately in search of a lie, a bad joke. But it didn’t come, and his group tightened on Theo’s shirt.
“Tell me you’ll end it,” he said, voice low and furious. “Right now.”
Theo didn’t flinch, though his eyes flickered to the side, where some partygoers had taken notice of the unfolding scene. Somewhere in the crowd, he made out your face, eyes widened in worry, as you approached them. “I won’t,” he said harshly to the other.
Mattheo’s face twisted into something sinister, a storm of fury darkening his features, cackling tension ready to break and unleash its fury. His knuckles whitened around Theo’s collar as he dragged him down until their foreheads almost touched. The dancing light of the common room danced around the sharp, clenched line of his jaw, the cold fury brimming in his eyes, and something else- betrayal. “What did you just say?” he breathed, voice dripping with quiet, lethal rage.
But Theo didn’t flinch, his jaw set, eyes steady. “I won’t,” he repeated, voice like iron. Mattheo’s fingers flexed, and it was all it took for his restraint to snap.
The first punch landed like a gunshot. Theo’s head snapped to the side, a sharp crack echoing through the corner of the room as Mattheo’s fist connected with his cheekbone. The force of it staggered him, but he didn’t fall- just wiped the blood from his split lip and squared his shoulders like he’d been waiting for this. Mattheo lunged, grabbing him by the shirt again and shoving him into the storm wall with enough force to rattle the torches. “You absolute piece of shit!” he spat, words laced with venom. “You fucking knew she was off limits!” His voice had risen to a loud snarl, sharp enough to cut through the party noises.
Theo shoved back, and the people broke apart when Mattheo and he faced each other, panting. Slipping from their haze, many of the party-goers turned in search of the origin of the shouting, and a crowd formed around them. And still, Theo didn’t back down. Didn’t say a word. He just stood there, blood smeared across his jaw, staring back at Mattheo like he’d let him tear him apart before he even thought of walking away from you.
But before Mattheo could deliver another punch, a familiar voice made the both of them whip around. “Mattheo, stop!” you shouted, out of breath, and stumbled in between them, into the no man’s land between their heaving bodies. When you looked at Mattheo, you saw the betrayal deeply etched into his features. They were twisted with hate and anger, every nerve tense, like a predator ready to pounce. When you turned to Theo, his heart clenched with a sharp pain far surpassing the one pulsing in his busted lip. Your eyes were full of worry and fear, clinging to the smear of blood on his chin.
But you turned to Mattheo sharply, likely sensing that he was just about ready to do everything- anything. His dark eyes were locked on Theo, he barely acknowledged you, his voice laced with disgust. “You had every girl in the castle, and you chose her?”
“I didn't choose,” replied Theo, suppressing the urge to pull your shaky figure into him, wrap his arms around you. “It just happened.”
“Yeah?” asked Mattheo, chest heaving with barely contained fury. “Well, it’s about to un-happen.”
“This isn’t just some fling, Mattheo,” you tried, taking a hesitant step towards your brother. But not even your pleading eyes could calm the storm raging inside him.
A bitter laugh left his throat, mocking you. “Right. Because you’re so special, huh? Always desperate to be wanted by someone.”
You knew he didn't mean it. That fury and shock twisted his words into something ugly and hurtful, meant to attack your weak points, meant to hurt. To disarm. And it was disarming. His words were like poison, seeping into your flesh, curling up in your stomach and echoing in your mind. Defensively, you squared your shoulders, but tears stung in your eyes.
For a moment, Mattheo almost seemed to falter, until Theo brushed past you in one fluid motion, gripped the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the nearest wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked sharply, shaking him by his shirt. Instead of an answer, Mattheo shook him off and threw a punch that Theo dodged. The next, however, met him square across the face as Mattheo lunged at him, absolutely livid.
The crowd gasped and screamed as they fell to the ground in a huddle of arms and legs, spitting insults at each other. When Theo rolled him over and got the upper hand for a second, he brought his fist down upon mattheo’s face and the following crack resounded against the stone walls. Spitting out blood, Mattheo shoved him off and tackled him with new fury.
Suddenly, you felt a strong tug at your arm, and before you knew it, Pansy had pulled you a few feet distance from the fight.
Meanwhile, both Mattheo and Theo got onto their feet again and Mattheo, face and shirt bloody, stumbled back a step, steadying himself against the wall. Theo stood upright, but his lip was dripping with blood and his shirt was ripped slightly. Mattheo’s eyes wandered from you to Theo, still ablaze with rage. but instead of attacking him again, he spat at Theo’s feet, turned on his heel and approached the exit, the crowd bursting apart where he walked.
When the entrance sealed itself behind him, stunned silence filled the room, thick as the previous heavy beat of the music. But someone had stopped the record player. The room seemed weirdly small without the thundering bass. Still rooted to the spot, Theo ran a bloody hand over his busted lip. Then, he slowly turned. When you looked into his eyes, you released a shaky breath. Slowly putting the pieces together, a round of whispers overtook the bystanders. And in one singular motion, all heads turned to your heaving figure.
The sad remains of some of the stargazing instruments lay scattered across the floor, unfortunate witnesses to Mattheo's wrath. Ripped parchment fluttered like the wings of trapped birds in the wind and the black board exhibited a large gash where he’d punched it in a fit of overflowing rage. They all were signs of the destrcutive storm that had rushed through, left nothing untouched. Now, it leaned against the stone railing, the remains of several cigarettes at his feet. But no smoke curled in the air above. Mattheo had smoked his lungs out until the pack was empty, and now, his leg rocked unsteadily, his fingers twitched and he glowered into the dark of the night.
He didn’t bother looking up when he heard Theo’s footsteps scuff against the stone floor, the creak of the door. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon like the stars might calm the fury blistering under his skin. But as the other neared the railing with slow but sure steps, he tracked every movement: the stiff set of Theo’s shoulders, the way he flexed his fingers like he was still shaking off the urge to hit something. His jaw was tight, a faint bruise blooming along his cheekbone, but he stood tall, steady, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry for what he’d done. It pissed him off, almost as much as the fact that he was in the wrong.
His eyes wandered down to his best mates hands once more, gaze flickering over the knuckles Theo hadn’t bothered to heal. “You look like shit,” Mattheo muttered, voice low and sharp, though the words carried less venom than they should have.
Theo rested his forearms against the railing next to him, though keeping a certain distance. His hands wrung, more blood seeping from his bashed in knuckles. Then, with a long sigh, one of them disappeared into his pocket and he glanced over at Mattheo, sizing him up. “Smoke?”
Mattheo gritted his teeth in frustration, hands curling into fists as he stared onto the lake. “Fuck yeah. I’ve run out.”
A rustling of clothing, a crackle of carton and then, Theo handed Mattheo a cigarette. The latter took it without comment, lighting it with a flick of his fingers and taking a slow drag. Smoke billowed out of his mouth as Theo next to him balanced another smoke between his bleeding lips and clicked a lighter to ignite it. He, too, took a languid drag of it, watching the smoke curl up into curious shapes before dissipating into the cool night air. As the calming effect made him able to stop the bouncing of his leg, Mattheo let out a scoff and blew smoke from his nose. “You really are a fucking bastard.”
For a few seconds, only the faint whisper of the wind around the castle walls filled the air. Then- “I can only promise you that I’ll be whatever she needs me to be,” Theo replied, carefully choosing his words.
A disbelieving, ironic chuckle stumbled past Mattheo’s lip, hanging in the tense air between them like the puff of smoke that accompanied it. “Well, aren’t you all righteous all of the sudden?”
Theo didn’t answer, but the lack of a response sounded as loud as a yell could have. Agitated, Mattheo tightened his grip on the cigarette, making sparks of embers gush from it and shine brightly until they were swallowed up by the dark. A frustrated growl left his lips. “Why did you have to fuck this up for me?”
“Fuck what up?” asked Theo, a sudden and unmistakable sharpness in his voice that made Mattheo turn his head to him. His brow was raised as he breathed out a string of smoke and eyed the other critically. “Your carefully crafted plan to validate yourself by keeping her close? Whether she's protected or not doesn't change who you are. But I don't think you really care about protection, do you? You only want to be her highest priority, because you’re no one else’s.”
Theo’s voice had grown more heated and he had inched closer. With a frustrated frown, Mattheo averted his eyes from him, angrier than ever at the fact that he knew there was truth to his words. But theo didn’t let up as he leaned in, forced Mattheo to hear the words. “You cling to her like it's her job to soothe your self-loathing. But she's not your mother, she's not your therapist, she's not your tool. I know you love her, so do I, but that means separating your protectiveness from your self-protection.”
There was another short silence, a silence thick with tension, brimming with their heated tempers. Finally, Mattheo scowled frustratedly and took another, long drag of his cigarette. His leg had started bouncing again. “You really are an asshole, Nott.” He waited for an answer, but Theo seemed to have said all he intended.
Agitated, Mattheo ran a hand through his dark curls, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Fuck, maybe you’re right. You know… in my whole damn life, the only people who ever accepted me- ever really accepted me- were you and her. You two saw the whole, stinking pile of shit that I am and you chose to stay. And now, you’re going behind my back.” He refused to meet Theo’s measuring stare, knowing he was too disconcerted to put up any sort of facade- especially around him. He’d never really fooled Theo, and it showed when he raised his voice.
“You’re scared,” he said calmly, throwing him a firm look when he scoffed, “Don’t be stupid, you can’t deny it. Just listen to yourself, mate. But being with me doesn’t mean she’ll leave you.”
A frustrated groan left Mattheo’s throat, his eyes fixed to the glint of moonlight, reflected on the steady waves of the lake. They rippled softly with each breeze. “Feels like you’re both turning your backs on me, just like the whole fucking world did,” he said, voice raw, fingers tightening around the railing until his knuckles stood out white.
“They turned on her too,” Theo argued sensibly, voice calmer and somehow softer as the topic turned to you. Mattheo noticed it with great dissatisfaction. “You only see your pain, Mattheo, but you didn’t soothe hers when you made her unapproachable to everyone but us.” Everything inside Mattheo denied the truth his words carried. After all he’d sworn himself he’d do for you, it hit him like another punch. But he was forced to admit that there was some sense in his words.
He’d always thought he alone could protect you properly- and Merlin, it stung that he might be wrong. Who was he kidding, he was wrong. “Shut the fuck up,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Theo simply stomped out his cigarette, tone turning matter-of-fact. “I have nothing more to say. And you don't, either.”
Mattheo released a frustrated breath of air, scowling at the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. “How did it happen anyway?” he finally asked.
Theo dragged a hand through his curls. He leaned against the cold stone railing, jaw tight, voice low but steady. “It only started last night. At Slughorn's stupid party,” he admitted, glancing at Mattheo through the haze of smoke.
“I thought she went with Campbell?” asked Mattheo, quickly, and Theo narrowed his eyes at him. “I was getting there.” Averting his eyes to his hands, his expression darkened at the memory of the night. “Campbell cornered her. He had his filthy hands on her, saying things I won’t repeat. I got there just in time.” His voice sharpened, every word laced with venom. “Ripped him off her. This morning I made sure he wouldn’t forget why he shouldn’t try again.” Theo rubbed his thumb over his knuckles that were becoming scabby against the cool air. “She was shaken, mate. And you weren’t there. But I was. And I couldn’t- couldn’t leave her after that.”
Mattheo didn’t speak. The only sound was the distant crackle of the dying embers in his cigarette, the quiet rustle of wind tugging at their robes. He stood rigid, fingers curled into fists at his sides, jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked beneath his skin. Theo stayed still, letting the weight of his words linger, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch under Mattheo’s glare- just waited. And when Mattheo finally exhaled, the sound was sharp, almost guttural, like he was trying to breathe out the ache that had settled in his bones. “What did you do to Campbell?” he finally asked in a business-like manner, though his glare was withering.
“Broke his nose. His jaw. Split his brow. Might've kicked a couple ribs in,” Theo said, deadpanning.
Mattheo paused, nodding slowly. “Good.”
“I don’t just care about her,” Theo pressed, seizing the moment as Mattheo looked somewhat appeased. “I protect her. I have and I will.”
Mattheo scoffed, but when he glanced back at Theo, his glare had turned into a frown, fury replaced by irritation. “You broke my nose, by the way,” he said gruffly, pointing to his blood-smeared face.
“You split my lip first,” countered Theo with a smirk, rubbing over his knuckles.
The reply earned a dark chuckle from Mattheo. “Fair trade for wrecking Campbell’s face, I guess.” With a sigh, he turned to lean against the railing with his side, his front turned towards Theo. With a flick of his wrists, he flicked ash into the night and studied Theo’s expression. “I get it, you know. Why she… why you.”
Theo glanced over, catching Mattheo looking almost pained at the admission. “Do you?”
Another groan left Mattheo’s lips as he flicked the burnt-out smoke off into the dark grounds of the castle, following the glowing embers with his eyes until they had merged with the dark. “I hate it,” he said lowly, “But yeah. i get it.” His eyes seemed to darken. “If she’s gonna be with someone, I’d rather it be the guy who fought me for her without flinching.”
The agitation was visible with the way his knee bounced, his fingers twitched and he averted his face from Theo’s piercing gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “Take care of her, man. Please.”
When Theo opened his mouth to speak and reassure him, however, he cut him off quickly, voice wavering slightly with the struggle to hide how affected he was. “You won’t have sex of course.” His face twisted with disgust at the idea. “Not until she’s at least twenty-five. Thirty. Never, actually,” he clarified, nodding to himself and giving Theo a very firm glare, pointing at him. “Don’t you lay hands on my little sister!”
“She’s not your little sister, mate,” said Theo, completely unfazed. “And it may already be too late for that.”
“You fucker!”
Theo descended the stone steps from the Owlery, hands stuffed into his pockets, the early morning chill clinging to his skin. A few students he passed nudged their friends and broke out into whispers, but he ignored them. It had only been a few hours, but the news of his and Mattheo’s showdown at the Slytherin party had already made its rounds. Not that he would have minded. The more people knew you were his, the better. It was as if his whole terrifying reputation had been crafted only to protect you now.
As Theo stepped into the nearly empty Great Hall, he spotted you sitting alone with Mattheo at the Slytherin table. The sight seemed to unravel something inside him. You were curled into the bench, hands wrapped around a mug, face lit with cautious disbelief. Mattheo sat back, arms slung over the back of the chair, looking exhausted but...relaxed. Like the weight of the world had shifted off his shoulders, even if he wasn’t quite sure where to put it yet.
Theo hesitated only for a second, then he walked over, passing all other house tables and walking up the Slytherin one. When you noticed him, your eyes widened, your lips parting as if you couldn’t quite believe he was still breathing, still standing. “So Mattheo wasn’t lying,” you said, breathlessly, looking up at him. “You actually survived.”
Theo’s lips twitched into a crooked grin as he dropped onto the bench beside you, thigh brushing against yours like it belonged there. "Told you I could be convincing," he muttered, voice low enough that Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
Glancing shortly at Mattheo, you leaned over to place a quick peck on his lips- unaware how hungry it made him for more. With a sheepish smile, you parted from him, and he had to seriously restrain himself in order to not grab your face and clash his lips onto yours, making your breath hitch so deliciously in your throat.
Mattheo tossed a piece of toast onto his plate glaring at Theo like he still might throttle him for sport, but his voice lacked venom. “I told her if you break her heart, I'll break your legs,” he said, like he was commenting on the weather.
Theo just smirked, stretching his arm across the back of the bench, fingers ghosting over your shoulder. “Fair trade,” he murmured, turning to you with a glint in his eye. “Guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?”
And the way you smiled back- hesitant, relieved, a little in awe- made every bruise worth it.
a/n: the writing process of this was kind of cursed (deleted documents, unsaved changes etc) so I'm just so glad I managed to get it out. I hope you like it!
-> when his sister attends a slughorn party with a date, mattheo asks his best friend to watch over her at the party, oblivious to the fact that theo is exactly the type of guy he wants to protect her from.
-> brother's bsf!theodore nott x riddle!reader; eventual nsfw; minors dni; cw: attempted harassment, mentions of violence, self-doubt, smut; nsfw tags: oral fem receiving, soft dom!theo, dirty talk, lots of praise; sadly there was some error with the tags and I couldn't tag some people, but I still hope you all found your way here!
part two here
( masterlist )
The Astronomy Tower loomed high above the castle grounds, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. It reflected against the fragile stargazing instruments and illuminated hastily drawn star charts, carelessly left behind on desks. The parchment swayed gently in the light breeze. A chill clung to the stone, the wind whispering through the open archways, carrying the faint scent of night-blooming flowers from the greenhouses below.
Occasional gusts of wind ruffled the edges of Theo’s robes as he leaned against the stone railing, lazily rolling a cigarette between his fingers. The flick of his lighter cast a brief, golden glow across his sharp features- dark brows drawn in quiet focus, the angle of his jaw, the faint shadow of his curls. The ember flared as he took a slow drag, exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the cold night air.
The hurried sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell, unmistakable, even if it hadn't been a nightly recurrence. Theo didn’t turn; he didn’t need to. He knew that stride, the way it carried that reckless edge of carelessness, like the world bent around its owner rather than the other way around. When Mattheo stepped into the moonlight, Theo paid him no mind.
As usual, he displayed quite a different way of carrying himself compared to Theo, as many fates the two boys might have shared. Mattheo’s dark curls were disheveled, his tie loosened to a proletarian extent and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, as if he hadn't bothered with them in the first place.
Upon spotting Theo’s dark figure against the railing, he strode towards him and leaned his forearms against the metal as well. “You’re early,” Mattheo muttered, his voice low and rough around the edges. Not that he had checked the clock, but their nightly habit of going for a smoke to the astronomy tower was so well established even the slightest changes stood out like a sore thumb.
Turning around to lean his back against the balustrade instead, Mattheo shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly until Theo glanced back at him. Not even Theodore Nott’s cold demeanor could deter Mattheo from flashing a grin and indicating the burning cigarette dangling from his fingers. “Got another?” He caught the pack of smokes when Theo threw it over with the aim of an experienced chaser, and shook out one to light it and take a long drag out of it. The smoke from his cigarette mingled with the cloud curling lazily from the other’s lips and disappeared into the night.
For a few minutes, there was a silence, though not uncomfortable. Rather established, like they had practiced it a million times before. Which wasn’t that far from the truth. Only, today, something was different. As Theo's observant eyes spared Mattheo's oddly tense figure another quick glance, they didn't miss the way he squeezed the smoke tightly in his hand and tapped his fingers against his thigh in an irregular, agitated rhythm. He wasn’t one to pry, a quality he knew Mattheo appreciated about his company, so he simply took another drag of his cigarette and waited for the other to reveal the source of his irritation.
As he’d thought, he didn’t have to wait long- Mattheo had a certain need for communication, at least with him. “Do you know that Campbell guy?” he asked gruffly, clear disdain laced into his tone. When Theo’s brows furrowed, Mattheo twisted his cigarette in impatience, causing embers to rain down upon the stone floor where they faded into darkness. Since Mattheo wasn’t bloody for once, Theo could only assume Campbell still had it coming for him. “Bloke from Gryffindor. Seventh year. Ring a bell?” he elaborated darkly and glared at one of the instruments.
It did. Terry Campbell, a Gryffindor with the head of a bowling ball and the intellect of a demented slug. No wonder he had felt no desire to remember him by name, Campbell was everything he despised cramped into a single person: a loud-mouthed, ignorant, vainglorious and utterly unintelligent Buffoon, lacking all forms of taste, too loud to listen and to dumb to learn. The sort of person that tended to irritate and bore him at the same time, the worst combination for Theo.
Blowing another stream of smoke into the frail moonlight, he let out a small scoff. “What about him?”
“Well,” Mattheo pressed through gritted teeth, in a particularly bitter tone. “He’s taking my sister to Slughorn’s party on Saturday.”
Fuck no.
Instead of smoke, Theo seemed to have swallowed a mouthful of ice as his insides twisted like a vice. A sick, burning coiled in his cut as he turned, abruptly, to Mattheo, full of disbelief. “What?” he asked sharply, all sophistication forgotten in the wake of this news. There was no way in hell you were going to Slughorn’s party with Terry Campbell, your brother had to be joking. Merlin, how he desperately wished he was.
Mattheo seemed to share the sentiment, judging by the looks of his bitter curl of lip and the way he flicked his cigarette to the ground, grinding his boot down on it hard. “Yeah,” he muttered gloomily. “I can’t fucking believe it, I though she had some standards. I’m telling you, she’s just picked him to annoy me!”
But his raging fell on deaf ears as Theo turned away and stared down on the greenhouses, a sharp, ugly weight settling in his chest. No reaction too intense could betray the surge of hate that was welling up inside him, or your brother would know, would piece it together… Brutal, white-hot anger pulsed through him, but Theo kept his hands still and his features unmoved, safe for a subtle clench of his jaw. Theo had mastered the art of keeping his composure, but he was faced with a challenge now.
You. Going to one of Slughorn’s stupid parties with Terry Campbell of all people. He squeezed the smoke out between his fingers, the embers burning into his fingertips and the pain helped him to regain his self control.
Unlike him, you’d taken advantage of your invitation to go to Slughorn’s parties before, but you’d never had a date. If Theo was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have taken kindly to anyone taking you out on a date, quite the opposite, but he couldn’t believe that someone like you would lower themselves onto Campbell’s level. He’s pretty popular, a small voice remarked, but he shut it up immediately- you were everything but shallow. Even insinuating it was ridiculous. But what on earth were you thinking?
Maybe Campbell was the only boy at school you wouldn’t feel sorry for when he inevitably landed in the hospital wing- as the few dates you’d ever had had done after Mattheo found out about them. ‘She’s not yours’ the voice in the back of his head reminded him, ‘you have no right to meddle in who she’s dating’. And it was true. Unlike your brother, Theo still had enough sense to remind himself that you could do what you wanted, could date who you wanted, could take anyone you wanted to Slughorn’s party. It was your decision, as much as he hated it, detested the very thought. He knew you, you had to have put some thought into your decision.
“Listen, mate,” Mattheo said, striking a new tone. He now seemed strangely business-like, leaning over on the railing and looking to meet Theo’s gaze. “‘M not part of Slughorn’s club. I know you hate his parties, but-”
Theo sensed where he was going with this and grabbed his pack of cigarettes back from Mattheo, taking one out before storing it deep in his coat pocket. Damn it, he’d promised you only to smoke one per smoking session. But these were quite challenging circumstances to keep up his promises. As he flicked the lighter and ignited the smoke dangling from his lips, Mattheo leaned in conspiratorially.
“Fucking hell, you know I wouldn’t be asking you this if I saw another way! Come on, you’re almost as bad as me when it comes to watching out for her. So when I’m not there? Go full big-brother mode.”
Theo’s lips curled sarcastically as he huffed out another cloud of smoke. Little did your brother know that his protectiveness over you didn’t stem from any platonic or even sibling-like urges. Little did Mattheo know that Theo was one of the boys he would love to approach with a club, one of the boys who enjoyed your company a little too much, whose eyes lingered on your lips when you laughed, who relished even your most fleeting touches and glances. Who pictured feeling your lips on his in moments of every-day boredom and trusted the night with his dark, guilty dreams of worshipping you like you deserved, fucking you stupid, having you writhe and moan in his sheets.
“I’m not saying you should start something,” Mattheo pressed on, oblivious to the raging self-loathing of his best mate. “Just… don’t let him get too comfortable.” His gaze darkened. “I just need someone there where I know that, if Campbell so much as lays a hand on her wrong, he’s leaving in worse shape than he arrived.” When he could draw out neither reaction nor response from Theo, he groaned in exasperation. “Merlin, Nott, you and I both know she’s too damn nice for this.”
The conflicting desires to keep an eye on Campbell around you on the one, and suppressing his possessiveness on the other hand were grappling with each other, as Theo stared down to the large black mass that was the dark forest. Adding to that that, he didn’t know how much his composure might waver when subjected to the sight of you laughing and dancing with another guy. And one so utterly undeserving of your attention and kindness, at that.
But Mattheo did have a point; though, as so often, he had a crude way of expressing it. You were too kind for your own good, too vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Yet, you were smart and good at seizing up situations, and if Campbell attempted to manipulate you - provided he even had one brain cell for something like subtlety - you’d see right through him.
“Come on, mate, she’s my little sister,” said Mattheo seriously and Theo turned to him with a raised brow.
“She’s two minutes older than you.”
Mattheo rolled his eyes, seemingly unconcerned with such feeble matters as time or birth order. “Yeah,” he admitted begrudgingly, “But, like, mentally.” To emphasize his point, he tapped his index finger against his temple to indicate just where the true age lay.
But Theo’s unimpressed brow only rose higher as he scoffed. “Non fare il rompicazzo. She’s also way more mature than you,” he added, unwilling to get into whatever line of argumentations Mattheo had strung together to justify his feelings.
“Not with boys!” exclaimed Mattheo heatedly and pushed against the railing, making Theo shake his head in annoyance. These antics were absolutely childish, he’d trust your judgement over your brothers any day, irrespective of the fact that he was his closest friend.
“And how many boys did you sleep with?” he drawled, blowing out another gust if smoke that swirled and danced in the air above. For a split second, it balled up and formed a shape suspiciously resembling your face before Theo got his instinctive magic back under control.
Mattheo hadn’t looked up, too busy with snapping at him: “I am one! I know how they think!” His glare was now directed at Theo, who paid it no mind, rolling his words around in his head. Mattheo had a point. It wasn’t like he himself didn’t know how desirable you were, how seductive, by doing nothing more than existing, though he may have been prejudiced by his feelings for you.
But it wasn’t merely the way he knew he would look at you, at your smile that he didn’t deserve, Theo knew that there were certain boys at this school who wouldn’t mind having their way with you, just to brag to their friends about having had the Dark Lord’s daughter, the unapproachable, rigorously protected Slytherin princess as some had named you- much to your displeasure. Both Mattheo and him had retraced rumors of this talk where they could and made any boy who saw you as nothing more than a challenge, a piece of meat, regret his very existence. Theo didn’t know if Campbell was one of them, but he was definitely thick enough to qualify.
And what if he did force you to do something you didn’t want to? His jaw clenched impossibly tight, close to snapping as he banned the unwelcome images from his head and balled his fists around the smoke, making embers fly and get picked up by a sudden breeze. “Get out of my head, Riddle,” he threatened and felt the uncomfortable ick subside, but the very same determination shone in Mattheo’s eyes when he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Go to the damn party and keep an eye on her,” he countered. “Please.” The last word, he barely managed to grit out and Theo’s eyes snapped up at him in surprise. Never had he known his best mate to ask for something, Mattheo was one to take, take, take. But the desperation of his situation seemed to drive him to new extremes.
This fact, if nothing else, made him rethink his previous stance. You didn’t have to know, after all. And wasn’t it really also the fact that he had no ambitions to spend the evening watching you laugh and dance with another man, longing to be the one to hold your hand and make you smile, yearning to be the one you dressed up all pretty for?
“Alright,” he finally sighed and Mattheo, moods changing so quickly it would’ve given any other whiplash, hit the air with his fist and patted Theo’s shoulder roughly.
“Knew I could count on you.”
It wasn’t as if you lit up in his presence- no, that would be ridiculous. It was just that his mattress was much more comfortable than yours, his rome tidier despite the constant stacks of books, his presence a steady rock of the kind that made the world outside seem a little less violent.
Or maybe, if you were being honest with yourself, it was the way his breathing filled the quiet, unhurried and even, grounding you without even trying. The way he always stretched out opposite you on his four-poster, all long legs and quiet confidence, never filling the comfortable silence with pointless chatter. Or maybe it was simply the way he made you feel- something warm, something steady, yet fluttering curiously from time to time, like the wings on a butterfly. Something you didn’t dare think about too closely.
Theo leaned back against the headboard, long legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other as he absentmindedly tapped his quill against the open pages of his book. He wasn’t reading- not really. His eyes flicked over the words without taking them in, his focus instead drifting to the steady scratch of your quill beside him, the way you chewed on it in thought, completely absorbed in the history of magic essay you were writing.
The windows he’d enchanted for you when you’d mentioned how the lack of natural light in Slytherin house weighed on your state of mind sometimes allowed the rays of an afternoon sun to spill across the bed in hazy streaks, catching on the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow as he exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. It was comfortable, familiar- the two of you working in the quiet, legs brushing every now and then as books and parchment lay scattered around on the bed.
You finished your essay with a winning final sentence you knew Professor Binns would not be able to appreciate and looked up from the parchment for the first time in an hour, only to find Theo’s eyes flicking down to his page once more, like a kid caught ogling candy bars it wasn’t allowed to touch. His book lay open on his lap, but you could tell he wasn’t reading- his eyes skimmed the words too quickly, his fingers drummed too idly against the pages.
Rolling onto your backside, you let your legs dangle off the bed and enjoyed the relief of tension in your lower back. Your eyes rested upon him, as if daring him to steal another glance at you and betray himself and his faux reading. But he seemed to sense the silent challenge and didn’t look up from the pages once, though you thought you saw the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. He turned a page.
“When are you going to stop pretending you are reading that?” you asked with an amused smile and his lips twitched. But his eyes didn’t leave the pages, still stubbornly pretending to take in the words.
You knew better, you knew his face, better than you knew most faces, because he’d let you look at it for minutes at a time without interruption. Let you map out every crease, every mark upon his skin, all the perfections and imperfections. You had learned his features and the slight changes in his expression better than you’d ever learned to master your own. It was kind of a must, if one wasn’t your brother and wished to interact on eye level with Theodore Nott.
“I am,” he said softly, running his fingers down the next page. For some reason, the sight had you suppress a light shudder, even though the room was quite warm. Warmer than most of the Slytherin dorms. You had wondered before if the enchanted sunlight could provide actual warmth, or if it was a delusion, a trick of mind.
“Alright,” you said, welcoming the challenge and shifting onto your side to prop your head up on your palm. “What’s it about?”
His eyes snapped up at you and sucked all the breath out of your lungs. The false sunlight fell upon his face and made his cerulean eyes shine with disarming intensity. Or maybe you had only imagined that, because he blinked and, though still stunning, his eyes melted into a soft caress down your face to your ink-splattered hands.
When you raised your brows at him, having never quite mastered the art of raising one brow, unlike him, he glanced back at the page for half a second. “Words. Sentences. A truly thrilling analysis of … something.”
You laughed and managed to elicit the smallest of smiles from him. A huge feat, as anyone who knew him would tell you. “You’re the worst study partner,” you said, an accusatory finger pointed at him.
Theo only raised his brow in return, giving you a look of superiority. “You say that, but you’re still here.” His gaze wandered over the open books you’d used for research. “You steal my books more than you read your own, dolcezza.”
“What can I say?” you sighed, feigning regret. “Your books are just better.”
Now, a smirk tugged at his lips as he stretched a little. “Or you just like an excuse to be in my bed.”
Laughing wholeheartedly, you grabbed the book you’d been using most adamantly by the spine and threw it at Theo, who caught it with unwavering certainty. As if he were seeing it for the first time, he turned it around in his hands, maybe trying to remember when he’d bought it.
If there was something he loved to spend money on, it was books. And he did have the means to, his family’s inestimable wealth at his expense whenever he stepped into a bookstore or got you ridiculously expensive christmas gifts to tease you for your indignation at the price. Which was probably why he left it on.
“Your taste in literature is excellent, carina. Your taste in men? Debatable.” If only he knew. An airy chuckle made its way past your lips as you looked down on your ink-covered hands. If there was any man you’d ever desired, it was him. Not just in the physical sense, but in the way his many hookups could not- like this, friendly, bantery, in the midst of heaps of books and parchment as the sun illuminated his beautiful features.
If your brother knew you were in a boy’s dorm, in a boy’s bed, even if it was his best mate, he’d lose his mind- even more so than he already had.
“So, Mattheo told you?” you asked in a falsely casual tone, but watched him carefully out of the corner of your eye. Your friendship with Theo had always been special. In your earlier years at this school, when Mattheo had been insanely clingy, he was the only other boy he allowed you to spend time with.
But Theo was no brother surrogate to you, as Mattheo assumed, wrongly. Though your feelings for him were intimate, they were far too less innocent to be considered fraternal. When Mattheo wasn’t around, in moments like these, you were quite flirtatious, just teetering the edge between friendship and something more. Only in the privacy of his dorm did Theo let nicknames besides topolina slip.
You’d always been more on a wavelength with Theo than with your brother, or any of your friends for that matter. He matched your wit and humor, shared many of your interests and was just as academically ambitious. Laying on his bed, exchanging playful banter and teasing nicknames, there always was a spark, paired with the silent understanding it could never be ignited.
Sometimes, you caught his eyes lingering on you. Even the touch of his hands was deliberate, as he seemed to take advantage of each innocent excuse to get his hands on you. Then, there was his intricate way of words, managing to make you blush and doubt your very existence at the same time. All in all, Theo was both your best friend and most forbidden desire- because he was your brother’s best friend as well. Your brother, who had been throwing a hissy-fit any time the topic of you dating came up.
But Theo didn’t answer, only turning a page in the book he wasn't reading. Not one twitch or movement could betray his agitation but the hard line of his jaw, clenched almost indiscernibly. His silence was a quiet accusation he didn't need to utter for it to linger in the air between you.
You didn't like it when something stood between you in these moments of his sole company, when Mattheo didn't have his hawk eyes on your every move. Moments you relished, and didn't want to be tainted by petty drama between you and your brother, who’d already ruined enough, especially when it was about something as irrelevant as your date for Slughorn's party. Or maybe it wasn't so irrelevant. Merlin, how you wished that it mattered to him.
“I can hear the gears turning in your head, Theo,” you said quietly when he even gave up pretending to be reading and instead stared gloomily at the pages as if they'd personally wronged him. You knew he didn't like many Gryffindors, something he had in common with Mattheo while you preferred not to take part in house rivalries. And Terry Campbell embodied all the worst traits of Gryffindor- no wonder he didn't like him.
“Care to share?” you asked and looked up at him from the sheets with the doe eyes that always worked on Mattheo.
Meeting your eyes, finally, Theo closed the book with a quiet thud and pierced you with his infamous stare- though it was not as sinister as usual. “I don’t have to say anything, you already know what I think,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning back against the headboard once more like he was done with the conversation. But his fingers kept tapping restlessly against the now closed book on his lap.
“You could at least pretend to approve,” you proposed, dragging yourself into a sitting position and propping your head up on your fist with folded legs.
Theo clicked his tongue impatiently and threw you another ill-tempered look. “I could also throw myself off the astronomy tower, but I don’t see the point in either.” There was a certain finality in his tone that you would have respected any day- any day but this one.
“I know you don’t like Terry,” you said, unwilling to give up in your attempts to establish proper eye contact. “Granted, he’s a little intellectually challenged.” At these words, his eyes snapped up at you and he raised a brow, a mixture of amusement and indignation at your rather courteous assessment. But you didn’t even let him speak, you knew his silvery sweet words would wrap themselves around you and render you inarticulate. So you continued quickly, in a quiet but firm voice. “This isn’t about who I want to go out with, it’s about proving I get to choose.”
His pensive eyes studied you as you awaited his reaction, fully aware that he must have concluded this already- or at least included it in his speculations. You were hoping he had, that he had not trusted you to fall for a douche like Terry Campbell. He tilted his head slightly, considering you, his prominent brows furrowed. “And if you’re choosing wrong?” he finally asked, holding your gaze with the certainty of a man who always had the last word.
But you held his gaze, drank in the thrill of losing yourself in his cerulean eyes, and shrugged. “Then at least it’s my mistake to make.”
Theo paused, then exhaled, shaking his head at you. When he tapped his fingers on the rim of his book, your eyes clung to them. A trap, and one you would step in gladly. His long fingers, the rough pads on his tips where he squished his cigarettes with his own hands, the prominent veins. Their movements were always so calculated, so elegant. Outside of Nott manor, he rarely played the piano, but when he did, it truly was a sight to behold. To see his spidery fingers run up and down the keys, eliciting such sweet serenades from the instruments you thought he’d have to have hexed it.
His voice pulled you out of your wandering thoughts as his mouth twitched with a sarcastic smile. “You sound like him, you know that?”
A light laugh stumbled from your lips as you pretended to look indignant- but, unlike him, you’d never been a good actor. “That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” But your laugh subsided quickly, the desire for him to understand, not only your motive but the importance of it, burning inside you. If someone had to understand, it was him. If you answered to anyone, it was him.
It was impossible to look at him. Not when he had leaned forward slightly at the sound of your little laugh, something shifting in his eyes, something unspoken and impossible to speak, something keeping you locked in place. So you averted your eyes, kept them firmly on the ground and pretended to be interested in a fly whirring in the false rays of sun. “But you understand, don’t you? It’s not about the date, or the party, or Terry. It’s about the fact that Mattheo never trusts me to handle myself. So I will have to prove him that I can be trusted with- with boys, and parties, and life.”
Though you did not look up at him, you could feel his gaze boring into your skull, studying your every expression. He had the natural talent of a careful observer, whereas you had had to learn it, given your circumstances. There was no point in concealing your frustration or disappointment in Mattheo, when Theo could decipher every twitch of your features, pry every drawn curtain apart, look into your very soul. And what would you be hiding something from him for, anyways? Except for your utter devotion to him, of course. Your most strongly concealed and obvious secret.
“Maybe he just doesn’t trust the world to hurt you,” his voice sounded, smooth and pensive, making it impossible not to agree with every word he said. And he was right, of course. But he wasn’t you. And he’d be a hypocrite if he agreed with you. His voice carried more than observation- self-revelation. It wasn’t just him who could decipher codes.
Drawing back the curtains yourself, you turned to him and opened yourself up to his endless, infallible analysis. “Then he should have more faith in me than fear of them.”
The words lingered as you considered each other, and his brow twitched lightly. Instinctively, you were certain you were thinking of exactly the same situation: two weeks ago, at breakfast, when a sixth year Slytherin you didn’t even know had made an unflattering comment about you, loud enough for people to hear but not loud enough that he thought he’d get in trouble for it. Well, the joke was on him, because Theo next to you had picked up on it and had tensed up so quickly you looked at him in alarm, trying to signal him that you didn't care about this kind of talk.
But of course, he knew you better than that, knew it bothered you, and when you’d seen the look in his eyes you had forever regretted crying in his arms about the unforgiving image people had of you, how you would never get rid of your father’s shadow looming over you, how no one would give you a chance. Mattheo and you both had your ways of dealing with your familiar associations. He drank, drugged and fucked himself into oblivion, you spent nights slaving away in the library until Theo dragged you to bed and allowed you to fall asleep with his warm hand on your back.
Before you could have even attempted to talk him out of it, Theo had stood up from the table and met the boy in a few strides. He hadn't even needed to pull out his wand, his voice low and dangerous as he had given the guy one chance to take it back. He had. Fast.
Your soft but slightly bitter laugh broke the silence. “You know what’s funny? If I actually needed him, if I actually needed someone to fight for me- he’d be the first one there. But when I don’t, when I just want to live my life- he’s still the first one there. Stopping me.” With a disheartened huff, you shifted on the bed, but didn’t avert your eyes. And neither did he.
Theo studied you for a long moment, during which nothing but the faintest echo of voices from the common room was to be heard. But silence had never been uncomfortable between you and Theo. Where Mattheo was a roaring whirlwind, Theo was the eye of the storm, the illusion of stillness, of being cut off from the rest of the world, uncaring whether it would be swept away in a single blow as long as you had him.
After observing you for a long moment, Theo nodded slightly. “I know. But…,” he leaned forward, his voice low but with a certain edge, the only indication of a growing intensity simmering behind his ever-calm composure. “Terry Campbell is such a dimwit he doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, principessa. You could have asked anyone. anyone. And you picked the first desperate idiot who came your way?”
The small laugh you let out was more comparable to a bitter scoff. “Would anyone else have said yes?”
It was rare to spot genuine confusion on Theo’s face, but now, his brows were furrowed in puzzlement. A little, self-depricating smile tugged at your lips; of course he wouldn’t understand. Or was it just pretense to make you feel better?
“Terry has ambitions of playing Quidditch for England one day and has been trying to get into Slughorn’s good graces for ages because he has contacts in the league.” You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I knew he’d say yes.”
He was staring at you, his expression unreadable, even for you. Or perhaps, you didn’t want to look too closely. Perhaps, you were afraid of what you might discover, simmering behind those watercolor eyes. “Sei seria? You think that’s the only reason he said yes?”
With a defeated little shrug, you attempted a weak smile and failed miserably, a sudden weight seemed to weigh the corners of your mouth down. Lifting them was like lifting a great weight. “What other reason would there be?”
Finally, the stony expression on his face dissolved into a deep frown, even darker than his usual, gloomy expression. With a humourless scoff, he shook his head. “Dio, you actually believe that.” It wasn’t a question but a realization, and you gave no answer or reaction.
You were tired of him pretending, or simply not understanding your predicament. Of course he wouldn’t; in spite of his parentage, he still had countless girls throwing themselves at him. But you were used to Theo understanding you fully and thoroughly, nodding in recognition when you told him about your struggles, your likes, your opinions, and giving him the same grace. Perhaps you were spoiled. Perhaps, it wasn’t as simple as you thought. Perhaps, it was just you.
“I knew he was the only one desperate enough to be my date,” you said in a tone you hoped would come off as matter-of-fact and indifferent. “Really, I should be grateful I found anyone.”
“Odio quando parli così,” muttered Theo under his breath and you tried to piece the sentence together with your less than stellar knowledge of the Italian language. But before you could fully grasp the meaning of the sentence, Theo’s sharp voice cut through the air, forcing your attention back on him and the bitter intensity brimming behind his frown. “So, this is your clever little plan to get Mattheo off your back?”
There was no longer the slightest hint of humour in his tone, he sounded almost angry, and you recoiled slightly. “It’s not perfect, I admit.”
“You don’t pick the first cretino who sees an angle and call it a choice,” Theo cut you off. You realized his accent was getting more noticeable as he spoke, and the English language failed to express the true weight of his feelings as he slipped in more Italian words or phrases. It was a clear indicator that cool and calculated Theodore Nott was growing more heated, and you found it undeniably and inappropriately attractive. But he still failed to see your perspective in this.
“What else would I have done?” you asked in return, voice growing a little sharper as well. “Waited for someone who wasn’t coming?”
It wasn’t meant to come off as an accusation, but nevertheless, Theo tore his eyes away and gritted his teeth, jaw tight and exhaling through his nose. “Stronzata,” he cursed and glared at the book in his lap, as if it were somehow responsible for this whole mess. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his inability to grasp a situation when he was usually the most observant person in the room.
Surprised, he looked at you and you shook your head, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “No boy at this school would come into one foot proximity to me.” You bit down on your lip and avoided his intense, angry eyes. “I like to tell myself it’s just because of my … familiar affiliations, but maybe that simplifies things too much. I mean, look at you. Look at Mattheo! Maybe I’m just not, well, desirable.” You were a little ashamed of the words, and even more appalled at the way your voice trembled slightly before you got it back under control.
But when you looked up once more, you realized the error you’d made, letting him hear your somewhat self-deprecating, but in your eyes plausible interpretation. Before he could talk, you interrupted him as he drew his breath, undoubtedly to tell you you were wrong- just what you wanted to hear, of course. “It’s not that deep, Theo,” you said calmingly, unwilling to make a whole thing out of it. This stupid date had already impacted your day enough. “He was available, and I-”
But Theo cut you off, voice low and rough and carrying an edge he didn’t usually direct towards you. “El basta. Enough. You’re actually pissing me off now.”
Despite yourself, you raised your brows in weak amusement. “You’re always pissed off.”
Eyes narrowed, he pointed at you with the unread book. “Not at you. Not like this.”
After his words, silence settled thick between you, exceptionally uncomfortable in comparison to your usual quiet harmony. Maybe because it felt heavy, charged, pressing itself into the space between you on the bed like an unwelcome visitor. It seemed to stretch unbearably long, pressing against your skin like a weight.
Theo sat still, but everything about him was taut- his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched, one hand curled to a fist atop the duvet, the other grabbing the back of his book as if he meant to crush it into dust. His gaze flickered to you once, dark and unreadable, before snapping back down, as if looking at you only stoked the embers of whatever was burning behind his ribs. The air between you felt charged, humming with remnants of his anger, with the frustration he hadn't fully exhaled. His breath came slow and measured, as if he was forcing himself to stay composed.
You hated it. Theo was your best friend, maybe even the love of your life, and fighting with him was exhausting. With a sigh, you turned your whole body to him and gave him a hesitant, pleading look. “I don’t want to fight. Not when this is one of the few moments when my brother doesn’t interrupt our t- my study sessions.”
You cut yourself off, having no interest in loading the buzzing air with more tension. Tension that would be inevitable, if you were true about how important this was for you. How important he was to you. “Let’s not waste it, okay?” you asked, pleadingly, and thought you saw the cold diamond of his eyes soften a little. “I’ll stop mentioning it.”
For a few seconds, he observed you pensively, but you could see him melt behind his unmoved facade. His icy stare warmed slightly and the sharp turn around his mouth eased, jaw and fists unclenching. Something like regret flashed over his face, too fast to pin down. You opened your mouth to speak again, but he wordlessly patted the spot next to him and you fell silent. Following the silent order, you scurried over and he made room for you between him and the wall, propping up his pillow against the headboard for you to lean back comfortably.
You settled down next to him, in the little space there was. His legs were brushing yours, but he didn’t seem to mind, and you surely didn’t. Slowly, giving him the chance to move away or make some other dismissive gesture, you lowered your head and, when he didn’t move, rested it upon his shoulder. It fit into the curve of his body like a puzzle piece and you relished in the warmth, real warmth, body warmth, against your side.
When he raised a hand to card his fingers through your hair in a gesture of such tenderness you’d never seen him bless someone else with something even close to it, you breathed a sigh of relief and nestled deeper into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The rough pads of his fingers drew deliberate patterns on your scalp as he rested his chin on top of your head and his breathing finally calmed into a natural rising and falling of his chest. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter than before, measured but intense. “You don’t understand, do you? You could’ve had anyone.”
He spoke like he believed every word, sounded so convinced you almost believed him. Almost. Until the inevitable prying of reality nagged you again. “Then why didn’t I?”
Theo’s voice dropped even lower, rumbling in his chest and vibrating against the ear that rested against his body. “Maybe because no one is stupid enough to think they deserve you.” His voice still carried a certain edge, but this time, it wasn’t directed at you. More like the contrary. His hand wandered from your hair to your neck, rubbing slow circles on your tense muscles and eliciting a slight groan from you as you realized how tight they were clenched. Shaking his head, Theo seemed to be muttering to himself. “Che spreco.” (what a waste)
Narrowing your eyes slightly, you translated the short sentence in your head and were proud to reach a certain level of understanding. “What is?” you asked, hoping the question not only fitted your translation but also his actual statement. His fingers stilled against your neck, fingertips barely brushing against the skin so that you had to suppress a shudder. You, of course, couldn’t see the smug expression on his face as he noticed the way your skin broke out into goosebumps. The air was heavy with another form of tension now.
“That you think so little of yourself,” he explained, “That you let people like him think they're doing you a favor.” His voice was dripping with disdain and you interlocked your pinkie fingers, unwilling to fight him over the issue.
The silence that settled between you now was different- just as heavy, just as charged, but warmer, thicker, curling at the edges with something unspoken, but not uncomfortable. The tension no longer sat sharp between you, there was no room for it anyway. It lingered instead in the space where your bodies touched, in the light brush of your thigh against his, in the synchronising rise and fall of your chests. Theo had relaxed back against the headboard, but his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the collar of your shirt -something he'd never do in the presence of your brother.
Another thing reserved for these private moments was his touch. His pinkie squeezed yours before he removed his hand to place it on the back of your thigh, lifting it slightly to guide it to rest on top of his. Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers brushed along the fabric of your thights and you hid your blush in the crook of his neck. If your brother saw you like this with any boy, he’d be flung into a fit of rage. But alas, he wasn't here, you reminded yourself, as you melted into his touch.
But it wasn't like he would be wrong to assume. The way Theo touched you, the tenderness of his caresses, was more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. But it had been that way for a while. And neither of you dared say something, enjoying the touch of a lover without the fear of retaliation. You could feel his gaze flicker to you, gauging your reaction, lingering just a second too long on your slightly flushed face before pulling away, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look.
The air in the room felt warmer, your skin prickling with awareness at every shift of movement, every slight brush of fabric against fabric. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, thick and taut, but neither of you dared to break it, as if speaking aloud would make something tip over the edge, something neither of you could take back.
Instead of speaking, his fingers released your neck and wandered to your chin, lifting it from his neck. He turned to you, and your heart began to race when you found your lips mere breaths away from his, his eyes glinting with an unknown intensity that had you wondering whether he might actually be willing… be ready to…
When the tension mounted and became unbearable, you jolted upright and averted your face to hide your blush. Your chest was so tight you felt like you couldn’t breathe, you only knew you had to get some space between you and him, so you scurried away, brushed down your skirt and stood up from the bed.
Only then did it occur to you to think of an excuse, and with shaky legs, you hurried over to his table where you had set your bag down, pulled out the earrings you planned to wear tonight. Opening his wardrobe, you looked at your reflection as you put them on, heart slowly slowing to an appropriate tempo.
But the angle was limited, so you only saw him when he entered the mirror’s frame, nearing a few steps behind you, an unreadable expression on his face. Raising an eyebrow, you managed to smile at him through the reflection. “What is it?” As if you hadn’t just almost thrown all caution to the wind, all your silent, combined efforts to preserve your friendship.
Theo tilted his head, his gaze flickering over your reflection. “Nothing,” he answered in a low voice, approaching slowly. “Just thinking.”
“Don’t strain yourself,” you attempted to joke, fiddling clumsily with your earrings. Finally, he reached you and you flinched when you felt his hands, large and strong, on your waist. Only the thin material of your blouse separated them from your skin. Lowering his head, his lips hovered right next to your ear and you held your breath as he chuckled into your ear. “Just wondering if he’ll even know what to do with you.”
For a few seconds, you stood still. But then, you brushed his hands off and walked over to his desk to grab your back, oblivious to the way his eyes darkened when you escaped from his grasp. “I’ve got to go, get ready,” you explained as you hurried towards the door eager to escape the thick tension of the room. Playing with it had been fun, but this felt way too real.
Theo watched your fleeing figure. As the door slammed shut behind you, the silence that remained felt louder than anything you could have said. His jaw ticked, fingers flexing at his sides before curling into fists, the sharp edge of his nails pressing into his palms.
You were getting ready for someone else-someone who didn’t deserve your time, your effort, your attention-but still, you went. The thought burned, settling bitter on his tongue, and he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair as if that alone could shake off the feeling clawing at his ribs. The bed was still warm where you had been, the air still carried the faint trace of your perfume, and yet you were gone- off to smile for someone who would never look at you the way he did.
Theo wasn’t what some would call a “party person”. For the past months, he’d done his best to avoid Slughorn’s invitations. Though the silver-tongued heir of the prominent house of Nott had been taught to socialize properly and knew his way around people, the majority of them bored him to death, as did the inevitable smalltalk revealing their shallow nature.
The Slytherin house parties he could endure, because there was at least the added though fleeting thrill of a hookup- and also, he had to handle Mattheo at his worst, when he’d made his way through a few too many shots of firewhiskey and drugs. Additionally, the Slytherin house parties tended to grow wild and frenzied fairly quickly, allowing him to slip into a hazy sequence of blurred memories and forget about himself.
An event such as this, however, which some might assume more to his liking as it presented itself as far more civil, could not have thrilled him any less. People circling each other like vultures under the red lanterns, detecting with observant eyes who to suck up to and who to eliminate as competition, fighting for the attention of the well-connected at the top of the food chain, trying to climb a latter they weren’t even able to grab the rails of.
Slughorn was smiling brightly, boasting and prowling around, fully in his element as he weaved people like strings, enjoying himself in the role of benefactor, merciful king, god. Beneath him, the huddle of chosen ones, jabbing their elbows into each other in the hopes to be selected as the one to rise the ranks of privilege. Shrill, tense laughter rang through the air, the scenery painted in red hues from the lanterns, the eyes too attentive for a party like this. And in the midst of it all, you.
You, in your gorgeous green dress, being twirled around on the dance floor by Terry Campbell. Though that was quite the generous description, as you were doing most of the heavy lifting. As he had suspected, Theo thought to himself, Campbell couldn’t handle you, he could never meet your standards. His movements were clumsy and sluggish, he lacked manners and he didn’t hesitate to leave you alone or crowd you out when the opportunity to suck up to one of the more illustrious people presented itself.
He didn’t deserve you, he didn’t deserve looking at you all dressed and dolled up. The sight of it twisted something sharp and ugly inside him. That idiot had his hands on your waist, his fingers splayed too casually against the fabric, his grin too smug, too self-assured-like he had any right to you. Theo had to refrain himself from reaching for his wand as Campbell followed your lead (he was a miserable dancer) and stared down at your cleavage, not even attempting to conceal his blatant ogling. As if you were a fucking pezzo di carne.
Taking a long sip of the champagne in his hands, he felt it trickle cooly down his throat, but it could not cool his temper flaring up whenever Campbell’s eyes wandered just a little too far down. The only thing keeping him from marching over and wrenching you out of his grabby hands was your eyes, boring into his earlier that day when you’d complained about Mattheo’s overbearing relationship. He didn’t want you to feel caged in, as much as he wished to get you by the waist and out of this snakepit. Where people whispered behind your back and your face fell any time you saw a finger pointed at you.
You were too soft to be what you were, and he fucking adored it. But it also meant that he made a mental note of anyone who made the smile vanish from your face for later … consideration.
When your dimwit of a date spotted Sean Clarke, the president of the English Quidditch league, amidst a crowd of noisy witches, he tore himself away from you in an instant to push past dancing couples towards him, without a glance or word back to you. Just leaving you standing there on the dance floor, looking so utterly breathtaking in that frilly dress of yours.
Theo’s hands tightened around his glass of champagne as he glided through people to keep an eye on you as you approached the buffet. As you waited for a group of renowned daily prophet reporters to pass by, your eyes wandered over the crowd and found him, leaning against one of the stone walls. Even from a distance, he saw them widen in surprise- no wonder, since he usually was to be found anywhere but at a Slughorn party on designated evenings.
But soon after, a smile spread across your face. Not the false ones you gave Campbell to appease him and make him feel like a man. It was small, hesitant, honest and it was private. Even in his foul mood, Theo could do nothing but smile back and the corners of your mouth twitched as you turned towards the buffet, only to tighten when Campbell returned. Theo saw it with a certain level of satisfaction.
As Terry, visibly ill-tempered, pushed through the crowd towards you again, you had to suppress an exasperated sigh. He’d been nothing but a nuisance and a brat all night, and you would rather have him preoccupied with Sean Clarke than you. But alas, the latter seemed to have blown him off, judging by the bitter look on Campbell’s face.
Before you could ask if he wanted to get something to eat - you were starving - he grabbed you roughly by the arm, grunting something that sounded like “dancefloor” and dragged you back to the middle of the room. Instinctively, your gaze found Theo who was slowly pushing himself off the wall, eyes locked on Terry’s hand gripping your arm. But when you threw him a warning look, he halted his movement, only following you with vigilant eyes.
Terry placed his hand on your waist- if one was to call your hip your waist. As he took up his clumsy movements again, you attempted to ignore the way it moved uncomfortably far down. You had stoked his wandering hands up to a lack of experience in the beginning, but you were growing more uncomfortable by the second. Just to check, you threw another glance around you for Theo, and he returned it with a raised brow. Recognizing the silent question, you shook your head lightly.
Terry seemed to have realized your spirits weren’t in it anymore, or maybe he’d just spotted another Quidditch player, because he stopped dancing after just a short moment to pull you after him again. Without a word to you, he pushed a group of fifth years aside until you’d reached a secluded corner behind some slightly see-through red curtains, cutting you off from the rest of the party.
Initially, you had wanted to look for Theo again, just to check, but then, Campbell speaking a coherent sentence took you so off guard that you forgot anything else over it. “You know, I could have asked any girl here, but I picked you.”
Completely taken aback, both by his sudden ability to articulate himself through more than three word sentences and the contents of said sentence, you blinked up at him, momentarily rendered speechless. He looked down at you appraisingly and took a step towards you, which was quite the feat in this cramped spot. Instinctively, you inched back, but smiled nervously as you didn’t want to be rude- you just wanted to get out of here and hook him up with his beloved Sean Clarke so you didn’t have to deal with him anymore.
“Don’t be so uptight, Riddle,” he drawled, having picked up on your attempts to bring some space between you and him. A lazy, sickening grin pulled at his lips and a shiver ran down your spine when his eyes wandered from your face down your body. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “I bet no one’s even looking.”
“Can we get back to dancing?” you tried, fingers nervously clasping around each other as you glanced up at him. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest as you tried to suppress the panic that surged through you at the look in his eyes. “I don’t really feel like-”
His demeaning chuckle cut you off and to your horror, he grabbed the arm you had been reaching out to draw the curtains aside, as well as your waist. He pushed you against a small table, cornering you. You could smell the faint trace of alcohol on him, but he’d not had enough to be losing all sense. Which meant… You didn’t want it to be true, Merlin, you didn’t want Mattheo to be right. But it looked like you’d just walked into a trap, and it snapped shut when Terry leaned down and grinned unpleasantly. “Come on, don’t be like that, I’ve been nothing but nice to you all night.”
“Stop it,” you said in a low voice, doing your best to imitate Theo’s threatening tone that had any resistance crumble into a pathetic pile at his feet. But it didn’t work with Gryffindor’s six foot tall beater, of course.
Terry only laughed mockingly and his hands squeezed around your waist and arm. His eyes glinted as you attempted to free yourself. “Relax, it’s just a little fun- What, your brother gonna come drag you away?” He lowered his head and you tried pushing at his chest, but he didn’t move one bit and his fingers dug painfully into your flesh. “You don’t have to play so hard to get, you know?” he drawled, “I already know you like the attention. Why else would you have worn a dress like tha-”
Somehow, suddenly, out of nowhere, the curtains were ripped apart and Theo was there before you, before you even had time to process it- before Campbell could push his luck any further. His hand shot out, fingers locking around the bastard’s wrist in a vice grip, yanking it away from your waist with enough force to make him stumble back a step. His breathing was slow, measured, but everything else about him was tightly wound, coiled with barely restrained fury- his shoulders stiff, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might crack. His fingers flexed at his side like he was deciding whether to throw a punch or just break Campbell's wrist outright.
The usual composed calm in his expression was gone- his dark eyes burned with something lethal, something cold and merciless that had shivers run down your spine, even though it wasn’t directed at you but at Campbell, who recoiled visibly, wincing when Theo’s hand tightened around his wrist and cut off all blood flow. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, quiet, but razor-edged with warning. “You really don’t want to do that.”
“H-hey man,” laughed Campbell, voice shaking slightly with fear, and it was music to your ears. To have him at someone’s mercy, in someone’s unrelenting grip. For a moment, you wished you had Theo’s authority, menacing aura and reputation. Until you got half your mind back and inched away from Campbell, who had let go of your arm in an instant.
“It was just a bit of fun,” Campbell attempted to laugh it off, but Theo didn’t move- didn’t blink, didn’t loosen his grip. If anything, his fingers tightened around Campbell’s wrist, the tension in his arm rippling beneath his shirt. There was not the slightest trace of amusement on his stony face, no hint of his usual cool detachment- just a quiet, simmering rage, deadly in its restraint.
His head tilted slightly, voice dropping even lower, silk-smooth but edged with steel. “Didn’t seem like she was having fun to me.” His thumb pressed just slightly into the guy’s pulse point, a silent threat, a warning that needed no elaboration. The air around them felt sharp, electric, like the moment before a storm broke, and though Theo hadn’t thrown a single punch, it was clear he was seconds away from violence.
His gaze flickered over to you. But instead of softening, like it usually did, it only hardened as he snapped his eyes back at Campbell, who was unable to hide the panic etched into his expression. “Do yourself a favor,” Theo said darkly, threateningly, “Get lost. Now.” Still holding his wrist, he lowered his head and Campbell tried to avoid his piercing eyes. With eyes full of disgust and revulsion, Theo looked down on him. “I’ll find you tomorrow,” he growled with barely contained fury, released Campbell’s hand and tilted his head just the slightest bit.
In the split of a second, Campbell was gone, only the curtains still moving with the impact of his sudden departure. Theo turned to you, dread churning in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to go after Campbell and make him bleed, make him pay, for daring to lay his filthy hands on you, for daring to feast his greedy eyes on you and trying to hurt you. The only thing keeping him in place was, at the same time, the only thing more important than his wrath- you.
Your eyes were locked on the swaying curtain where Campbell had just left, your shoulders slumped and to his horror, he noticed you were shaking slightly. The sight of your trembling fingers didn't do anything to calm the inferno barely contained within him, and he was tempted to take you with him and have you watch him destroy Campbell, so you would see what a miserable sack of human garbage he was, how he was nothing, how he would cower at your feet, beg for your mercy, and he’d punish him for it.
“Carina?”
Theo’s voice sounded through to you, over the ringing in your ears. Blinking rapidly, you bit down on your traitorously wobbling lip and turned to him without raising your gaze from the ground. “Merlin,” you whispered and heard your voice quiver uncontrollably. “I was so stupid.” Your eyes burned, both with shock and humiliation, and before you could properly avert your face, a tear slipped past the fragile dam.
His warm hands on your bare arms, so much more gentle and careful than Terry’s, almost made you shudder as you fought the urge to sink into him and cry away your worries on his shoulder, in spite of time and place, in spite of your determination to keep some level of composure. Theo’s thumbs brushed gently over your skin, so utterly comforting that it only made you well up more. “You weren't,” he said in a firm but calm voice, the rumble of his baritone soothing the trembling of your heart against your ribcage, as if it wanted to escape the confines of your body that suddenly felt so sullied.
An ironic, teary laugh slipped past your lips. “Yes, I am. Here I was, wanting to show Mattheo I can handle myself and now I need saving from you-” Your voice broke off and you covered your mouth with one hands to muffle the little sob building up in your throat.
Wiping at your cheeks stubbornly, you avoided his gaze determinately and preferred to watch the ripple of his sophisticated shirt as he leaned towards you, the smell of smoke, mint and old books tearing down your walls of resistance. Another tear. “You must think I'm an idiot,” you whispered as even more tears ran down your cheeks and the hand over your mouth shook.
“No, I don't,” said Theo, ever more firmly, and all of the sudden, you could feel the rough pads of his fingers under your chin, lifting it. There was no resistance left in you, not when his voice drowned out the unpleasant memory of Campbell and the overwhelming thumping of the music. But the look in his eyes almost made you flinch back. They were made of ice, hard and cold and beautiful, brimming with fury. Still, his grip barely tightened. As always, Theo was in perfect control of his body, of his every movement. Sometimes, that frustrated you, but now, you felt content knowing every touch of his was deliberate and trustworthy.
“I don't think you’re an idiot,” he reiterated, lowering his head to be more on eye level with you. “I think you picked the wrong guy. È semplice. Simple as that.”
It was too much, his voice, his words, the way the Italian rolled so smoothly off his tongue. Sniffing, you hid your head in his chest and his arms wrapped themselves around you, one hand holding your neck, brushing his thumb over your jaw and shielding you against him.
“You could do so much better,” his voice rumbled against your ear as he caressed your face and more tears stained his white shirt. You felt him tense up somewhat, a certain hint of frustration in his voice, though not directed at you, but rather at himself. “You should do so much better.”
Another bitter little laugh left your lips, a pang of daring born out of your shock and fear. “Like you?” Since you still hid your head in his chest, you didn't see the way his jaw clenched at your words.
He could imagine it so well- a world in which you would have worn that dress for him, and only for him. In which he’d have waited for you by your dorm, would have led you through the halls to Slughorn’s party and fended all other people off to take you to dance. How you would have moved, and smiled, and laughed; laughed just for him. How you would have trusted him with yourself. He would have made sure you got to enjoy yourself, would have made the night unforgettable. Would have taken you back to your dorm and shown you just how much of a goddess you were- even without the dress on.
Already regretting your rash words, you pried yourself from his hug, too busy whipping the last remnants of tears from your cheeks to notice the way his eyes had darkened and fingers curled at his sides, as if burning to pull you back against him. “Can we get out of here?” you asked, looking up at him, and he nodded, tugging the curtains aside to lead you out of the secluded corner.
Theo’s hand rested on your lower back as if it belonged there, as he guided you through chattering and dancing bodies, clearing a path for you through the sea of laughter and music. The party’s noises and colors had long become overwhelming to you, so you let him guide you through the crowd and to the door leading out of the room. Taking a longer step, he opened it for you, lead you through and closed it behind you. As soon as the door fell shut with a resounding clang and the coolness and quiet of the nightly castle halls welcomed you, you could breathe steadily again.
Theo shook off his jacket and wrapped it over your shoulders like a proper gentleman, adjusting it to make sure it didn't slip. He was a bit old school, but you liked it. Luckily, the night hid the dust of pink on your cheeks as the warmth engulfed you like a hug and shielded you against the nightly cold. His hand still on your lower back, Theo guided you down the stairs and along the corridor, a comfortable silence settling between you. You had a feeling he was slowing his pace to match yours, as your legs were still a little shaky.
When you walked by the courtyard, you slowed your steps and looked up at him, noticing the way the pale moonlight only accentuated the sharp line of his jaw. “Can we sit outside for a moment?”
Theo did not at all like how flimsy and unprotected against the cold you were dressed, but he nodded. He couldn't let you go unprotected, after all. Right, he was just following your brother’s instructions. Just that. Once more, he adjusted his jacket before allowing you to pull him by the arm out into the courtyard, striding towards one of the benches. Before you could sit, he wiped away the leaves and twigs on your side and then sat down next to you, feeling himself grow calmer as he listened to your steady breathing and watched it come out in puffs from your lips. Your lips. You’d put lipgloss on, and his eyes clung to the way they looked so plump and soft, ready to be ravaged.
“Theo?”
“Mm?” he asked distractedly, still mesmerized by the way your lips looked, moved, parted, huffed out silvery breaths.
“Can you-,” you hesitated for a second and threw him a quick glance. “Can you not tell Mattheo about how horrible this went?” Theo looked down at you steadily, with a serious, unmoved expression on his face as he was waiting for you to continue.
With a defeated sigh, you propped up your head and your hands, elbows on your knees, and stared ahead. “You know how he’ll get if he finds out. He’ll go completely bonkers, and he’s so reckless, I wouldn’t be surprised if he risked more than detention.” Maybe even Azkaban. Because he had sworn to you earlier that evening that he would kill Campbell if he laid so much as a hand on you. But you had no interest in Campbell dying, you just never wanted to see his stupid face again.
Still, Theo remained quiet and you rocked your leg anxiously, your voice a breath against the nightly breeze. “And if he knows… if you tell him… he’ll be right.” Again, you felt the sharp prick of tears behind your eyes, but before they could flow, a warm hand came to rest against your waist and you gave into its urge by leaning against his shoulder. Resting your head on him, you couldn’t see his face properly, but his voice was louder and clearer than yours had been. Still, he seemed to have understood every word.
“He wouldn’t,” said Theo calmingly, rubbing circles on your dress and calming your breathing in return. “I know you can take care of yourself. Also.”
You were surprised by the somewhat humorous tone in his voice as he lightly nudged your head with his, making you raise your head from his shoulder and look up at him. Mere inches separated your noses as his darkend eyes reflected the starry sky above Hogwarts. There was a rare, jocular twinkle in them as his hand came up from your waist to cup your cheek. “You are his older sister after all.”
A dry chuckle left your lips, but your heart was lighter than before and you managed to crack a genuine smile. “You’re right,” you grinned weakly, not even thinking of bringing more distance between you and his magnetizing eyes. “I should rightfully rule over him.”
A gentle smirk tugged at his lips, and he didn’t make a move to separate from you either, his thumb running along your jaw. “With an iron fist, bella.”
But then, his gaze darkened again as his eyes lost all light. You could almost understand why people tended to flinch back from him in fear, though the threatening look in his eyes couldn’t make you frightened for yourself. Still, his thumb brushed gentle strokes up your jaw and his trusted scent clouded your senses. “I will hurt him for what he did to you,” muttered Theo, his voice so quiet you could only hear it because he practically breathed the words against your lips.
Maybe he had expected you to back away, look horrified, or tell him off for doing what Mattheo would have done. But you only nodded, like you had known it all along. “I know,” you echoed his thoughts, looking serious and tugging his jacket tighter around yourself, not breaking eye contact. “But I trust you to handle the situation better. You are … less clouded by emotions.”
The irony almost made him smile, how you thought he would be measured, would be reasonable, rational, when he had never felt more clouded by emotions as when you looked up at him now, your wide eyes still showing the last remnants of your tears. An iron grip was around his heart, refusing to loosen, so he forced himself to avert his eyes, so you wouldn’t see the hate brimming in them- not at you, of course, but at the world who kept cracking down on someone as good as you.
But he didn’t correct you, instead skimming his eyes over the lace of your dress, the way it swayed gently in the breeze. You had looked so pretty in it- still did. A shame, truly. Both you and this dress deserved better. When he adjusted the hem slightly, he caught goosebumps break out under his touch and hated himself for the light tinge of satisfaction it gave him.
“You look stunning in that dress,” he muttered lowly, looking back up at you. It seemed like your eyes hadn’t left him, even after he had averted his, and the way you leaned trustingly into his touch twisted his insides with conflicting emotion.
Your hand found his and squeezed, and now he himself had to suppress a shudder at your soft touch. It really shouldn’t be bothering him, shouldn’t be affecting him this much. He had touched you plenty of times before, as you had, too. Your touch was more familiar to him than that of his parents, or his friends. Your warmth a constant in the wild tides breaking all around him, disrupting the world he had meant to break into order for you.
“Thank you,” you said breathlessly, giving his hand a light squeeze. Returning it, he watched you, and you shifted under his gaze, feeling scrutinized.
“Mi dispiace (i’m sorry),” he said sincerely, finally holding your gaze again. “For your ruined night, carina. You deserve so much better.”
You shrugged, giving him a half-smile. “Well, you know what they say, play stupid games and win stupid prizes. And anyway, it wasn’t your fault. And,” your eyes fell to your interlocked hands, his long fingers engulfing yours like they never wanted to let you go again. “Thank you, Theo. For getting me out of there. Merlin knows what would have happened if you hadn’t.”
His jaw clenched visibly at the thought, and he attempted to concentrate on the feel of your soft skin against his to ground him, as images of what he would do to Campbell flashed in his mind. Your ironic chuckle pulled you out of his spiraling thoughts. “I couldn’t even push him off. The way you just looked at him and he ran off…,” you swallowed thickly. “I wish I wasn't this weak.”
“It’s not a weakness,” he disagreed and you opened your mouth to argue back, but the look in his eyes extinguished every and all protest on your tongue. “It’s not a weakness,” he repeated firmly, locking you in place with his cerulean eyes. His thumb ran over your knuckles, but neither of you dared look away from the other. “It’s a show of strength,” he said, his Italian accent a little more prominent than before. “The world didn’t manage to take away your kindness.”
He leaned in further when he saw the frown forming on your face. “You are stronger than me. And for all those who think otherwise,” his voice got more grave as he spoke, more intense, “who think they can use you or hurt you, you have me to deal with him.”
Frozen, unable to talk back and disagree with his rather flattering interpretation of yourself, you stared at him, his words replaying in your mind. You had him. Him. Not them. He wasn’t talking about himself and your brother, just about himself. He would deal with anyone who hurt you. A shiver ran through your body, but it wasn’t because of the dark promise he had extended towards you. Where it was received inside you, it curled up, warm, like a whispered secret. He would take care of you.
To your grief, that care seemed to be extendable to other areas as well, as Theo's attentive eyes caught the goosebumps on your arms and your light shivering. Loosening his hand from yours, he placed it again on the small of your back, frowning. “We have to get you inside, amore. You will catch death out here.” Begrudgingly, you agreed, partially because you couldn’t say no to those eyes.
With a gentle rub of his hand, he helped you stand and adjusted his jacket over your shoulders. Then, he led you inside again, where, though it wasn’t much warmer, the cold breeze subsided. But when he turned to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, you halted your steps, causing him to stop as well and raise his brow at you. You gave him a pleading look as you held on to his jacket for support. “He’ll be waiting. I don't want him to ask questions when I turn up so early.”
Theo sighed, running a hand through his dark curls, but he nodded and you gave him a grateful smile. “Come with me,” he said, gratuitously, as if you wouldn't have followed him anywhere without him having to ask. But you nodded and let him take you up a staircase into the Transfiguration corridor, where he opened the first door with a bit of wandless magic.
Any other night, you might have protested breaking into a classroom, but you made no sound of complaint as he opened the door for you and led you inside, closing it softly behind you so the noise would go undetected. A small click told you that he had locked it again, though Filch was rarely out and about on nights of Slughorn’s parties, as too many partygoers drove him mad.
As you sat down on one of the tables in the front row, hands tugged into the pockets of Theo's jacket, he opened one of the closets, seemingly looking for something. Seconds later, he reemerged, balancing a board of chess in one hand. Something like a satisfied smile tugged at his lips when your eyes lit up in an instant. He walked over, placing the board on the desk you sat on, before hoisting himself up to sit on the other end, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt to find a more relaxed position.
Your eyes clung to the exposed skin of his collar for just a moment, but a moment too long, as he quirked a teasing brow at you when you snapped your eyes back to his face. Feeling your face grow hot, you busied yourself with placing the chess figures on the board. White for you, black for him, as always. His eyes followed the movement of your hands on the board and you felt a certain nervosity coil in your stomach at the intensity with which he observed your hands.
Once the board was ready, you did the first move. His eyes snapped up at you shortly before he extended his veiny hand to move one of his central pawns. And so it continued. You both made your moves, sometimes fast and certain, other times slow and hesitant. His brows were drawn in concentration, and you attempted to focus on the game instead of the way his pensive expression made you want to lean over and kiss him.
Theo was a formidable chess player, and you weren’t so bad yourself. When you had both finished your school work, playing chess was a common pastime in his room, both of you sitting on his sheets and balancing the board between you. It wasn't so different now, only that you were starting to notice things in the pale moonlight you hadn’t before.
The deliberate movement of his hands, how his fingers sometimes stilled over the board as he glanced up at you, gauging your reaction to what he was about to do. The way he ran his hands through his hair after you’d made a good move, and the way his lips would quirk whenever he’d taken advantage of one of your weak positions. He was so utterly magnetizing you had to force your attention on the game, determined not to let him beat you too easily. Usually, it was Theo who won the match, but you tended to put up a good figh. It wasn’t easy to entertain him, but somehow, it was always him who asked for a match or had already got out the board when you arrived.
Unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the only one somewhat distracted. Usually, it was enough for Theo to analyze your moves and strategies, never having had a problem with wavering concentration, unlike his best mate. Something was different tonight. Maybe it was the dress. Only now did he realize how low-cut it really was, made worse by the fact that you had to lean over the desk to move your chess men, giving him an enticing view of your cleavage- if he hadn’t physically restrained himself from looking by digging his nails into the palms of hands violently. Maybe it was his jacket on you. This clear sign of his claim on you.
Feeling dirty and horrible for these thoughts, he looked back down to the board he had been absentmindedly moving figures on and realized he hadn’t seized an important opportunity, but rather allowed you to break through his rangs so that now, you were in a position to take his queen. He cursed quietly under his breath and you gave him a sceptical and somewhat accusatory look.
“You’re letting me win.”
“I’m not,” he replied truthfully, but you didn’t believe him, and how was he supposed to explain to you that he had been so occupied with staring at you he had let his concentration slip to such a point? He himself was a little shocked, having believed his discipline to be stronger after years and years of rigorous training. But you were still you, amd if someone could distract him, it had to be you.
“Check,” you mumbled, and you both did a few more moves until you said “Checkmate” and took his king with your queen. But you remained in place, neither of you willing to let this moment pass without resolving the unspoken tension that had settled in the air between you as you played.
Without taking his eyes off yours, Theo flicked his wrist and made the board and pieces fly back into the cupboard, which sealed itself. Closing the now unoccupied distance between you, both of you shuffled closer on the desk, neither breaking eye contact. Suddenly, you caught a movement out of the corner of your eye. It was his hand, moving slowly towards your face, hovering in the air for the split of a second before cupping your cheek and tilting your head lightly, reveling in the way you gave into his touch so willingly.
“I must confess something, carina,” his voice sounded into the silence and you frowned, your heart beating faster with anticipation. A light smile settled on his lips, uncharacteristically sheepish, as his thumb brushed over your lower lip, eyes locked on the way it gave in to the pressure of his thumb. “I might have been assigned to you tonight, to protect you.”
Ignoring the pang of disappointment in your chest, you scoffed without any malice behind it. But you refused to look away as his breath mingled with yours, the silence in the classroom seeming louder than before. The space between you had disappeared without either of you noticing, and his fingers were warm against your skin. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed, but he didn’t pull away. His gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, dark and unreadable, his breathing slow but unsteady. The air between you felt thick, charged, like the moment before lightning struck.
You should have moved. Said something. Diffused the situation before it crossed the point of no return. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. The warmth of him, the way his knee pressed against yours, the way his breath ghosted over your lips- it held you in place. His grip tightened just slightly, as if grounding himself, as if testing if you’d pull away. But you didn’t. The silence stretched, became unbearable, and your lips parted, his eyes clinging to them.
“Well, Theo. Are you going to protect me from yourself?”
It was the last straw. Suddenly, his lips were on yours, soft but firm, moving against yours and you gave into him in an instant, as if on instinct. Both his hands cupped your face now, tilting it slightly to give himself a better angle. His lips were so soft you wondered whether he’d put on lipbalm earlier, his touch so tender you couldn’t help but feel content, right here and there. You kissed him back, but he took the lead with unmistakable certainty, tugging lightly at your lower lip with his teeth and making your breath hitch before closing the distance once more.
But there was something missing. Theo was kissing and touching you as if you were made of glass and could shatter at the lightest touch. His kisses were loving, but careful, only gently tugging at the curtains you wished to rip open and let your senses be overflown with sunlight.
The moment he detected you struggling to catch your breath, he released your lips, looking down on your flushed face with a light smile. So damn satisfied, so superior. But you’d show him. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you leaned up at him but he evaded your lips, tutting softly at your endeavors and the frown scrunching your brows together.
Feeling quite frustrated and desperate to release the tension that had been brimming inside you all day, you scraped together your last bits of Italian you had picked up, poring over language books in the library. Your voice shook, uncertain, as you spoke, and the words came out slightly broken, almost inaudible. “Ti voglio… così … così tanto,” you said breathlessly, and in what had to be a heavy english accent. (I want you so much)
Theo let out a shaky exhale, and he corrected you without thinking, his voice so low it sounded more like a rumble. “Ti voglio così tanto.”
A beat. Silence. And then, finally, something inside him seemed to snap. The careful restraint in his grip vanished, replaced by something raw, something reckless. His fingers slid back into your hair, tightening just enough to tilt your face up to his as his lips crashed onto yours, all hesitation gone. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t measured. It was heated, desperate, like he had been holding himself back for too long and had finally lost the battle.
His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him as if he needed to feel you, to prove to himself that you were here, that this was real. A low sound rumbled in his throat as he deepened the kiss, as his fingers curled tighter against your waist, as he poured everything- every once of frustration, every unsaid thing, every moment spent pretending it wasn’t inevitable - into the way his lips moved against yours.
His hand on your waist slid down to your thigh, grabbing a handful and pulling you every more closer until you sat halfway in his lap. At his firm touch, your breath hitched in your throat and he responded with a low growl, hand slipping higher and higher until-
You pulled away, chest heaving and head spinning, unable to grasp a thought. But fear had surged through you, as the images of the boys you’d kissed before flashed in your mind, after Mattheo had been done with them. Panic and pleasure coiled into an almost painful knot in your throat and all you could think, as you tightened your hands in his shirt, was not him, not him, not him. You shouldn't be doing this. He was your brother’s best friend, he was off limits. He was freedom.
“Carina?” his voice broke through to the hazy mist clouding your mind and you looked up at him with wide eyes. The look on his face took you off guard, because you had never seen him look scared before. Maybe you had even thought impossible. But now, his voice shook slightly as he ran his thumb over your jaw and his other hand departed from your upper thigh. “I’m sorry, carina. Merda- fuck- I- I shouldn't have, Non stavo pensando-” (I wasn't thinking)
Theo seemed to take your lack of response as fright rather than what it was: perplexity. Because Theodore Nott hadn't had trouble with slipping in and out of English since first grade. But now, as his eyes frantically searched your face for a reaction, as apologies stumbled from his tongue, he almost seemed unable to control in what language they were in.
Theo was astonished how quickly emotion and desire had taken over his senses, his body, his sacred self-control. Only now did he realize how reckless he had been, kissing you like that after just saving you from a handsy stronzo. Where had his filter been when he’d kissed you like that, when his hand had slipped up your dress, when your little gasps had only spurred him on? But you didn't seem as fearful as him, only staring at him with wide eyes as if he’d just discovered a damn new species. Running a hand through his hair in desperation, he lowered his voice. “Parlami, per favore. Talk to me, carina.”
Snapping back to your senses, you shook your head at him rapidly. “It's not- I didn't mean-”. You felt your cheeks grow hot but you held your gaze steady and didn't loosen the grip you had on his shirt. “I liked it. It was great. I was just-” You took a few breaths through your mouth, considering the words, weighing them in your mind before allowing your tongue to form a sentence. As you pondered your words, he sat still as a block of ice, staring down at you with those mesmerizing blue eyes of his.
“I don't want Mattheo to hurt you!” you finally managed to say and his brow arched. Frustrated with your lack of an explanation, you looked around the room as if the perfect sentence to explain your desperate predicament would jump out of one of the cupboards. “I know what he did to the other boys,” you said, forcing yourself to stay calm, “to the other boys I've kissed. I don't want him to hurt you. A- and,” you hated yourself for the way your voice broke off and you had to start the sentence over, “and I know you love him like a brother, and you are his best friend, and I don't want to ruin that.”
“Oh carina,” he sighed, rolling the r even more heavily than usual, and the small smile that tugged at his lips had the conflicting desires to hit him or kiss him battle inside of you. Theo visibly relaxed, the tension leaving his shoulders and the movements of his fingers settling into a calm rhythm once more. His relaxed stance didn't even make the slightest bit of sense to you as you frowned at him, voice laced with fear and worry.
“Mattheo will kill you.”
Theo’s heart seized as he looked into your worried, fearful eyes. Worried for him, your hand clutching his shirt like you never wanted to let him go. You didn't want to ruin his friendship with Mattheo. You were afraid he would hurt him. Dio, you were so fucking selfless, so sweet and caring. How could anyone see you as unapproachable or cold, or anything short of wonderful? But at the same time, the kiss-induced haze in his mind slowly started to clear up as he seemed to sober up, recognizing the sensibility of your words. Right. You were Mattheo's sister. You were off-limits.
It cost him every last ounce of self-control to pry your fingers away from his shirt gently, and a numb pain tugged at his heartstrings when they fell purposelessly into your lap. “Let's get you back to your dorm,” he mumbled, trying to be the voice of reason, not the greedy vulture raging inside his head that yearned to rip that pretty dress off of you and worship you like you deserved, to make you forget all about Campbell and his disgusting attempts. He longed to hear the sounds you would make when he touched you in all the right places, he wanted you to curl your fingers into his hair, he wanted to hear you moan his name, and his name only.
But alas, he stepped back from the table, banning the forbidden images from his head, and approached the door, desperately trying to clear his head. It was only when his hand hovered over the door handle that he realized you hadn't followed. Turning around, he saw you were still sitting where he had left you, on the desk, clutching his jacket around yourself, eyes fixed on him. The glint in them was dangerous, it tempted him more than anything, drew him in like a magnet. Shakily breathing out, he turned and faced the door, fingers closing around the handle. “Tell me to go.”
There was a pause, during which he could only hear your breathing, still labored as a result of the messy kiss. He could picture you so well. Clutching his jacket, your hair disheveled where his fingers had run through it and your eyes- dio, your eyes… When you spoke, your voice was quiet, but firm. As if you'd made up your mind about something. “You never listen to me anyway.”
That was all it took for his resolve to crumble. Mattheo and chivalry be damned as he turned on his heel and had reached you in a few strides, crashing his lips against yours. As his hands on your neck urged you ever more closer, you let out a surprised squeak, but the split of a second later, your eyes fluttered close and you kissed him back, losing yourself in the bliss.
Low phrases were muttered against your lips, but you barely registered them as you kissed him back just as feverishly as he did. Your shaky fingers ran over his chest, looking for any sort of halt, and he rumbled lowly into your mouth as his grip on you tightened and he opened your lips with his tongue. As his tongue slid into your mouth, it met little resistance. Instead, your fingers closed around his tie, unintentionally tugging him even closer to you and he cupped the back of your head, fingers carding into your hair. An embarrassing little mewl left your lips and the vehemence of the kiss made you lean back on the table, your back hovering inches above the surface. He followed, chasing your lips, closing in on you again and again and exploring the insides of your mouth with his tongue.
You had subconsciously been inching back on the desk and his hands departed from your neck to bury themselves in the flesh of your hip. With one fluid motion, he pulled you back over the smooth surface of the desk until your clothed core met his and you could feel his desire. Your skirt had ridden up to your upper thighs, but you made no attempts to fix it as you leaned into his touch, his kiss, his smell, his very being.
You could barely believe this was happening, the stuff of your forbidden little ovulation daydreams, and if his fingers hadn’t been kneading the flesh of your exposed thigh so maddeningly, you would have pinched yourself to make sure this was real. But it felt almost too real, too intense, too all-consuming, as his large palms ran over every inch of your body they could reach and he panted against your lips before clashing his onto yours again. Insatiable, ferocious, yearning for every part of you he could grasp.
If you had thought you were the only one desperate for the other, you had been so, so wrong. His frantic kisses and desperate touches were enough to convince you otherwise, his usual calm and coldness missing as you felt so fucking hot under his deft hands.
Experimentally, you rolled your hips against his crotch. His grip on your waist and hip tightened, fingers curling harshly into your flesh as he let out a shaky breath against your lips. But his voice was steady and firm as he warned you, “Careful with that, principessa.”
But you wanted to see him crumble, you wanted to see him lose control more than anything. So you leaned up at him, chased his lips and gave him your best doe eyes. His eyes gleaned dangerously in the relative darkness of the classroom as you tightened your grip on his shirt. “Theo…,” you asked in a pleading voice, trying to convey how damn needy he made you feel, how much his touch riled you up until all you could think was him, him , him, and the way he pressed against your pulsing core. “Per favore…”
Again, the Italian seemed to do the trick. Something in his gaze shifted as his eyes snapped down to your lips, and further down, over your heaving chest to your bare thighs, molding into the touch of his large hands. He was panting, fighting against the utter loss of control, but when you repeated the words in the most adorable English accent and rolled your hips against his once more, he couldn’t help himself any longer.
Theo’s head dipped down to your neck and you mewled when you felt his lips trail down your throat. His tongue licked a long stripe up the column of your throat, where your breath hitched and he chuckled darkly against your skin. Breathing in your perfume that always fucking lingered in the room when you were there, so near and out of reach, he connected his lips to your sensitive spot and felt a jolt of pleasure at your high-pitched gasp.
Suddenly, for the split of a second, your mind cleared up and you tugged his head away from your neck in a panic. You only got a low growl in response, along with a roll of his lips that made you mewl softly and slap a hand over your mouth at the embarrassing sound. “Th- theo," you managed to stutter out, the words falling clumsily from your kiss-bitten lips. You only got a throaty sound in return and your grip in his hair tightened. “Theo, h- he can’t see.”
That, if nothing else, made him halt his relentless ministrations of your neck and raise his head to look down on you. You looked so utterly irresistible in the dim moonlight shining through the windows. Your hair a mess, your lips plump and swollen, your eyes wide and fearful. Fearful for him. Merlin, he felt like he had the whole world at his fingertips. His intense gaze made you shudder as you leaned up again, a pleading look in your eyes and laced into the tone of your voice. “Theo-”
But before you could say more, he cupped your cheeks and kissed your temple, breathing in through his nose as if commanding oxygen back into his lungs. “I’ll just have to do it somewhere else then, won’t I?” he said under his breath, lips departing from yours kin so he could get another proper look at you and your flushed face. “Somehwere he can’t see.” His tone was so utterly seductive you could only nod, you knew your voice would break if you had tried to reply.
But he tutted softly, tilting his head and you recognized the teasing look in his eyes. His hand cupped your cheek and his thumb ran over your bottom lip, eyes following the way it gave into his touch. “You’ve got to use your words, principessa, tell me what to do.”
Frustrated with his teasing, you moved your hips against his until his hands gripped at your waist, keeping you in place. He raised his brow at you. “Not cheating, are we?” One of his hands ran over your thigh gently, making any and all protest die on your tongue. A sharp gasp left your lips when it surged forward and cupped your crotch. Biting down on your lip, you suppressed a moan as he engulfed your clothed core with his large hand and tilted his head at you, brow still raised. “Anyone ever touched you there, carina?” A mocking smile curled his lips. “Anyone but yourself, I mean.”
Panting pathetically, you shook your head and he cooed at you, gently rubbing his palm over your cunt in a way that had you squirm against his hold. “H- ha, no one,” you gasped, hiding your blushing face in his biceps as your fingers curled into his shoulders, keeping you steady. “No one’s touched me there but y- you, Theo.”
Though Theo might have seemed all calm and collected, his mind was spinning at your words. With the revelation that he’d be the first man to touch you, to claim you, to ruin you for any other pathetic guy that might attempt to take his place. Because you belonged to him. He had to suppress a groan at the thought, but commanded himself to discipline. This night was yours, he was yours, and he had to keep his mind focused on you, on your pleasure.
In one motion, he hiked up your skirt until it was bunched up around your midriff, giving him the perfect view of your white lace panties against the dark wood of the desk. Licking his lips, he met your wide-eyed gaze. “Lay down on the desk, principessa.” That was right. You would be his princess tonight.
With great satisfaction, he watched you follow his order immediately. Your back met the wood of the desk and you suirmed against his hold to get comfortable, staring up at the ceiling. Your heart beat against your ribs like crazy, the sound of it filling your ears. His face had disappeared from your sight. All you could feel now were his hands, one keeping your hips in place, the other running a slow pair of fingers up your clothed folds. Your breath hitched in your throat and you bit down on your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the embarrassing sounds building up in your throat.
His next command sounded, soft but firm. “Spread your legs.” You did, thighs trembling, and you propped yourself up on one elbow just in time to see his eyes widen at the sight of you. Registering even the smallest movement, his eyes snapped up at you and you immediately laid back down on the surface of the desk, making him smile softly.
Theo got to his knees, nudging your thighs further apart and reveled in the abashed sounds coming from you. His fingers halted their movements on your clothed cunt to hook themselves around the hem of your lace panties and tug. A small squeak left your mouth and he chuckled. “So responsive…” In one tug, he slid off your underwear and discarded it somewhere next to him.
Your cunt was just as cute as he had imagined, and glistening with slick in the pale moonlight. Bringing his fingers back down to your cunt, he collected some of the substance, making you jolt. “All that for me?” he asked, teasingly, catching your frantic nod out of the corner of his eye. Then, he dove down and his lips met your puffy folds.
Shocked by the sudden feelings of his mouth against your cunt, you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that had threatened to escape you. But it was hard to keep your mind on the possible risk of getting caught in this utterly humiliating position when his tongue licked a long stripe up your folds, before diving in as if you were his last meal on earth.
Feeling his nose against your folds, his lips closed around your clit and you stifled another moan. With a low rumbling sound, one of his hands left your thigh and out of the corner of your eye, you caught him flick his wand at the door, suddenly deafening the sounds of wind howling in the courtyard. Before you could fully realize that he had just cast a muffliato charm on the door, his hand shot up and closed around both of your wrists, yanking them down and pinning them down against your hips. This had the added effect of stopping them from bucking against his face as he took advantage of the new angle to delve into your pussy like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.
When he sucked at your clit, you moaned loudly, unable to muffle the sounds with your pinned-down hands, and your cheeks heated with shame. But Theo only chuckled against your folds, feeling his cock harden painfully against the confines of his trousers. Your little moans and mewls were music to his ears, and he worked his tongue tirelessly against your clit, eager to elicit more from you.
Releasing your other thigh, the hand that wasn’t holding down your bucking hips and binding your wrists wandered up to your cunt and he slowly entered his index finger into your tight little hole. He chuckled into your glistening folds when your back arched off the desk. What he wasn’t prepared for, however, was the cry of his name that left your throat.
He damn near jolted, feeling blood rush towards his cock and, as if on instinct, his finger curled up inside of you, eliciting a strangled moan from you. He delved back into your warmth, working on your pretty pink hole with his index finger and sucking and licking at your clit until you were writhing and squirming against the desk, hips bucking helplessly but being held down by his unrelenting grip. Again, you mewled his name and he groaned into your pussy, feeling his knees grow weak and his head grow foggy.
Dio, how he could have listened to you saying his name like this forever. How often had he pictured you, whining and moaning, his name rolling off your tongue so filthily? But none of his filthy dreams could have prepared him for the real thing. His hips bucked helplessly into mere air when you moaned his name again, high-pitched and desperate as you shook under his hold. You were heavenly.
Theo's ministrations on your poor cunt were relentless, systematic and meticulous as you felt your insides tighten with white hot pleasure. You were barely in control of your whole body anymore, it felt as if he was a puppeteer, tugging knowingly at your strings and making you jolt and squirm, making you dance for him on the hard surface of the desk. All you could feel was him, all of your senses overtaken with white-hot pleasure. Your ears were ringing, so that you could barely make out your own words, repetitions of his name stumbling from your lips like a prayer.
He groaned against you, his grip on you tightening as his finger pistoned in and out of you, steadily working to make you unravel completely. “Che bei suoni, carina,” he moaned against your folds, liking up a long stripe and making your breath hitch audibly. “Una ragazza così brava, cazzo, such a good girl.”
His words made you whine as a coil tightened in your lower abdomen. You could almost feel his grin against your clit as his tongue darted out to draw circles on it and nearly drive you mad with the electrifying sensation. “You like being called a good girl, don’t you, carina?”
You could only mewl helplessly in response and his finger met that spot in you with a harsh thrust that had you cry out his name in ecstasy. “I asked you a question,” he growled and you felt tears form in your eyes at the overwhelming mounting of pleasure. Another finger of his started to draw circles on your clit, meticulous and experienced, as his grim blue eyes entered your vision, alight with something dangerous.
Nodding helplessly, you tried to force your tongue to form words as he knowingly hit every spot inside you that had you fall aprt and trash against his hold. “I- fuck, yes!”
A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he dipped his head back down, continuing his ministrations on your cunt. You attempted to roll your hips against his face, chasing the pleasure, but he tutted at you and pressed your hips down, making you sob in frustration. “Poor girl,” he chuckled against your hot wetness, “Can you take another finger, dolcezza?”
You nodded shakily, small whines of “yes, yes, yes,” filling the air. Your walls stretched deliciously around him when he added another finger. Throwing your head back with a moan, your thighs closed without your permission and finally, Theo released your wrists and hip to keep them parted, mumbling curses in Italian against your heat. His fingers curled up against the spot he now found with infuriating accuracy and instinctively, your hand shot up to your mouth to stifle the cry of pleasure threatening to burst past your lips.
But Theo seemed none too pleased with that, as his hand came down to deliver a not so gentle slap against your pussy. A cry of his name left your throat as your hips bucked with the delicious mix of pleasure and pain.
To stop yourself from covering your mouth again, you moved your trembling fingers down to his hair, where they gripped his curls in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Theo didn't seem to mind, his tongue working restlessly on your clit, and he barely grunted when you tugged at his curls, another flash of burning pleasure shooting through you, making your thighs tremble in his hold.
Lost in pleasure, you could barely control your babbling anymore as everything and anything crossing your mind made it past your lips without filter. “H-he’ll kill you,” you hiccuped weakly, tears running down your cheeks as you felt the pleasure mount inside you. “Mattheo, he’ll m-murder you for th-this, s-so ah!” You gasped when his fingers curled inside you again, working meticulously on bringing you to your high as your walls clenched in a vice-like grip around them.
“I-I hope you’ve made peace with your life,” you slurred with half a mind and his tongue only worked faster on your clit as he hummed in content. “Cazzo- then I’ll die, carina. Dio sa, this is fucking worth it.”
Ramming his fingers into your squelching cunt, he looked up at your writhing and moaning figure, feeling something swell, not only in his trousers but in his chest. He had you like this. You, the untouched, off-limits sister of his best friend, the temptation he could never give into, the prize he could never have- and now he had you. Right where he wanted you. Falling apart on his tongue and his fingers, moaning his name to the heavens, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. And fuck him if he would earn Mattheo’s wrath, fuck him if he got into hell for sullying something so good, so pure, because it just felt so damn good.
You felt so damn good, he could feel himslef becoming light-headed, not even being inside you, alone from the image of you arching your back off the table, your pretty face flushed and scrunched up with pleasure. The image of his darkest dreams. He himself couldn’t even differentiate whether the praises and curses against your tongue were in English or his mother tongue as your high-pitched moans filled his ears.
His fingers hit the spot that had you tremble mindlessly again, and again, and again, until your walls clenched tightly around them and something between a sob and a moan broke out of your throat. “Th- theo, I’m cumming!”
As your high washed over you, you could do nothing but gasp and shake against him, as pleasure as you’d never once felt it crashed down on you and nearly made you see the pearly gates of heaven. A loud cry left your throat, and you didn’t even have half a mind to be thankful for the muffliato charm he had put on the door. All you could do was absolutely fucking fall apart on his fingers.
They worked you steadily through your high, his middle finger rubbing lazy circles on your clit as the world slowly took shape again around you and you felt his lips travel up the side of your jaw. “Such a good fucking girl, dolcezza, give me everything you've got.”
And give him everything you did, riding out your high against his fingers until you collapsed in his arms. He caught you before you could hit the table, fingers rubbing over your overstimulated cunt one last time before he dipped down to kiss you. You should have been embarrassed about tasting yourself on his tongue, but to your own surprise, a low moan left your lips. He swallowed it up eagerly, whispering praises between kisses. “Y’ did so well, my sweet fucking girl,” he mumbled, making you sigh into his next peck, “Did so damn good.”
As your breathing slowly calmed and no longer came out in ragged gasps, he helped you sit up and stood before you, before the desk, smiling down at you with one of those rare smiles of his. The lower half of his face was dripping with your release and your cheeks grew impossibly hot. “S- sorry,” you mumbled, raising a shaky hand to wipe some of it away, but he caught your hair mid motion and pressed a trail of kisses over your palm, down the skin of your upper arm.
When your arm fell slack against your side, he gave you a teasing grin and darted out his tongue to lick some of your juices from his lips. Chuckling at your wide eyes, he pressed his lips to your temple and ran a hand through your hair. “How’re you feeling, carina?”
“Uh-,” you muttered , voice raspy and shaky. “G- good. I think.” An abashed smile tugged at your lips and he returned it with his casual confidence, cupping your face to kiss you softly. His lips met yours in a tender caress and you leaned into him as if he were your lifeline.
Slowly, the realization of what you had just done dawned on you. And you noticed another thing: something firm and hard pressing against your thigh. With trembling fingers, you sneaked a hand between your bodies, hovering over the tent in his trousers for a moment of hesitation before palming it through the fabric. In an instant, his grip on your face tightened and he let out a low hiss. You only felt spurred on, but to your disappointment, his larger hand wrapped around your wrist and gently tugged it away from his clothed erection.
“Not that I would ever spurn your touch,” he mumbled sheepishly, visibly more light-hearted than before but with a certain strain in his voice that undoubtedly was the result of his unresolved business down there. “But not tonight.”
He smiled at the way your brows scrunched up in a frown, hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer. “But-”
He shut you up with another kiss that had you cave in immediately, rubbing slow circles on your exposed thigh. “Another night,” he whispered against your lips, “I’ll take care of this myself.” Your eyes fluttered shut with the way he kissed you so gently, yet unrelenting. The tone of his voice told you, unmistakably, that you had no chance convincing him to let you help him.
“But, don’t you want it?” you breathed against his lips, a certain anxiety curling in your stomach.
But he only chuckled, somewhat darkly, and continued to rub circles on your thigh. “Dio, of course I want it. Ah-” With a soft tut, he caught your wrist once more and guided it to his lips to press a soft kiss onto the back of your hand. “Let me worry about that.” There was no room for argument or protest, so you sighed and shrugged, making him smile again. You had rarely witnessed a smile of his last so long. Usually, it were quips of amusement, glimpses behind the stony facade, but he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.
“Another time,” you agreed, leaning up to welcome another peck of his lips. Retreating slowly, you opened your eyes at him and lost yourself in the cerulean pools, brimming with something much more affectionate than lust. And suddenly, it felt almost natural to say it. “Ti amo, Theo.”
Groaning, Theo had to seriously refrain himself from throwing all caution to the wind and fucking you stupid right then and there on the desk. But he needed your first time to be special, not in an abandoned old classroom. Ti amo, Theo. You loved him. Damn right, you did. His heart thrummed dangerously fast against his lips, almost as painful as the strain in his pants. Ignoring the ache in his cock, he pressed a long kiss onto your burning cheek. Merlin, you were just adorable. “Anch’io ti amo, carina,” he muttered and relished in the smile that lit up your face.
It took a lot of ciorridors until you managed to overcome the uncontrolled trembling in your legs, and even more until you were able to walk without clutching his arm for support. Still, Theo kept his arm around your waist as he led you down the stairs to the dungeons, never wanting to move it again. Your hand fisted his shirt against his back and from time to time, he leaned over to press a kiss onto your cheek, making you giggle. It echoed off the walls, but neither of you could have cared less. Theo felt like he would hex anyone who disturbed you two now into next week. But nobody did cross your path on the way down, all the partygoers seeming to have left for their dorms or homes already.
At the door to the boy’s toilets only a few corridors away from the common room entrance, Theo slowed his steps and you came to a halt before him. With great reluctance, he let go of your waist and got a hold of your hand to press another kiss onto it- like the chivalrous bastard he was. Your cheeks heated at the simple gesture and a silly smile made your eyes shine.
“Fix that hair and dress before you enter the common room,” he muttered softly into the silence, one hand on the door handle to the boy’s toilets, the ache in his pants reminding him of his unfinished business. “Or your brother might get to the Gryffindor bloke before I do.”
Nodding, you let go of his hand, but didn’t turn away. something unspoken, something unanswered still hovered between you, and you needed to dress it before you could enter the privacy of your dorm. “So…,” you said, hesitantly, “Are we, like…?” You left the question unanswered and he raised a brow, mocking you. Theo offered you no assistance as you stuttered yourself through the sentence. “Well, are you my boyfriend now?”
“Well, what did you think?”
Now it was your turn to raise your brows at him, though a smile still danced around your slightly swollen lips. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t the castle’s biggest manwhore, Theo.”
Feigning offence, he leaned against the wall and looked you up and down.”A manwhore? Amore, I just risked my life for you. That has to mean something.” Though his tone was mocking, his eyes held a disarming severity that you recognized with a small nod. His lips twitched. “You really think I’d let myself fall for you just to play around?” He lowered his head, tilting it slightly. “You want proof? Fine. Ask me if I’ve thought about anyone else tonight.”
“I believe you,” you laughed, averting your eyes and shaking your head at him, an affectionate warmth filling your chest. Feeling brave, you leaned up to press a longer peck to his cheek and winked at him as you lowered yourself from your tip-toes.
“Well, have fun,” you smiled, teasingly, before turning on your heel to leave for the common room, glee and excitement coiling in your stomach into such a tight knot you would have felt the desire to jump up and down- if only your legs hadn’t still felt so weak.
He watched you turn a corner before you disappeared, something dangerous and dark twisting behind his ribcage when he saw you wobble slightly on your feet. Whatever it cost him, he would tell Mattheo. Because there was no way in fucking hell there would be a single sould left in this castle in doubt about who you belonged to.
a/n: if you've actually come this far, you have my respect: you just made it through 20k words of this. and for that, you deserve a reward 🏅
Summary : You and Theo swore it was casual. It wasn't. And while you both choke on unspoken love, someone else is watching...waiting, following, taking.
18+ (MDI)
Total word count: 21K+
Warnings: Unprotected Sex (P in V), Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Strong Language, Dirty Talk, Praise, Degradation Dark themes, Stalking, Harassment, Attempted Sexual Assault , Violence, Angst, Comfort
part 1 part 2
The morning came cruel.
You dragged yourself from bed with eyes raw, your skin pale under the dim green light that filtered through the Slytherin windows. Every movement felt sluggish, as if your body weighed twice what it should. Even the act of pulling on your uniform seemed unbearable. The crisp white shirt wrinkled where your fingers trembled, the tie hanging loose around your throat.
You didn’t bother with your hair beyond running your fingers through it once. You didn’t bother with charms to erase the shadows beneath your eyes.
For the first time in years, you didn’t look like yourself.
And you didn’t care.
The common room buzzed faintly when you descended the stairs. Your friends were already gathered, their voices low but animated, the morning fire throwing flickers of gold across their sharp features. Mattheo was teasing Draco about his posture, Blaise murmuring something smooth to Pansy that earned him an eye-roll. Enzo laughed, shaking his head.
The scene might have comforted you on another day. Today, it made your chest ache.
You slipped past them without a word.
Mattheo’s grin faltered as he noticed you. “Oi! Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
You didn’t slow, didn’t turn.
Pansy’s eyes followed you, her sharp gaze narrowing.
But no one stopped you.
The Great Hall was worse. Too bright, too loud. The ceiling was clear blue, the chatter of hundreds of students ringing in your ears like a curse. You dropped onto the bench at the edge of the Slytherin table, away from the cluster of your circle, reaching for toast you had no appetite for.
Theo sat with them.
He was angled away, elbow on the table, smirk faint as he listened to Blaise say something. His dark hair fell loose across his forehead, his shirt collar open, and when his eyes flicked to you across the length of the table, your chest constricted.
He looked at you. Just for a second.
Then he looked away.
The slice was clean, deeper than you wanted to admit.
You forced yourself to chew the toast, though it tasted like dust, your throat tight with the memory of his hand against your cheek, his whisper—Always you.
You swallowed it down with pumpkin juice that turned sour in your mouth.
The day dragged.
You went through classes in a haze, eyes sliding over blackboards without seeing. Professors called your name more than once, annoyance sharp, but you gave no answers. The Ravenclaw whose notes you’d once flirted for asked if you needed help, your glare silenced him.
By mid-afternoon, whispers had started. You heard them in the corridors, hissing between groups: She looks dreadful… Did you see her eyes? … Maybe she’s sick.
You ignored them all, pride stiffening your spine even as exhaustion weighed you down.
And always, in the corners of your vision…Theo.
You caught him lingering once outside Charms, his gaze flicking toward you as you brushed past, but he didn’t speak. Not to you. Not anymore.
The memory of last night rang like a curse.
You’re nothing more than a fuck, Nott.
The words you hadn’t meant, the words you couldn’t take back.
You adjusted your satchel strap higher on your shoulder, your steps brisk, purposeful. Dinner wasn’t worth it tonight. Not the noise, not the eyes. Certainly not Theo, whose silence cut sharper than anything else.
The dungeons were nearly empty at supper. Most of the castle had flowed toward the Great Hall in a tide of laughter and footsteps, their noise echoing faintly down the stairwells. Here, only torchlight licked the damp walls, the air heavy with the chill that seeped up from the lake.
You wanted your room. Four walls. Curtains closed. Quiet.
“Skipping dinner?”
The voice slithered down the corridor before you saw him.
Cormac stepped out from the shadow of an alcove, broad frame blocking the narrow passage. His grin stretched too wide, teeth flashing in the torchlight. He leaned casually against the wall, as though he’d been waiting.
And he had been.
Your pulse jumped. “McLaggen.”
“Thought I might run into you.” He pushed off the wall, swagger in every step as he moved closer. “You’ve been scarce lately. Not like you.”
“I’m busy.” Your voice was flat, cool. You tried to slip past, but his arm shot out, palm pressing against the stone just inches from your shoulder.
The space between you shrank.
He leaned in, close enough that the musk of his cologne clung thick in your throat. “Busy avoiding me, maybe?” His grin softened, trying to mimic something gentle. “Don’t bother. I get it. You’re scared. You don’t need to be.”
Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “Move.”
“Why?” His voice dropped lower, almost coaxing. “So you can go mope alone in your room while your so-called friends laugh downstairs? They don’t care, Y/N. Not like I do.”
The words landed sharp, too close to the truth you’d been choking on all day.
He saw it in your eyes. And his grin widened.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You finally figured it out. They don’t see you. Not really. Just a sharp tongue, a cold mask. Even Nott.” His expression twisted, disdain souring his voice. “Especially Nott. He’ll fuck you and throw you away like all the rest. But me?”
His hand rose, fingertips brushing the edge of your sleeve. You flinched back, but he followed, his voice dropping to a rasp. “I wouldn’t do that. I’d take care of you. Always.”
Revulsion climbed your throat. You shoved at his chest, hard. “Don’t touch me.”
He barely moved, his laugh low and broken. “Still pretending.”
Your heart thundered. The corridor felt narrower, the torchlight dimmer, his shadow stretching over you until you could barely breathe.
“I know you,” he said, leaning closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. “I know the real you. Not the bitch you show the rest of them. I see what you need.”
“I don’t need you,” you said, voice shaking despite the steel you forced into it.
“You do.” His hand slammed flat against the wall beside your head, the sound echoing sharp. His grin faltered, something mean cutting through. “You’ll see soon enough. You’ll see I’m right.”
The look in his eyes froze you, the certainty, the hunger, the anger all fused together into something unhinged.
Fear prickled up your spine. Real fear, sharp and hot.
You shoved past him again, harder this time, and this time he let you go. His laughter followed, low and rasping, chasing you down the corridor.
“Run all you like. You’ll come back. You belong with me.”
You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Your boots struck hard against the flagstones as you fled through the twisting halls, your breath ragged, your chest tight.
By the time you burst into the Slytherin common room, your hands were trembling. You didn’t look at anyone, didn’t dare. You bolted for the stairs, robe whipping around your ankles, the murmur of voices from the fire blurring into nothing.
Upstairs, you slammed your door shut, twisting the lock with shaking fingers. The room glowed faintly green from the lake beyond the windows, shadows sliding across the walls like restless hands.
You dropped onto your bed, your breath shallow, too fast.
His words replayed, looping, echoing in your ears until your stomach turned.
They don’t care. Not like I do. You’ll belong with me.
You pressed your face into the pillow, swallowing the sob that clawed at your throat. You hated that he’d shaken you. Hated that part of you had believed him. Hated most of all that you couldn’t tell anyone, not Pansy, not Mattheo, not Theo.
Especially not Theo.
So, you stayed there as the bell for supper tolled faint in the distance.
And you stayed, curled on your bed, trapped between the weight of your pride and the crushing certainty that you were more alone than ever.
The Great Hall was half-empty by the time the Slytherins sprawled into their usual seats. Platters of roast chicken and buttered potatoes lined the table, steam curling into the enchanted ceiling where storm clouds flickered with distant lightning.
Mattheo dropped heavily onto the bench, immediately reaching for a drumstick. “Finally. I was about to waste away.”
Enzo snorted, piling food onto his plate. “You eat more than anyone in this castle. You’d survive a week if they locked you in a broom cupboard.”
“Maybe I’d like to try,” Mattheo grinned, mouth full already.
Blaise rolled his eyes, pouring pumpkin juice into his goblet. Draco muttered something about manners, though he didn’t hesitate to help himself to the potatoes.
It should have felt normal. The rhythm of years.
But when Pansy glanced down the table, her sharp eyes narrowed. “Where’s Y/N?”
The boys barely looked up.
“Probably sulking,” Draco drawled. “She was snappish last night.”
Mattheo smirked, leaning back. “Don’t tell me she finally gave in to McLaggen. Explains the mood, doesn’t it?”
Enzo chuckled, stabbing at his roast. “That or she hexed him and is hiding the body.”
Blaise lifted his goblet in mock salute. “Here’s hoping.”
Their laughter rippled through the group, easy, practiced. But Pansy didn’t join in. Her eyes lingered on the empty space where you should have been, lips pressing thin.
“She’s missed lunch today too,” Pansy said flatly.
The laughter dulled.
Mattheo frowned, drumstick lowering. “Has she?”
“Yes,” Pansy said, voice crisp. “And she didn’t look well this morning. Don’t tell me none of you noticed.”
The boys exchanged glances, unease creeping in.
“She did look a bit…” Enzo hesitated. “Off.”
“Pale,” Blaise added, tone more serious now.
Draco shifted, his brows furrowed. “She wouldn’t hide from us without reason.”
Silence settled over the group, heavier than before. The storm clouds above rumbled faintly, throwing shadows across the table.
Theo had said nothing.
He sat with his elbows on the table, head bowed slightly, his fork untouched on his plate. His dark eyes flicked to the empty space where you should have been, then back to the food he hadn’t touched.
Pansy noticed. She always did.
She leaned closer, her voice low but cutting. “You know something.”
Theo’s head tilted, his smirk flickering back into place like a shield. “Do I?”
“Yes.” Pansy’s eyes sharpened. “You’ve been staring at her all week like she’s about to vanish. You noticed before any of us.”
His smirk didn’t falter, but his grip on the fork tightened just enough for the silver to bend.
Pansy arched a brow. “So? What’s wrong with her?”
Theo’s gaze met hers at last, dark and unreadable. For a moment, she thought he might actually tell her.
But then he leaned back, shrugging as though it were nothing at all. “Ask her yourself.”
The silence stretched, thick as the storm clouds overhead.
Finally, Draco set down his knife with a sharp click. “We’ll speak to her tomorrow. Together. Whatever’s going on, she’ll tell us then.”
Mattheo’s grin was gone entirely. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then we find out ourselves,” Enzo finished, his tone grim.
Pansy’s gaze lingered on Theo, searching, waiting.
He only smirked faintly, his eyes shadowed, his voice low. “Tomorrow.”
The word hung heavy, full of things unsaid.
And though the storm above rumbled on, none of them tasted their food the same.
The door creaked sometime later. You stilled, breath shallow, pretending sleep.
Footsteps padded across the stone floor, soft but sure. Pansy’s voice, low and clipped, whispered through the dark. “Y/N?”
You didn’t answer.
The mattress dipped faintly as she sat on the edge of your bed. The curtains rustled, a pale sliver of light breaking in. You kept your eyes shut, breaths slow, every muscle locked.
For a moment, her hand hovered above your shoulder, the warmth of her palm brushing through the fabric of your nightshirt. Not a touch. Almost.
Then she sighed, withdrawing. “Fine. Sleep. But you’re not slipping away from me tomorrow.”
The curtains fell back into place. Her footsteps retreated, the dorm door clicking shut.
You opened your eyes into the dark, staring at the shadowed canopy above. Your throat was tight, your chest heavier than the water outside pressing against the windows.
The green set burned in the drawer beneath you, unseen but not forgotten.
And though you finally let exhaustion drag you under, sleep was shallow, broken, haunted by shadows with wide grins.
It began as a dream.
At least, you thought it did, your body sinking into the mattress, breath caught between sleeping and waking, shadows shifting along the canopy overhead. A weight pressed down across your hips, at first no heavier than a blanket. Then heavier. Crushing.
Your eyes flew open.
Cormac McLaggen was on top of you.
The sight knocked the air from your chest as surely as his body did. His knees dug into the mattress on either side of you, caging you in. One of his hands clamped firmly around your throat, fingers splayed, the pressure not enough to cut you off but enough to keep you still. The other slid slow up your thigh, nightshirt bunched in his fist, dragging higher with every inch.
His trousers were already shoved down to his ankles, pale thighs bracketing yours. His cock jutted hard, obscene in the dim green glow from the lake outside, inches from your bare skin.
You thrashed beneath him, but his weight bore down like stone. Your hands clawed at his arms, nails scraping, but he only grinned wider.
“There she is,” he whispered, voice hoarse with hunger. “Always knew you’d look perfect like this.”
Your heart pounded so loud it drowned the blood rushing in your ears. You tried to scream, but his grip on your throat tightened, choking the sound into a pitiful rasp.
He laughed softly. “No one can hear you. Not even her.”
Your eyes darted wildly toward Pansy’s bed. The curtains were drawn back, her form sprawled unnaturally across the covers. Her chest rose shallow, mechanical, her eyes closed. A thin line of her wand gleamed faint on the floor beside her, useless.
Ice sliced through your veins.
“What did you—” The words rasped broken from your lips.
“Nothing she won’t sleep off.” His grin was sharp, wrong, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Had to, didn’t I? She wouldn’t let us be alone.”
Us. The word curdled in your gut.
You bucked hard beneath him, thrashing, but he caught your wrists with his free hand, pinning them above your head. His palm dug into your skin, grinding your bones against the mattress.
“Stop fighting me,” he hissed, lowering his mouth toward your cheek, his breath hot and foul. “I’d never hurt you.”
Your vision blurred with panic. His grip on your throat shifted, thumb brushing mockingly over your pulse as though to remind you who held it. He pressed his hips down, his cock sliding against the bare skin of your thigh, smearing pre-cum across you.
Your stomach lurched.
“You don’t need them,” he whispered, teeth grazing your ear. “Not Nott. Not the others. They don’t care. They never did. But me…” His voice broke into a growl. “I’d worship you.”
You jerked your head away, tears pricking your eyes despite the rage burning in your chest.
“I see you, Y/N. I always did. All those times you flirted, all those looks. You wanted me. You did.” His lips brushed your jaw, slick with sweat. “And now you’re mine.”
You bucked again, desperate, your nails digging crescents into his arm. He only groaned at the sting, grinding harder against you, his cock sliding up, nudging between your thighs. The heat of him made your breath choke, bile rising in your throat.
“No,” you rasped, voice broken. “Never-”
His hand snapped tight around your throat, cutting you off. Black spots bloomed at the edges of your vision.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snarled, his face twisted, eyes wide with madness. “Don’t lie to me when I know.”
Your lungs screamed for air, your body jerking beneath his weight, but your mind, your mind clawed desperately for anything. Not your wand. He had it. Not your voice. He’d stolen that too.
Something else.
Your hand jerked sideways, scraping along the mattress until your fingers brushed the nightstand. You stretched, nails scratching wood. There. The smooth edge of the serpent figurine.
Cormac’s gaze flicked down. Suspicion sharpened his eyes. “What’s that?”
You slammed your palm down.
The figurine pulsed, green light flaring faint before dimming again.
His grip tightened savagely around your throat. The pressure crushed, spots bursting bright before your eyes.
“You don’t need them!” he hissed, spit flying, his hips grinding harder against your thigh, as though to punctuate each word. “You only need me!”
Your vision blurred, black creeping in from the edges. The serpent figurine pulsed again, once, weak but certain.
Your lungs burned. Your body went heavy, your limbs sluggish.
His voice followed you into the dark, low and triumphant: “Mine.”
The last thing you saw before the world slipped away was his grin, stretched wide, monstrous in the green glow.
And the last thought that cut through the haze wasn’t of him.
It was Theo.
The boys’ dormitory was quiet save for the low crackle of the fire in the grate. Shadows stretched across the stone walls, softening the sharp edges of trunks and bedframes. Mattheo sprawled at the foot of his bed, tossing a knife from hand to hand, the steel glinting in the firelight. Enzo leaned against the post, arms folded, his gaze sharp.
Theo sat in the corner, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling like a veil around his head. His eyes were fixed on the fire, but he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes.
The silence had teeth.
“You’re going to tell us,” Mattheo said finally, his voice deceptively calm. The knife flipped through the air, catching the firelight before it landed clean in his palm. “Whatever’s going on with her. You going to stop sulking and say it out loud.”
Theo exhaled slowly, but the sound was sharp, brittle. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Bullshit,” Enzo said flatly. He pushed off the post, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. “She’s unravelling. You’re unravelling. And you expect us to believe it’s coincidence?”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
Mattheo’s grin cut sharp, but there was no humour in it. “You’ve been looking at her like she’s the last cigarette in the pack. You think we’re blind?”
Theo’s gaze flicked up, dark and dangerous. “Drop it.”
“Not happening,” Enzo said, voice low. “She’s one of us. If something’s tearing her apart, we fix it. But we can’t do a bloody thing if you keep playing coy.”
Silence again. The fire popped, sending sparks dancing.
Mattheo’s knife embedded itself in the wood of the trunk with a sharp thunk. “Admit it, Theo. Admit what we already know.”
Finally, Theo exhaled, long and harsh, as though the fight had been dragged out of him. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath.
“Fuck.” Finally, he said it. Low. Rough. Like dragging glass from his throat. “I’ve been sleeping with her.”
The words cracked the air.
Enzo’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. Mattheo only leaned back, arms folded, as though he’d been waiting for it.
Theo kept going, his voice harsher now, the dam broken. “Since last year. She sneaks out, I wait for her. We fuck, and then we pretend it doesn’t mean anything.” His hand raked through his hair, tugging hard. “But it does. Fucking hell, it does.”
The admission hung heavy in the room, louder than a shout.
Mattheo’s grin returned, sharp and satisfied. “There it is.”
Enzo’s tone was quieter, but it cut deeper. “And you love her.”
Theo’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing. For a moment, denial trembled on his lips. But then his shoulders slumped, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Yes.”
The word was raw. Unforgiving.
“I love her.”
The silence that followed was different this time. Not sharp. Heavy.
Mattheo let out a low whistle. “Well, shit.”
Enzo crossed his arms again, his gaze steady. “Then why’s she walking around looking like she’s being haunted?”
Theo flinched. The words he’d thrown at you on the tower replayed in his skull, your eyes wet when you thought he hadn’t seen, your voice breaking when you said the one thing that had gutted him: You’re nothing more than a fuck, Nott.
“I ruined it,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “She doesn’t want me. Not like that.”
Mattheo leaned forward, eyes sharp. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Before Theo could respond, the air in the room shifted.
On each of their nightstands, the serpent figurines glowed green, light pulsing urgent and sharp.
The three of them froze.
Enzo was the first to move, already snatching his wand from the table. “That’s hers.”
Theo’s head snapped up, the colour draining from his face. The glow seared against his vision, pounding in time with his heartbeat.
“She’s calling us,” Mattheo muttered, already on his feet, cigarette forgotten, his knife in hand. His grin was gone, his voice stripped to steel.
Theo didn’t wait. He was already moving, shoving past them, the door slamming open against the wall.
Behind him, Mattheo and Enzo fell into stride, their serpents still glowing, the warning clear as the thunder cracking above the castle.
The serpent figurine still pulsed faint green in Theo’s pocket when his boots hit the flagstones. The dungeons swallowed sound, but his heartbeat roared so loud he could hear nothing else. Every corner he turned, every echo of Mattheo and Enzo’s footfalls behind him, every flicker of torchlight burned into his mind with one thought only: her.
The stone walls of the dungeon blurred. He knew the route to the girls’ dorms like the lines of his own palm, but each step felt like dragging himself through water, slow, choking.
And then he was there.
The door was shut, faint light flickering beneath. Theo didn’t hesitate. He slammed his shoulder into the wood, the crack echoing through the corridor as the door burst inward.
The sight that met him nearly brought him to his knees.
Cormac McLaggen straddled you on the bed, nightshirt shoved high, his pale thighs pinning yours open. His hand was locked around your throat, your eyes rolled half-lidded with lack of air, body limp beneath him. His cock was hard and leaking, sliding against your bare skin.
And you…Merlin, you looked broken, your lips parted around a gasp that wouldn’t come, your fists weak against the sheets.
Theo’s vision went white.
“Get off her!”
His roar split the room as he launched himself forward. The world narrowed to Cormac’s sneer, the sound of his panting, the sight of your nightshirt tangled around your waist.
Cormac barely had time to look up before Theo’s fist crashed into his jaw. The impact snapped his head sideways, his grip on your throat breaking at last. You dragged in a ragged, wheezing breath as Theo’s body bore him backward, fists flying.
“I’ll kill you,” Theo snarled, knuckles splitting against Cormac’s cheekbone.
Mattheo was there next, eyes alight with manic fury, wand already out. “Expelliarmus!” Your wand flew from Cormac’s pocket into Mattheo’s hand, clattering against the floor. Enzo grabbed Cormac’s shoulder, wrenching him back so Theo’s fists didn’t cave his skull in.
Cormac spat blood, lips curling in a grotesque smile even as Enzo pinned his arms. “She wanted it.” His voice was hoarse, delirious. “She was begging-”
Theo lunged again, Mattheo shoving him back with both arms. “No! Nott! You’ll kill him, and then what?”
Theo’s chest heaved, his fists trembling at his sides, blood slick across his knuckles. His eyes burned, locked on you where you lay gasping, your throat raw, your nightshirt twisted obscenely high.
“Fix her,” he rasped, voice cracked. “Someone fix her.”
Mattheo turned, wand raised, and muttered the counter-spell over Pansy first. She jerked awake with a gasp, coughing violently, hand clutching her throat as her eyes flew wide.
“What…” She cut herself off when she saw you, sprawled beneath the tangle of sheets. Her face paled, fury igniting in her eyes as she whipped toward Cormac. “You filthy-”
“Pansy,” Enzo barked, holding Cormac’s wrists tight as he writhed. “Stay with Y/N.”
Theo was already there, sinking to his knees beside your bed. His hands hovered, shaking, terrified to touch you but unable to stop himself.
“Y/N,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Bella, stay with me. Please-”
Your eyes fluttered, finally focusing on him. Your lips moved, cracked, rasping. “Theo…”
The sound of your voice tore him apart.
His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the tears streaking your skin, his chest aching with every shudder of your breath. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. He can’t touch you again, I swear it.”
Behind him, Mattheo dragged Cormac backward with a vicious flick of his wand, binding ropes coiling around his limbs. Cormac fought, spitting, blood dribbling from his split lip. “She’s mine! She wanted me!”
Theo snapped, lunging again, but Enzo caught him this time, voice hard. “Theo—her first.”
The words pierced through the haze. He turned back to you, hands frantic, tugging the sheets up to cover your bare thighs, tucking them around you as if the fabric could undo what had been done.
Your fingers clutched weakly at his wrist, nails barely scratching. “I… pressed it.”
Theo’s throat closed, tears burning hot at the corners of his eyes. “You did perfect,” he whispered fiercely, pressing your hand to his lips. “You did perfect, principessa.”
Theo nodded, swallowing hard. He slipped his arms beneath you, lifting your body against his chest as though you weighed nothing. You stirred faintly, a soft sound breaking from your lips, and his grip tightened. “You came?”
“For you?” he whispered again, pressing a kiss to your damp temple. “Always.”
You coughed, your voice barely audible. “Can’t… breathe.”
“Shh.” His thumb stroked along your jaw as his other hand flicked his wand, murmuring a charm to ease the constriction at your throat. Magic cooled over your skin, loosening the bruising grip marks already forming. “Better?”
You nodded faintly, tears streaking down your temples into your hair.
Pansy knelt at your other side now, fury trembling in every movement. Her hand brushed your hair back from your face, gentler than you’d ever heard from her. “You stupid girl,” she hissed, though her voice cracked with worry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
You closed your eyes, shame burning, pride still iron in your chest.
Theo’s hand tightened on yours, his jaw clenching as he looked back at Cormac, still thrashing against Mattheo’s bindings. “I’ll kill him.” His voice was raw, a vow. “I swear on Salazar’s grave, I’ll kill him for this.”
Mattheo’s grin was dark, feral. “Get in line.”
Enzo’s grip on Cormac tightened, his usually warm eyes ice. “He’ll face worse than death. But not here. Not while she’s hurting in front of us.”
Theo looked down at you again, and the fury drained, leaving only devastation. His forehead dropped to yours, breath harsh. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Don’t you ever-”
Your hand trembled against his cheek, the ghost of a touch. “Didn’t… mean to.”
He kissed your palm like a prayer, shaking against you.
Mattheo’s voice cut in, sharp. “Theo. She needs the hospital wing. Now.”
Theo nodded, scooping you carefully into his arms, wrapping the sheets around you to shield your bare skin. You curled instinctively into his chest, your breath ragged against his collar.
Behind, Pansy’s voice rang out, cold and deadly. “And him?”
For a moment, the room was silent save for your uneven breaths. Then Enzo spoke, sharp, decisive. “We’ll take her up. Then we deal with him.”
Mattheo’s grin sharpened, teeth bared. “Oh, we’ll deal with him.”
Theo didn’t look back. His entire world was the fragile weight in his arms, the bruises darkening your throat, the tremble of your fingers clinging to his shirt.
“Stay with me, principessa,” he murmured, over and over, as he carried you out of the dorm. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”
And the serpent figurine pulsed one last time on the nightstand, its glow fading, the call answered.
Theo adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer. He didn’t look back as they filed out of the dormitory, Cormac shoved ahead of them, Mattheo’s wand never leaving his skin. Enzo helping support Pansy just as Blaise and Draco arrived, clutching their own serpent figurines.
All Theo saw, all he cared about, was you.
And the vow burning in his chest: he’d never let you be hurt again.
The first thing you felt was the light. Too bright, pressing through your eyelids, stabbing sharp at your temples. Then came the scent, clean, medicinal, the cloying sharpness of potions lining the shelves.
You shifted faintly, a groan slipping from your throat.
You blinked, vision blurring before it steadied on the boy slumped in the chair at your bedside. Theo. His head bowed, his dark hair falling across his face, one hand clasped tight around yours even in sleep.
For a moment, your chest ached with something so fierce it almost eclipsed the panic clawing up your throat. Almost.
Because then you remembered.
The weight on your hips. The hand on your throat. Pansy’s still form across the room.
You jerked upright, a ragged cry tearing from you as you shoved back against the pillows. The monitors on the table rattled, glass vials clinking. Your breath came sharp, shallow, your eyes darting wildly around the whitewashed room as though he might still be there, lurking in the corners.
Theo startled awake instantly, his chair scraping against the floor as he lurched forward. “Hey! Hey, it’s me.” His hands cupped your face, firm but careful, forcing your gaze to his. “Look at me. You’re safe. He’s gone. You’re safe.”
Your chest heaved, the panic still burning, but his voice was steady, anchoring you in place. His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, grounding you, his forehead pressing gently to yours.
“Breathe with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking despite its calm. “In. Out. That’s it. I’ve got you.”
Tears spilled hot down your cheeks, faster than you could stop them. You gripped his shirt in trembling fists, dragging him closer until your forehead buried against his collarbone. The sobs broke free, raw and ugly, shaking through your whole body.
Theo held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other stroking slow up and down your spine. “Cry all you want, principessa. I’m not letting go.”
You stayed like that until the sobs dulled to shuddered breaths, your face pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt, his scent of smoke and spice grounding you.
But then, the sound of footsteps. The creak of the ward doors.
You stiffened, pushing quickly at Theo’s chest, swiping at your damp cheeks with shaking hands. “I don’t want them see me like this.”
The effort at composure was hollow, your voice breaking as you tried to sit straighter in the bed.
Theo caught your wrists, firm but gentle. “No hiding. Not anymore.”
And then they were there.
Mattheo first, his usual grin absent, his eyes dark as they scanned your face. Enzo behind him, his jaw clenched tight, every line of him coiled with fury. Blaise and Draco flanked them, grim, sharp, uncharacteristically silent. Pansy last, her gaze soft but searing, her arms already crossed.
They gathered around your bed, a wall of green and silver, their presence heavy and unyielding.
For a moment, you tried. You tried to lift your chin, to smirk, to deflect with some careless remark. But the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of their eyes.
Pansy spoke first. “Tell us.”
You faltered. “It’s nothing. I-”
“Don’t,” Mattheo cut in, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch. “Not this time. We found him on top of you. This isn’t nothing.”
Silence. Heavy. Crushing.
Your hands twisted in the sheets, your throat burning. Finally, the words broke free, ragged.
“He’s been following me,” you whispered. “For weeks. Longer, maybe. At first it was stupid things, waiting after class, trying to carry my books. Then…Flowers. Chocolates. Gifts I never wanted.”
Their faces darkened, but you forced yourself to go on.
“He started cornering me. The library, corridors. He tried to kiss me once. I told him to fuck off.” Your voice cracked. “But he didn’t stop. He…he said he liked my fire.”
Theo’s hand tightened around yours, silent fury radiating through him.
“And then…” You swallowed hard, shame burning your cheeks. “My underwear went missing. My favorite set. I found it in my satchel. Stained.” The word caught on your tongue, bile rising. “I knew it had to be him. But I convinced myself it couldn’t be. That the Slytherin wards would keep me safe. That I was being paranoid. I thought…I thought I was smarter than this.”
The tears came again, hot and relentless, your voice breaking. “I was so fucking stupid.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Then Pansy stepped forward, her hand gripping your shoulder tight, grounding. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. He did this. Not you.”
Mattheo’s voice was low, dangerous. “You should’ve told us.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I just… I thought I could handle it. How weak must I be to let an idiot like him beat me?”
Theo’s thumb stroked your hand, his voice quiet but fierce. “You could never be weak.”
Enzo’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t on you.”
Mattheo’s fists tightened at his sides. “This is on him. And he’ll regret it.”
Surrounded by them, the shame still burned, but so did something else. Relief. For the first time in weeks, the weight wasn’t yours alone to carry.
You leaned back against the pillows, exhausted, tears still streaking your face. Theo’s hand never left yours.
And for once, you didn’t try to hide.
Draco, who had been silent, finally spoke. His voice was low, deliberate, each word chosen like a blade. “He laid hands on you. He tried to take what isn’t his. He thought he could breach our walls.” His pale eyes flicked up, sharp as glass. “He’s not walking away unscathed.”
Theo sat closest, his arm still around you, his thumb brushing steady against your arm. He didn’t speak, not yet. But his silence wasn’t absence. It was heat, smoldering, burning through every line of his body.
Mattheo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “So. What’s the play? A warning? Or something a little… firmer?”
“Firm,” Enzo said immediately.
“Very firm,” Blaise added, his grin sharp but humorless.
Pansy’s lips curled, though her eyes stayed on you. “No punishment will be enough, but we’ll make sure he knows he picked the wrong witch.”
The tension around the bed thickened until it felt like the air itself hummed with it. For once, you didn’t try to stop them. Pride didn’t flare this time. You felt only relief, relief that you weren’t carrying it alone anymore, that the weight had shifted onto all their shoulders.
Draco’s gaze returned to you. “You’ll stay here tonight. Pomfrey won’t argue, not after this. We’ll take turns keeping watch.”
“I don’t need-” you started again, but Pansy squeezed your hand tighter.
“You do,” she said simply.
You swallowed hard, throat tight. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Mattheo barked a laugh, sharp and incredulous. “A burden? You’re family. Since when does family count as baggage?”
Enzo nodded, his jaw still tight. “We grew up together. You’re ours. Always.”
For a moment, the tears threatened again, hot and stinging. You blinked them back, forcing your chin high even as your lips trembled. “I hate him for making me feel like this.”
Theo’s voice cut through, low and raw. “He won’t do it again.”
Everyone turned to him. His eyes were still fixed on you, dark, burning, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he dared the world to try again.
It wasn’t a vow. It was a sentence.
The fire in the group shifted then, no longer scattered but unified. Their anger was no longer just sharp, it was a shield, drawn tight around you, unbreakable.
For the first time since the nightmare began, you let yourself lean into it.
You let yourself believe it.
The dungeons had always been your shield. Cold stone, green light rippling from the Black Lake, the hush of water pressing against the windows. But tonight, it felt oppressive, the silence too loud, the shadows too heavy. You had only just returned from the hospital wing two days ago, your throat still raw, your chest aching with every breath.
The common room was empty when you entered, its fire banked low, throwing only faint flickers across serpent carvings. You let your books slide from your arm onto the chaise, intending to retreat upstairs before anyone saw you.
The wall behind you shifted. Stone hissed against stone, the sound echoing through the chamber.
You froze.
Theo stepped through, the green light glancing across his sharp cheekbones, his tie hanging loose, his hair shadowing his eyes. The wall sealed behind him again, cutting you off from the corridor.
He leaned against it as though rooted there, arms folded, gaze fixed on you. Silence filling the air.
Your chest tightened. “Theo-”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was low, controlled, but the steel inside it rang clear.
Your throat dried.
He pushed away from the wall, crossing the room slowly, deliberately. “Why didn’t you come to me, Y/N? When he started following you. When he left things in your bag. When he tried to kiss you.” His eyes blazed. “When he laid hands on you.”
Each word landed like a blow.
You gripped your skirt in your fists. “I-” Your voice broke. You swallowed hard, tried again. “I don’t know.”
Theo stopped just short of you, his jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides. “Don’t say that. You do know. You’ve always known. You just didn’t trust me enough.”
The accusation gutted you.
“I wanted to,” you blurted. The words spilled out ragged, desperate. “I nearly did. The day before the astronomy tower—I almost told you everything.”
“Then why didn’t you?” His voice cracked at the edges, no longer even, his pain showing through.
You shook your head, staring at the floor. “Because something kept holding me back.”
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Theo’s shoulders sank. He let out a sharp breath and turned away from you, dragging a hand down his face. He took a step toward the wall, as though ready to leave, to put distance between you both before he shattered.
Panic surged hot through you. “It’s the same thing…”
Theo froze.
Your voice rose, trembling. “It’s the same thing that stops me every time I want to tell you I love you. The same thing that made me spit those words at you in the tower.” You sucked in a ragged breath, shame twisting sharp. You’re nothing more than a fuck, Nott.
Theo turned back slowly, his face drawn tight, his eyes raw.
Tears blurred your vision. “I don’t…I can’t…” Your breath stuttered, the truth ripping free at last. “I don’t know how to be vulnerable. To give someone my heart and trust them not to break it. I’ve never done it. I’ve never trusted anyone enough. And with you…”
Your voice fractured, a sob breaking loose. “…With you, it terrifies me.”
Theo’s expression broke open, mask gone, hurt and love and fury warring in his eyes. He stepped back toward you, his hand lifting to your cheek, his thumb brushing a tear. His touch shook, but it was steady enough to anchor you.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” His voice was hoarse, cracked. “You’re terrified of me breaking you.”
You looked away, nodding, sharp and helpless.
The fire popped. Water rippled against the windows. You could barely hear it over your heartbeat.
Theo lowered his forehead to yours, his breath hot and trembling against your lips. “I’d burn before I broke you.”
The words cracked you open.
A sob tore from your throat as your hands clutched at his shirt, dragging him closer. “I don’t know how,” you choked out. “I don’t know how to let someone in without ruining it. I don’t know how to stop hurting the people I-”
You cut yourself off, but he heard it. He always did.
His arms closed around you, crushing you against his chest. His voice shook against your hair. “You don’t have to know. Not with me. You don’t have to be perfect, or careful, or strong. Just… let me in.”
You buried your face against his neck, your tears dampening his collar, your breath catching on the scent of smoke and spice that clung to him.
“I hate that I hurt you,” you whispered. “That I said those things. I didn’t mean them. Not one word.”
“I know,” he murmured, though his voice cracked. He pressed his lips to your hair, holding them there. “But hearing them nearly killed me.”
“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, the words muffled.
His hand slid into your hair, fingers curling at your nape. “Don’t apologise for being scared. Just promise me you won’t shut me out again.”
“I’ll try,” you whispered, trembling.
His mouth curved faintly, tender, the ghost of a smile. “That’s all I want.”
The world narrowed to the heat of his arms, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the softness in his eyes when you finally lifted your face. His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, asking without words.
For once, you didn’t let fear answer.
You leaned in, lips trembling against his. The kiss was soft, hesitant, full of tears and promises unsaid.
When he kissed you back, slow, steady, careful, you knew something had shifted.
You weren’t running anymore.
Theo didn’t let go of you after the words broke loose. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking over your damp cheeks like he could smooth away the years of walls you’d built. His voice rasped, unsteady but certain.
“Let me show you. Not with games. Not with pride. Just me. Loving you.”
Your breath stuttered, but you nodded.
He kissed you first, slow, reverent. His mouth moved like he was learning you all over again, patient, coaxing, tasting. It wasn’t a claim, it wasn’t punishment. It was worship. When he finally drew back, his eyes burned dark, but softer than you’d ever seen them.
Theo guided you back onto his dorm, his hand steady at the small of your back, as if you were fragile glass. The green glow from the lake outside washed over the room, painting his skin silver and shadow.
He undressed you carefully, not ripping, not rushing. Every button undone with a pause, every piece of fabric brushed from your skin with the reverence of someone unwrapping a relic. He kissed the newly exposed skin each time, a collarbone, the slope of your shoulder, the swell of your breast.
By the time your shirt slipped away, you were trembling under his mouth.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his lips brushing the curve of your breast before his tongue swept slowly across your nipple. Your breath hitched, your back arching, but his hand pressed firm against your ribs, keeping you steady as his mouth closed around you. He sucked softly at first, then harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. His eyes flicked up, dark and adoring, watching you unravel under him.
You fisted the sheets, your thighs pressing together, but he caught your wrist and pressed your hand back to his hair. “Don’t hide. Give me everything.”
Theo trailed kisses lower, your ribs, your stomach, every inch treated like it mattered. By the time he reached the band of your shorts, you were already wet, aching. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, tugging them down slow, deliberate.
And then he knelt between your thighs like a man at prayer.
“Merlin, you’re perfect.” His voice was rough, reverent. He spread you open with steady hands, his gaze fixed on you, hungry but awed. His tongue dragged a slow line from your entrance up to your clit, the groan vibrating through you.
You cried out, your hips jerking, but he pinned you down with a firm grip. “No, principessa. You don’t run from this. You take it.”
He worked you with his mouth, tongue circling, flicking, pressing, until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around his head. His moans hummed against you, every sound of his pleasure fed by yours. He sucked your clit hard enough to make you keen, then eased, then built you again, dragging it out until you were begging, breathless.
“Theo, please-”
His eyes burned up at you, wet mouth glistening. “Please what?”
“Please don’t stop.”
His smirk ghosted, but it was soft, adoring. “Never.”
He sucked you again, tongue plunging deep, his fingers joining, sliding inside you, curling just right. You shattered with a broken cry, your hands gripping his hair, thighs clamping around him. He groaned against you, drinking down every wave, licking you through it like he’d never get enough.
When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He kissed up your stomach, your chest, your throat, until his mouth found yours again, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
“I love you,” he murmured into your kiss. “Always. Every part of you.”
Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. You fumbled with his trousers, desperate now, but he caught your hand, slowing you. “Not desperate. Not tonight. Tonight’s for you.”
But when he pushed inside you, slow and steady, your breath caught on a sob anyway. He filled you completely, his forehead pressed to yours, his groan low and guttural.
“Fuck, you feel…” He cut off, biting his lip, his control trembling. “I’ll never get over this. Over you.”
His thrusts were deep, slow, deliberate. Not the frantic pace of your stolen alcove nights. Each stroke was meant to keep you pinned in this moment, his hands cradling your hips like you were breakable, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your body arched, your nails dragging down his back, your moans breaking loose despite your pride. “Theo.”
“Say it,” he rasped, his pace quickening slightly, his lips brushing your jaw, your ear, your mouth. “Say you love me.”
The fear flickered, but this time it didn’t win. Tears blurred your vision as you gasped it against his lips. “I love you.”
Theo’s rhythm faltered, his breath shuddering. He kissed you hard, desperate, his thrusts sharper now, groaning your name like it was a prayer.
You came again, clutching him tight, sobbing his name as the stars behind your eyes burst. Theo followed, burying himself deep, his cry muffled against your throat as he spilled inside you, shaking.
He didn’t leave you. He stayed pressed close, your bodies tangled, his chest heaving against yours. His hands stroked your hair, your back, as if you were something holy.
“Mine,” he whispered, but soft now. “And I’m yours.”
For the first time, you believed it.
The common room fire crackled low, the green glow from the Black Lake casting long shadows across the carved stone. The circle had gathered as they always did, sprawled across couches and chairs, laughter and sarcasm bouncing in the air like sparks.
But tonight, the atmosphere was different. Tighter. Sharper.
You sat pressed against Theo on the sofa, his arm slung low around your waist. For once, you didn’t shrug him off. His thumb traced idle circles against your hip, casual to anyone else—but you all knew nothing in this group was ever casual.
It didn’t take long.
“So.” Mattheo leaned forward, his grin wicked, eyes glittering. “We’re finally talking about it, yeah?”
Your brows arched. “About what?”
“Oh, come off it.” Blaise’s chuckle was smooth as velvet. He tipped his goblet toward you and Theo. “The two of you. Sneaking around like it was some great mystery.”
Enzo smirked, arms folded. “Wasn’t exactly subtle. The bruises on your neck weren’t from a Quidditch accident, Y/N.”
Heat rose in your cheeks despite yourself. “You lot didn’t know.”
“Oh, we knew,” Pansy said crisply, though her smirk softened at the edges. “We’ve known for ages. Merlin, half the school’s probably guessed by now.”
Draco’s lips curled, pale eyes sharp. “Hard not to, given the way Nott stares at you like a starving man.”
Theo bristled, opening his mouth for a retort, but Mattheo cut in with a laugh. “Don’t bother, mate. We all saw it. Hell, some of us witnessed it.”
Your eyes snapped to him. “You what?”
Mattheo’s grin widened, infuriating. “Astronomy Tower. Ring a bell?”
Your face burned hotter than dragonfire. “You were spying-”
“Not spying,” he said innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. “Wrong place, right time. Terrible luck, really. For me. Great show, though.”
Theo’s hand tightened on your waist, his glare sharp enough to cut. “Say another word, Riddle, and you’ll regret it.”
Mattheo only laughed harder.
But beneath the jokes, there was something else. A weight of relief, of reassurance, of solidarity.
“You should’ve just told us,” Enzo said, quieter now. “We don’t care who’s fucking who. We care when one of ours is bleeding alone.”
Your chest tightened. For once, you didn’t deflect. “I thought…I thought if I said it out loud, it would ruin everything.”
Pansy’s hand brushed yours, brief but grounding. “Nothing could ruin this.”
Blaise’s grin softened, his tone unusually earnest. “You’re ours, both of you. Always have been.”
Theo’s arm pulled you closer, his voice low but firm. “And I’m hers.”
The fire popped, sparks leaping into the air. For a moment, silence lingered, comfortable, unbreakable.
Then Draco sniffed, breaking it. “If you’re going to make declarations, do it outside the common room. Some of us would like to keep our dinners down.”
Laughter rippled around the group, sharp and genuine. Even you couldn’t help the small smile tugging your lips.
For the first time in weeks, the fear in your chest eased. The circle was whole, unbroken, and your secret, your love, was no longer a burden carried alone.
Theo’s lips brushed your temple, his whisper for you alone. “Told you they’d already know.”
And when you leaned into him, surrounded by the only people who had ever truly been yours, you knew: nothing could touch you here.
Not anymore.
Epilogue
It didn’t take long for the news to spread. By the following morning, whispers rippled through the corridors of Hogwarts like wildfire: Cormac McLaggen had been caught breaking into the Slytherin girls’ dormitory. The official story, the one filtered through prefects and the Headmaster’s office, was clear enough, he’d forced entry, stunned Parkinson, and attempted to assault a student before being stopped.
He was gone by sundown. Hauled back to his family in disgrace, his wand confiscated pending inquiry. There would be no quiet return after holiday. Everyone knew it.
But what the castle didn’t know, the part no one dared whisper, was what happened before he was handed over.
The staff had seen McLaggen bloodied, shaken, eyes wide and glassy as though he’d glimpsed something he couldn’t process. They chalked it up to the scuffle in the dorm. None of them asked how exactly his lip had split so cleanly, or why one of his wrists bent at a slightly wrong angle.
They hadn’t seen the detour.
Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo had dragged him, still snarling and thrashing, not to the Headmaster’s office, but to the farthest reaches of the dungeons first. A forgotten classroom, stone damp with centuries of neglect, the torches sputtering low. Blaise and Draco followed soon after, their faces hard, their wands already out.
Mattheo had shoved him against the wall with a crack of stone. “You thought you could touch her,” he hissed, his knife glinting faint in the torchlight. “You thought you could walk into our dorm, lay your filthy hands on her, and breathe after?”
Cormac had tried to bluster, even then, spitting blood, eyes darting. “She wanted me-”
Theo’s fist connected before he finished, the sound sickening in the small room. McLaggen reeled, choking on his own words.
“She never wanted you,” Theo growled, voice low and lethal. He grabbed a fistful of McLaggen’s robes, dragging him closer. “She told you no. You ignored her. You stalked her. You broke into her bed while she slept. That isn’t want. That’s weakness.” His lips curled, teeth bared. “And weakness disgusts me.”
Enzo had leaned in then, his wand tip glowing faint, his tone deceptively calm. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You didn’t just hurt her. You insulted all of us. We don’t forgive insults.”
Draco’s voice had cut colder still, sharp as the edge of a blade. “You’ll leave Hogwarts in disgrace. Your family name dragged through mud. That’s the official punishment. But we get the unofficial.”
The room had spun darker then hexes, bruises, the kind of pain that left no scars but lingered deep. Not enough to kill. Not enough to risk exposure. But enough to ensure that every time Cormac closed his eyes, he’d see their faces, hear Theo’s voice whispering that word again and again.
Weak.
By the time they delivered him to the Headmaster’s office, McLaggen could barely stand, his face pale, his mouth trembling around excuses that never formed.
And when Dumbledore’s blue eyes fixed on the boy with sorrow and disappointment, Cormac flinched. Not from the Headmaster, but from the shadows in the corner where Theo leaned, silent, his eyes like flint.
The staff believed they had caught him in time. Believed the Slytherins had only intervened to save you. Believed justice had been served with expulsion.
But you knew.
When the circle gathered days later, when Theo’s arm wrapped around you and the others sprawled nearby in easy camaraderie, none of them spoke of that night. Not aloud.
They didn’t need to.
It was in the look in Mattheo’s eyes when he passed you a plate of toast, sharp but softened with loyalty. In Enzo’s quiet nod when he brushed shoulders with you in the corridor. In Blaise’s smirk, Draco’s steady gaze, Pansy’s hand squeezing yours under the table.
And most of all, it was in Theo’s touch—the hand that never strayed far, the gaze that never let you forget: safe. Always safe.
McLaggen was gone.
The circle held.
And for the first time in your life, you let yourself believe it always would.
A/N: Finally! That took a lot of time and effort. Low-key want to make a Mattheo version of this. That something anyone interested in?
Summary : You and Theo swore it was casual. It wasn't. And while you both choke on unspoken love, someone else is watching...waiting, following, taking.
18+ (MDI)
Total word count: 21K+
Warnings: Unprotected Sex (P in V), Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Strong Language, Dirty Talk, Praise, Degradation Dark themes, Stalking, Harassment, Attempted Sexual Assault , Violence, Angst, Comfort
part 2 part 3
The dungeons were silent at this hour, cold air damp against your skin as you slipped behind the faded tapestry. The room was small, walls lined with forgotten shelves, a heavy desk shoved crooked into the corner. It stank faintly of stone dust and smoke.
Theo Nott lounged against the desk like sin made into flesh, long limbs sprawled, cigarette hanging between two fingers, smoke curling around the sharp cut of his jaw. Dark curls messy, his shirt untucked like he hadn’t bothered to try. His eyes lifted lazily to you, then sharpened, glinting bronze in the low torchlight.
“You’re late, bella.” His voice was low, roughened with his Italian drawl. He dragged from the cigarette, exhaled smoke slow just to watch you squirm. “Thought you’d left me here to take care of myself.”
You scoffed, stripping your robe and tossing it aside, chin high. “If I’d wanted you wanking in here alone, I’d have let you.”
He smirked, crushing the cigarette out on the desk edge. Two strides and he was in front of you, pressing you against the cold wall with his body. His mouth brushed your ear. “Still sharp with that tongue. Let’s see if I can put it to better use.”
Your retort died when his lips crashed to yours, hot, messy, teeth knocking. He kissed like he was trying to devour you, hand gripping your jaw, tongue forcing your mouth open. You bit back, hard, and his groan rumbled in your throat as he shoved his thigh between your legs.
“You love fighting me,” he muttered, lips slick against yours. His hand slid under your skirt, knuckles rough against your bare skin. He stilled, then laughed darkly. “Christ. No knickers. You filthy little tease.”
“Why waste time?” you shot back, grinding shamelessly against his thigh.
That broke him. Theo spun you, slammed you forward over the desk. Your palms smacked against the wood as he yanked your skirt up, baring your ass. His palm cracked down hard against one cheek, the sound echoing in the tiny room.
“You like wasting my fucking patience,” he growled, kneeling behind you. His mouth was on your cunt before you could answer, tongue hot and wet as he licked a stripe from your slit to your clit. You gasped, clawing at the desk as he sucked your clit into his mouth, groaning like he was starved.
“Theo…fuck…”
He smirked against you, voice muffled. “Say it again.” His fingers slid into you, two at once, pumping fast and rough, crooking just right until your hips jerked helplessly. “Say my name when you come all over my mouth.”
“Cocky bastard,” you gasped, but your cunt clenched around his fingers, your body betraying you as wetness smeared down his knuckles. He curled his fingers again, tongue flicking mercilessly at your clit, and you broke with a sharp cry, thighs shaking.
Theo pulled back with his mouth shiny, chin wet. He spat onto your cunt, watching it drip down. “Messy girl.”
He stood, shoving his trousers down, cock heavy, thick, already flushed dark. He pressed the head against your entrance, sliding it up and down through your slick, teasing.
“Ready?” His voice was gravel, teeth grit.
“Just fuck me,” you said, shoving your hips back.
He slammed in, to the hilt, burying himself deep with a guttural groan. You gasped out, nails scratching grooves into the desk, stretched so full you couldn’t think.
“God, so fucking tight,” he snarled, hips pistoning hard, unrelenting. His cock dragged deep, every thrust sharp, filling you to breaking. One hand yanked your hair, the other wrapped around your throat, pulling you upright against his chest so he could fuck you harder. “Every time, your cunt just milks me like it was made for me.”
You gasped, words torn apart by each thrust. “Fuck…you’re…huuuh…”
“Say it,” he growled into your ear, teeth scraping your jaw. “Say you’re mine.”
Your pride flared, even as your cunt clenched greedily around him. “I’m not-” The rest dissolved into a scream when he slapped your clit hard, then rubbed it fast as he pounded into you.
“Mine,” he snarled. “Say it while I wreck you.”
Your body betrayed you, orgasm tearing through you so violently your legs buckled. You screamed his name, cunt spasming around his cock, wetness dripping down your thighs.
Theo groaned, thrusts growing erratic, hand gripping your hip bruisingly tight. “That’s it. Take it, take me.”
He buried himself to the hilt, spilling hot inside you with a broken curse, your name low and reverent on his tongue though he didn’t mean to let it slip.
For a moment, the room was only ragged breathing and the drip of sweat hitting wood. His hand still on your throat, not squeezing anymore, just resting there like he couldn’t let go.
Then the spell broke. He pulled out slow, casting a lazy cleaning charm as though none of it mattered, tucking himself away. You tugged your skirt down, chin tilting high as if he hadn’t just fucked you so deep your thighs still shook.
Neither of you said a word. He leaned back against the desk, already lighting another cigarette, watching you through the smoke.
You grabbed your robe and walked out without a glance back, heels clicking against stone.
But Theo’s eyes followed you through the haze, and for once his smirk was gone.
The Great Hall roared with morning noise, clinking cutlery, owls swooping overhead, laughter echoing off the enchanted ceiling where pale autumn clouds drifted lazily. Slytherin’s table thrummed with its own brand of chaos, the kind that had been stitched into your life since infancy.
Mattheo sprawled back with that insolent grin, a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have tucked behind his ear. Blaise poured himself juice with the casual elegance of a lord, while Draco gestured wildly mid-story, blond hair catching the morning light like a halo too ironic for words. Enzo leaned in, smirking, and Pansy arched her brow with that cutting look that could silence anyone outside your circle.
Inside it? They were untouchable.
“Oi, Malfoy,” Enzo drawled, flicking his serpent figurine against Draco’s plate so it clattered like a warning bell. “Keep ranting and I’ll make the charm scream instead of ping. Save us all the headache.”
Draco glared, swiping the figurine up and tossing it back. “You’re just jealous mine’s louder.”
Blaise smirked, lips curling as he plucked his own serpent from his pocket, twirling it idly between long fingers. “The lot of you are children. Charms like these belong to men of discretion.”
“Discretion?” Pansy snorted, stealing a strip of bacon from your plate. “You’re the last person who should use that word, Zabini. Half the castle heard your little ‘study session’ last night.”
Blaise only smirked wider, unbothered.
You felt for your own figurine, in the bottom of your satchel. Each of you had one, a gift from Mattheo, one Christmas years ago, charmed to alert the others should one of you be in trouble.
Mattheo leaned across the table, his voice a conspiratorial whisper meant for everyone. “Maybe we should enchant them to vibrate when one of us is lying. Malfoy wouldn’t last an hour.”
“Fuck off, Riddle,” Draco snapped, cheeks pinker than he’d like.
You watched it all with that familiar mixture of amusement and detachment, lips quirking though your tone stayed sharp. Outsiders called you cold, bitchy, untouchable but here, with them, you allowed yourself softness. A smirk for Enzo, a shove to Pansy’s shoulder when she stole again, a quiet roll of your eyes when Mattheo’s jokes went too far.
And then there was Theo.
He slid in beside you like he always did, all lazy grace, smelling faintly of smoke and something spiced. His thigh pressed against yours, close enough to feel the heat seeping through the fabric of your robes. Too casual to be casual.
He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he reached for toast, smirking faintly as Draco and Enzo’s argument escalated across the table. But under the chatter, under the bickering, under Pansy’s laugh, it was there. The subtle press of his knee against yours. The brush that stayed too long to be accidental.
No one else noticed.
And you pretended you didn’t either.
By the time breakfast wound down, the Slytherin table was still buzzing, but your attention had already drifted. Across the hall, at the Ravenclaw table, a boy sat hunched over his notes, quill tapping nervously against parchment. Neat handwriting, perfectly organized margins. You’d noticed him before, smart, eager to please, and already looking over as though he knew he’d been caught staring.
You rose smoothly from the bench. Pansy arched a brow. “Where are you going?”
“Business,” you murmured, lips curving as you smoothed your robes.
Mattheo leaned back, smirk lazy. “Ah. Breakfast and entertainment.”
Blaise whistled low, but you were already sauntering away, heels clicking faint against the flagstone.
The Ravenclaw boy nearly dropped his quill when you slid onto the bench beside him, close enough your shoulder brushed his arm. You tilted your head, voice dipping low. “Those the notes from last class? I couldn’t take any…” you let your fingers trail up your neck, rubbing slow circles as though to soothe yourself, “…my neck was so sore from craning at the board.”
His eyes went wide, following the movement as your hand lingered on your collarbone, just visible where your blouse sat unbuttoned a little lower than usual.
You leaned closer, lashes lowering. “You must be better at paying attention than I am.”
The boy stammered, fumbling with his parchment. “Y-yes…I mean…of course, you can borrow them. Whenever you like-”
You let your fingers skim the edge of his parchment, your smile sharp but sultry. “How generous.”
The poor boy beamed, practically glowing under the weight of your attention.
Back at the Slytherin table, your friends were eating it up. Draco smirked over his goblet. “Another conquest.”
“Careful, Ravenclaw,” Mattheo called across the hall, voice dripping amusement. “She’ll chew you up and spit you out before lunch.”
Even Pansy cracked a smile, though she tried to hide it behind her tea. Blaise just shook his head, muttering something about “heartbreak in blue and bronze.”
But Theo.
Theo didn’t laugh.
He sat perfectly still, one arm draped along the back of the bench, dark eyes fixed on you like a predator watching something it might not kill yet. His jaw clenched when you leaned in, when your hand brushed the Ravenclaw’s wrist. The smirk finally tugged at his lips, but it was sharp, cruel, aimed at no one but you.
When you slid back into place at the Slytherin table, the gang erupted in jeers and chuckles. The Ravenclaw boy stared after you like you’d hung the bloody moon.
Theo’s knee pressed into yours under the table, harder this time.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured low, too soft for the others to hear. His breath brushed your ear, laced with smoke and warning. “Flirt with idiots like that, and they might start to think you actually care.”
Your smirk matched his, cool and cutting even though your pulse thudded hot. “And what would you know about who I care about, Nott?”
Theo leaned back, gaze lingering on you far too long, the press of his leg still against yours. “More than you’d like me to.”
You didn’t move away.
The dungeon was thick with the sour-sweet scent of stewing ingredients, steam rising from a dozen cauldrons like ghostly fingers. The light from sconces flickered across shelves of bottled roots and pickled things that looked only half-dead. Professor Slughorn’s booming voice filled the room, cheerful and pompous, clapping his hands as though Potions was a party rather than drudgery.
“Pair up, my dears, pair up! Nott with Miss Smyth, yes. Yes, that’ll do nicely. And… ah, McLaggen, over there with you, Miss Y/L/N.”
You resisted the urge to groan aloud. Cormac McLaggen was already swaggering toward you, Gryffindor tie loose, grin wide like he thought it charming.
Lucky you.
Theo caught your eye across the room, a smirk curling on his mouth as his new partner, a pretty Gryffindor girl with strawberry-blonde hair, laid out her neat supplies. He leaned back on his stool, posture loose, saying something that made her laugh and roll her eyes as she started chopping valerian root. He didn’t even lift a knife.
Typical.
You dropped your satchel onto the bench with more force than necessary, pulling your book open with a snap. McLaggen’s grin widened.
“Pleasure working with you, Y/L/N,” he said, voice too loud for the quiet din of bubbling cauldrons. “Don’t worry, I’ll make this easy on you.”
You glanced at him, eyebrow arched. “Mm. How generous.”
Slughorn waddled past, beaming. “Now, today we’ll be attempting a Calming Draught. Simple enough, yes? But precision, precision, my dears…”
His voice faded into the background as you set out your ingredients, sharp movements betraying your mood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Theo tilt his head, murmuring something low to his partner. She giggled, brushing hair behind her ear, cheeks warming under his attention. She was practically glowing. And Theo. He smiled at her, that lazy half-lidded look you knew too well, the one that got him anything he wanted without lifting a finger.
Your teeth clenched.
You knew exactly what he was doing, charming her into doing all the work so he could sit back, arms folded, smirk in place. It wasn’t about her. It was about ease. He always played people that way. Everyone in your group had, yourself included. And yet, watching her flutter under him made something ugly curl in your chest.
Irrational. Ridiculous. But there it was.
McLaggen cleared his throat, dragging your attention back. He was holding a jar of asphodel root with exaggerated confidence. “So, where do you want me?”
The corner of your mouth twitched. You could stew in silence, or you could make him useful, and maybe, just maybe, needle Theo in the process.
You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand, your voice dropping into the silky cadence you reserved for getting what you wanted. “Why don’t you slice that for me? Thin. Precise. Think you can manage that?”
McLaggen straightened like you’d knighted him. “Absolutely.” He grabbed a knife with enthusiasm, leaning over the board.
You let your hand brush his wrist lightly as you pointed. “Just here. Nice and clean.”
His ears went red. “Right. Of course.”
Across the room, Theo’s eyes flicked up.
He didn’t move, didn’t frown, but his smirk froze, sharpening at the edges as his gaze lingered on your hand against McLaggen’s wrist. His partner asked him something about stirring clockwise; he answered without looking away, lips moving lazily while his eyes stayed locked on you.
Your chest tightened, satisfaction and guilt twisted into one. You shouldn’t care what he thought. But you did.
McLaggen, oblivious, puffed up under your attention. “Like this?” he asked, sliding the knife carefully, looking up like he craved approval.
“Perfect,” you said smoothly, smiling just enough to make his ears burn brighter.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, grinning like he’d won something.
Theo leaned forward on his stool now, one elbow on the desk, chin propped in his palm as he watched. His partner added powdered moonstone, stirring carefully while he murmured directions she clearly didn’t need. His other hand twirled his wand idly, but his eyes never left you.
Your cheeks heated despite yourself. You turned back to McLaggen, tilting your head. “Why don’t you chop the valerian root next? Steady hands matter, you know.”
“Course,” he said quickly, eager. He set to work again, sweat beading at his temple from nerves or effort, you didn’t care which.
Slughorn bustled past your table, peering into the cauldron. “Oh, excellent, Miss Y/L/N! And McLaggen. Very fine slices. First-rate work, both of you.” He waddled on, humming.
McLaggen straightened proudly, grinning at you. “See? Told you I’d make it easy.”
You smirked faintly, not looking at him. Across the room, Theo’s smirk widened too, slow and deliberate, like a man waiting for you to crack first. His Gryffindor partner adjusted her flame nervously, clearly thrilled by his half-hearted attention, and he let her.
The class ended with a rush of bottles being corked and benches scraped back. Students carried their completed draughts to Slughorn’s desk, chatter rising as the old professor doled out praise. McLaggen insisted on carrying yours for you, nearly spilling it in the process.
“Careful,” you warned, lips curling.
“Don’t worry,” he said, puffing his chest. “I’ve got it.”
You caught Theo watching as you walked past, his expression unreadable, smirk gone. For one suspended moment, your eyes locked across the dungeon, his dark and cutting, yours cool and daring.
And then you turned away, leaving him to his Gryffindor partner’s chatter.
But the fire licking through your veins lingered long after the cauldron fires had died.
The corridor outside the dungeons was thick with chatter, footsteps echoing off stone as students spilled out from Potions. You strode ahead with your satchel slung over one shoulder, the lingering smell of asphodel still clinging to your robes. McLaggen had tried to walk with you, puffed up with pride like he’d just bested Snape in a duel, but one sharp look had sent him scurrying back to the Gryffindors.
Your Slytherin circle fell into step easily, the six of you taking up the corridor with that unconscious air of dominance. Mattheo’s laugh was loudest, cutting through the din as he threw an arm across Enzo’s shoulders. Draco kept his chin high, already ranting about something Slughorn had said.
“Honestly,” he drawled, running a hand through his pale hair, “pairing me with Seamus was sabotage. My potion was bubbling like a cauldron of swamp water before I could so much as blink.”
Mattheo barked a laugh. “Or maybe you’re just shit at Potions, Malfoy.”
“Excuse me?” Draco turned, scandalised. “I’ll have you know-”
“Save it,” Enzo cut in, grinning. “Slughorn practically handed you the antidote and you still nearly melted the cauldron.”
Pansy smirked, glancing sidelong at you. “At least you had fun with your partner. Looked like McLaggen was about to propose the way he was hanging on your every word.”
Mattheo let out a low whistle, his grin feral. “Oh, he’s gone. Properly gone. Poor sod doesn’t even know what hit him.”
Blaise, smooth as ever, chimed in with a knowing look. “Puppy eyes. Big ones. Couldn’t tear them off you if you’d hexed him blind.”
Heat flickered in your chest, though you rolled your eyes, tone dry. “Hardly my fault he’s so easily distracted.”
“Oh, it’s your fault,” Pansy said, laughing. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Draco snorted. “She’s always known. It’s her one true talent, wrecking boys with a smile.”
“Not just boys,” Blaise murmured, lips twitching, and you smacked him with your book.
Their laughter echoed against the stone, but through it, you felt Theo’s eyes.
He walked on your other side, silent. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders relaxed in that lazy way that screamed calculated. But his smirk, faint, sharp, was aimed directly at you.
“Careful,” he drawled, low enough the others barely caught it. “Keep feeding McLaggen crumbs, he’ll be snapping at your feet before long.”
Mattheo cackled. “He already is.”
Theo didn’t laugh.
You turned, arching a brow at him. “What’s it to you?”
His gaze lingered, unflinching, and his smirk widened. “Nothing at all. Just enjoying the show.”
Enzo nudged Mattheo. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”
Theo’s eyes snapped to him, sharp as glass. “Hardly.”
The word cut clean, smooth enough most wouldn’t hear the edge under it, but you did.
Blaise hummed, amused. “Doesn’t have to be jealousy. Could just be Theo knows a fool when he sees one.”
“Exactly,” Theo said, tone cool. His smirk flicked back to you. “But if you like fools, don’t let me stop you.”
The others laughed again, tossing jabs back and forth, but the noise faded at the edges. For you, it was only Theo’s gaze, dark, unyielding, something simmering under the mask he wore so well.
Your chin lifted, smirk curling, refusing to let him see the spark of heat his words lit in you. “Don’t worry, Nott. I don’t need your permission.”
“Didn’t offer it,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. Then, louder, smoother: “Just warning you. Puppy dogs bite when you don’t feed them fast enough.”
Mattheo laughed again, slapping Theo’s shoulder. “You’d know, mate. Remember third year, that Ravenclaw girl who-”
“Shut it,” Theo cut in, his smirk gone sharp, eyes never leaving yours.
You didn’t blink. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you laughed lightly at Mattheo’s joke and turned your attention ahead, pretending the press of Theo’s gaze didn’t follow you all the way to the common room.
But it did. You felt it like a hand at the back of your neck, hot and heavy, daring you to turn around.
The others peeled off as you reached the staircase, chatter scattering like smoke until only the echo of their laughter lingered in the corridor. You lingered behind, tugging your satchel higher on your shoulder, already planning to duck into the library before dinner.
“Y/L/N.”
His voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
You kept walking.
Theo’s footsteps followed, unhurried, echoing against stone. “What’s wrong? Don’t want to bask in McLaggen’s puppy eyes a little longer?”
You stopped dead, spine stiffening, and turned sharply. “What is your obsession with who I talk to?”
Theo leaned against the wall like he owned it, arms folded, eyes glinting in the torchlight. He smirked, slow and deliberate, gaze sliding over you like he was peeling back every layer you wore. “Obsession? That’s your word, not mine.”
“Then what is it?” Your chin lifted. “Why do you care if I flirt with McLaggen?”
“Care?” His laugh was low, mocking. “I don’t. Just funny watching you stoop.”
The air between you crackled. You wanted to slap him, wanted to laugh, wanted to drag that smirk right off his face with your mouth. Instead, you folded your arms. “You’re unbelievable.”
Theo pushed off the wall, closing the distance in two steps. He didn’t touch you but the heat of him rolled off in waves, his height forcing you to tilt your chin higher. His eyes burned, darker than his smirk allowed.
“Don’t act like you weren’t doing it for me.”
The words landed low in your stomach, sharp and certain. You scoffed, masking the rush of heat in your chest. “You think everything’s about you.”
He leaned in, voice a murmur against your ear. “No. Just you.”
Your breath caught, just for a moment, before you shoved him back with hands to his chest. “You’re insufferable, Nott.”
He caught your wrists before you could pull away, grip firm but not cruel, thumb brushing over the inside of it where your pulse leapt. His smirk sharpened. “And you’re lying.”
You stared at him, fury and want colliding, words tangling in your throat. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered, then snapped back up. For a heartbeat neither of you moved, the air thick with everything unsaid.
Then he tugged.
Your back hit the wall, his hand pinning yours above your head, the other braced beside you. His mouth crashed against yours, rough, teeth clashing, all sharp edges and swallowed groans.
You bit his lip hard enough to taste copper. He groaned into you, deep and guttural, pressing closer, chest to chest, thigh sliding between yours.
“Fuck, principessa,” he murmured against your mouth, breath hot, accent curling around the word like a sin.
You arched into him despite yourself, nails digging into his arm where you’d managed to free a hand. His tongue slid against yours, claiming, demanding, until you gasped into the kiss and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.
Every inch of you burned. Fury, want, pride. It all blurred, until the only thing that mattered was the press of his mouth, the grip of his hand, the heat searing through you both.
And then…silence.
Theo pulled back first, breath harsh, eyes dark. He let your wrist go slowly, dragging his thumb across your skin one last time before stepping back. His smirk was back, but thinner, fragile at the edges.
“See?” His voice was rough, uneven. “Told you it was about me.”
Your chest heaved, lips swollen, but you forced your chin high, your voice cool despite the pounding of your pulse. “Keep dreaming, Nott.”
You pushed past him, your shoulder brushing his as you strode away, every nerve still lit like fire.
He didn’t follow. But his laugh, low, rough, dangerous, echoed down the corridor after you.
The last bell of the afternoon tolled through the castle, a hollow clang that rattled the high arches and sent students spilling into the corridors. Books clutched to chests, scrolls half-tucked under arms, chatter ricocheted against the stone until it thinned into the general hum of the castle at closing.
You shifted your satchel higher on your shoulder, weaving through the throng with practiced ease. Years of these halls had taught you the rhythm, step quick, chin high, don’t let anyone think they can slow you down.
Except, of course, McLaggen.
“Y/L/N!” His voice boomed far too loud for the close space. Heads turned; a few sniggers followed. You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your scowl as he elbowed his way through the crowd, grin plastered wide.
“There you are,” he said, planting himself at your side like he’d been meant to walk with you all along. His eyes flicked to the books in your arms, and before you could stop him, his hand shot out. “Here, let me-”
“No-”
Too late. His fingers brushed yours as he tugged the stack from your arms, the contact light but deliberate enough to raise every hair on your skin. He cradled your books like some chivalrous knight, puffing his chest as though the act alone might win him your heart.
Irritation flared hot in your chest. “I didn’t ask for help.”
McLaggen grinned, undeterred, swagger practically dripping. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need it. Heavy books for a pretty girl, it’s only right.”
“Save your gallantry for someone who cares.” You plucked one volume free from the top of the stack, the heavy binding nearly smacking him in the chin when you tugged too hard.
He laughed, rubbing at the spot, not even fazed. “Sharp tongue on you. I like that.”
You shot him a withering look, turning sharply down a narrower passage that led toward the stairwell. The corridor was already clearing, echoing quieter now, and your steps quickened. You’d expected him to peel off, to retreat back to whatever Gryffindors tolerated him most, but no. His boots clomped beside yours, books still in his grip, his grin stubborn.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said.
You sighed through your nose, eyes straight ahead. “For what?”
“For making your load lighter. For the company. For-”
“You’re not company,” you said, snatching another book back. “You’re noise.”
That earned a bark of laughter, rich and too loud for the stone corridor. “Merlin, you’re fiery.” He leaned closer, shoulder brushing yours like it was an accident, though you both knew better. “I like it.”
You stopped dead. His momentum carried him two steps ahead before he turned back, still holding the remaining books. Your glare should’ve turned him to stone. “Give me my things, McLaggen.”
For a moment, his grin faltered. But only for a moment. He stepped closer again, holding the books out but not quite releasing them, forcing your fingers to brush his as you grabbed them. His eyes lingered on that brief contact like it meant something.
“Fine,” he said lightly, though his gaze clung too long. “But you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
You yanked the stack from him with enough force to throw yourself off balance, regaining your grip with a huff. “Doubtful.”
He winked, retreating at last down the hall, his whistle bouncing off the walls as though he’d won something.
Your jaw tightened. The weight of your books suddenly felt heavier, not from their bulk but from the imprint of his fingers still ghosting against your skin.
You shook it off, heels clicking hard against the stone as you strode away.
But the echo of his grin lingered, stretching in your mind far too long after he’d gone.
The Great Hall glowed with the soft light of floating candles, silverware glinting as plates filled and refilled with the usual Hogwarts excess. The Slytherin table buzzed, your circle huddled at its centre like always, loud, untouchable, the kind of group that commanded attention without even trying.
Draco was mid-rant about Hagrid’s latest class when Mattheo cut in, voice loud enough to carry.
“Speaking of dangerous creatures,” he drawled, “how’s your new shadow, Y/L/N? McLaggen practically followed you out of Potions like a dog sniffing after scraps.”
Pansy smirked over her goblet. “He did, didn’t he? Looked ready to faint when she snapped at him. Pathetic.”
Enzo laughed, clapping the table. “He was carrying her books earlier. Actually, carrying them. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Laughter rippled around the table, sharp and amused. You smirked faintly, spearing a roast potato with unnecessary force. “Don’t remind me. He nearly knocked me over with his gallantry.”
Mattheo leaned across the table, grin wicked. “Bet he thought you’d swoon. That boy’s got it bad.”
The teasing rolled on, jabs and quips tossed like cards in a game you’d all been playing since childhood. To them, it was harmless fun, your sharp tongue, McLaggen’s puppy-eyed crush. Another passing amusement.
But Theo didn’t laugh.
He sat beside you, posture deceptively lazy, one hand curled around his goblet, the other resting on the bench between you. His smirk was there, faint and cutting, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Only you saw the way his jaw worked, the muscle ticking just once when Enzo mimed McLaggen tripping over himself to hand you a quill.
You hid your glance beneath your lashes, catching the flicker in Theo’s gaze, dark, unblinking, trained on you while the others cackled. He masked it well, sipping his drink like he hadn’t a care in the world, but the weight of it pressed hot against your skin.
“Puppy eyes,” Blaise said smoothly, his grin aimed at you. “He’ll be howling at the moon before long.”
Mattheo barked, laughter spilling over. Even Draco smirked, shaking his head. Pansy only rolled her eyes, though the twitch at her mouth betrayed her amusement.
You tilted your head, smiling just enough to feed their banter. “Let him howl. I’m not listening.”
The table erupted again, knives clinking against plates, Mattheo nearly choking on his pumpkin juice.
Theo leaned closer, voice low enough only you caught it, warm against your ear. “Careful, principessa. You might wake up one day and find the mutt sitting outside your door.”
A shiver curled down your spine at the way he said it, mocking, but edged. You turned your head slightly, catching the sharp glint in his eyes, the twist of his smirk that was for you alone.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you murmured back, lips curving. “Then you could say you told me so.”
Theo’s smirk didn’t falter, but his gaze lingered, heavy, burning in a way that had nothing to do with amusement.
The others kept laughing, oblivious.
And you, you pretended your pulse wasn’t thudding quite so fast under the table.
The dungeons were quiet this late, only the occasional echo of distant footsteps breaking the silence. You slipped through the tapestry with the same practiced ease as always, your heart already beating harder than you’d admit.
Theo was there, as if he’d known you would come. He leaned against the desk in the hidden alcove, cigarette smoke curling lazily around his sharp profile, shadows playing over his cheekbones. His eyes lifted when you entered, glinting in the low light, and his smirk spread slow.
“Took you long enough.” His voice was low, tinged with that soft drawl that always sounded like a dare.
You dropped your satchel on the floor, chin tilted high. “If you’re that desperate, Nott, find someone else.”
He let out a quiet laugh, exhaling smoke. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Pretend you don’t run here the second you’re done playing with your toys.”
Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t get the chance to reply. He stubbed out the cigarette, crossing the space between you in two long strides, and then his mouth was on yours.
It was rough, immediate, like he’d been holding himself back all day. Your back hit the edge of the desk, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and you kissed him back with equal fury, breaths mingling hot and sharp.
“Always so fucking smug,” you muttered against his mouth.
“And you love it,” he growled, hoisting you onto the desk with ease, parting your thighs with a force that made you gasp.
You pulled him in, nails raking down his back through his shirt as his hips slotted against yours. His cock was already hard, pressing into you through the thin fabric, and you rolled your hips to feel the full length of him.
He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck, principessa.” The word dripped from his lips like sin, that accent curling around it until your skin prickled.
“Stop talking,” you hissed, tugging his hair to bring his mouth back to yours.
His laugh was low, dark, swallowed by the kiss as his hands slid beneath your skirt. Fabric tore as he shoved your knickers aside, the tip of him sliding against your slick folds. He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours.
“Always so ready for me.”
You bit his lip, hard enough to taste blood. “Shut up and fuck me.”
He obliged.
The thrust was brutal, deep, pulling a gasp from your throat that echoed in the small room. Theo groaned, the sound guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you still as he pulled back and slammed in again, the desk creaking beneath you.
Your hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, his name spilling raw from your lips despite every ounce of pride in you. “Theo-”
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice rough in your ear as he pounded into you. “Say my name.”
“Theo,” you gasped, legs locking around his waist.
He kissed you again, desperate, teeth scraping your jaw as his thrusts grew faster, harder. The sound of skin against skin, your gasps, his groans, they filled the alcove until it felt like the walls themselves were listening.
You came first, the orgasm ripping through you sharp and hot, your nails leaving angry red trails across his shoulders. Theo followed with a shudder, a broken curse, spilling inside you as he bit down on your neck, his groan muffled against your skin.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Only the sound of your breathing filled the silence, ragged and uneven.
Finally, Theo pulled back, still inside you, his eyes dark and unreadable in the candlelight. His hand lifted almost without thought, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your cheekbone, softer than it should have been, his gaze catching on your lips before meeting your eyes.
The world stilled.
You almost said it. Almost told him to stay, to stop pretending, to admit what was burning between you. The words clawed up your throat, so close you could taste them.
But pride won.
You shifted, sliding off the desk, tugging your skirt back into place with practiced indifference. Theo stepped back, his smirk sliding back into place like armour, though his eyes lingered too long.
Neither of you spoke as you cast cleaning charms and gathered your things.
When you slipped through the tapestry, the silence between you was louder than any confession could have been.
At first, you thought it was a mistake.
The flowers were the wrong kind, wild daisies, their stems uneven and damp, tucked clumsily into the mouth of your satchel. You’d left it by your chair in the library while you fetched a new bottle of ink, and when you returned, there they were, small flecks of soil still clinging to the roots.
You glanced around sharply, but the rows of shelves stood quiet, only the faint scratching of quills and the occasional cough breaking the stillness.
Irritation curled hot in your chest. It wasn’t clever, wasn’t charming…it was juvenile. And yet, when you tugged the flowers free, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to throw them on the floor. Instead, you set them aside, jaw tight, telling yourself it wasn’t worth the scene.
The next gift came two days later.
A box of chocolates, slightly squashed, waiting on the corner of your desk in Charms when you arrived late. The ribbon was lopsided, the parchment note attached nothing more than your name scrawled in heavy handwriting.
You didn’t touch them. Not in front of your classmates, not with Theo watching you from across the room, his smirk just sharp enough to cut.
Instead, you slid them into your bag and dumped them into the nearest bin after class, muttering under your breath about Gryffindor persistence.
By the third time, it wasn’t funny anymore.
You’d left your books stacked on a windowsill during lunch in the courtyard, your friends sprawled across the grass a few feet away. When you returned to collect them, a new quill lay atop your parchment, sleek, polished, black with a silver nib. A better quill than the ones you owned. Expensive.
You froze, the hair on the back of your neck prickling.
This wasn’t daisies shoved into your satchel, or cheap chocolates abandoned on a desk. This was deliberate. Thoughtful. Someone had looked close enough to notice the ink stains on your old quill, and decided to fix the problem.
You didn’t need to guess who.
“Lose something?” Mattheo’s voice jolted you, his shadow falling over your shoulder as he peered at your books.
“No,” you said quickly, slipping the quill into your bag before he could notice the way your hand trembled. “Just grabbing my things.”
He eyed you for a beat too long, but didn’t push. Not like Theo would have.
And Theo… you didn’t dare look at him as you rejoined the group.
Because you knew.
Every corridor confirmed it.
Cormac McLaggen was always there. Not close enough to draw attention, never close enough to warrant a complaint, but there. His broad shoulders bobbing just a few paces behind when you left class. His laugh echoing down the hall as you ducked around a corner. His boots clomping at the edge of earshot as you slipped into the library.
At first, you told yourself it was coincidence. Hogwarts was a maze, paths crossing constantly. You shared classes. You ate meals in the same hall. It was inevitable.
But inevitability didn’t explain why he was outside the Arithmancy corridor when he had no business there. It didn’t explain why you spotted him on the staircase when you were heading to Astronomy and he wasn’t even enrolled. It didn’t explain the way his grin widened whenever your eyes met, like he’d been waiting for you to notice.
“You’ve got a shadow,” Pansy remarked one afternoon as you swept into the Great Hall, her voice dry but her brow arched.
You forced a smirk. “Don’t we all?”
She didn’t buy it, you could tell. But the subject dropped when Mattheo started a loud argument with Draco about Quidditch fouls.
You played along, laughter sharp, words easy. Pretending.
But when your eyes flicked to the doorway, you weren’t surprised to see him lingering there, watching.
Always watching.
You told yourself it was nothing. That you’d ignore it, the way you ignored every other boy who thought he could keep up with you.
But the daisies, the chocolates, the quill, they piled in your mind like weights. And behind every grin, every too-loud laugh in the corridor, there was a tension growing, taut and invisible, winding tighter with every step.
You felt it in your bones, even as you walked with your head high, refusing to let him see your unease.
Theo noticed something, you were sure of it. His gaze lingered too long when McLaggen passed, his smirk cutting when he caught your eye. But you gave him nothing. You wouldn’t. Not yet.
Because to name it was to make him right.
And you weren’t ever going to admit that.
The castle had been stifling all day, corridors thick with chatter and the weight of McLaggen’s grin dogging your heels. You needed air. Space. A place where the walls didn’t listen and shadows didn’t follow.
So you slipped out after supper, down the sloping lawns toward the Black Lake.
The evening was cool, the sky painted in shades of violet and grey. Moonlight rippled across the water, turning its surface to silver. The giant squid stirred somewhere in the distance, its long arm cutting a ripple through the reflection of the stars.
You sank onto the grass at the shoreline, pulling your knees up to your chest. For a while, you let yourself breathe, the night air biting at your skin, your heartbeat finally slowing.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
The voice was unmistakable, low, rich, lazy like he had nowhere else to be.
You didn’t turn at once. But when you did, Theo was there, hands in his pockets, tie loose, hair mussed like he’d run his fingers through it too many times. The moon caught the sharp planes of his face, turning his cheekbones to marble.
You smirked faintly, though your chest tightened. “Following me now, are you?”
He strolled closer, shrugging with infuriating ease. “Can’t help it if we’re drawn to the same places.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. He lowered himself onto the grass beside you with the kind of grace that made it look deliberate, though you knew the ground was uneven. His shoulder brushed yours, warm through the thin fabric of your robes. He stretched his legs out, leaning back on his palms as if the lake belonged to him.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet wasn’t heavy, it was strange, almost comfortable. You weren’t used to that, not with Theo. Usually your moments together burned hot, all sharp edges and clashing pride. But here, with the night breeze whispering off the water, the silence felt softer.
Finally, you said, “You’re too close.”
He turned his head, smirk curling. “Am I?”
You shifted your leg slightly, but his thigh pressed back, deliberate. The heat of it seeped into you until you exhaled through your nose, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Theo chuckled, low and warm. “That’s what I thought.”
You glanced at him, ready with a retort, but the sight of him in the moonlight stopped the words in your throat. His smirk softened when your eyes met, just for a second, before it flickered back into place.
“Long day?” he asked.
You snorted. “You could say that.”
He studied you quietly, gaze sharp as ever but gentler than you expected. “McLaggen still buzzing around?”
Your lips tightened. “Don’t.”
“I wasn’t.” He shrugged, plucking a blade of grass between his fingers. “Just observing.”
“You always are.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on you.” His voice was lighter than his eyes, which stayed fixed on you. “You’ve got a talent for trouble.”
You arched a brow. “And you don’t?”
His grin flashed, brief but real. “Difference is, I get away with it.”
That pulled a laugh from you before you could stop it, quiet, sharp, slipping past your guard. His smile lingered this time, genuine, his gaze softening as if he wanted to memorize the sound.
The breeze lifted your hair, strands catching on your cheek. Without thinking, Theo reached over, brushing them back with a slow sweep of his fingers. His touch lingered a heartbeat too long, thumb grazing your temple.
Your breath caught.
The air shifted. Suddenly the night was louder, the rustle of grass, the lap of water, the thud of your own heart pounding in your ears. His hand fell back to the grass, but the ghost of his touch remained, burning against your skin.
You almost said it.
The words hovered on your tongue, trembling, aching to be freed. Stay. I don’t want to pretend anymore.
But pride coiled in your chest, sharp and stubborn. You swallowed the confession, tilting your head with a smirk instead. “You’ll give people the wrong idea, touching me like that.”
Theo’s smirk returned, but his eyes told another story, darker, searching, almost vulnerable. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Your pulse stumbled.
Before you could answer, he leaned back again, breaking the moment, gaze fixed on the water as if nothing had happened. The silence stretched, no longer easy, but charged.
You stared out at the lake too, pretending your chest wasn’t tight, pretending the words hadn’t almost escaped.
The moonlight rippled, the breeze whispered, and beside you, Theo’s thigh stayed pressed firm against yours.
The calm from the lake clung to you as you returned to the castle. Your skin still felt warm where Theo’s thigh had pressed, your cheek tingled faintly where his fingers had brushed back your hair. The silence you’d shared carried with you up the sloping lawns, through the heavy doors, and into the Slytherin common room.
For once, the dungeons didn’t feel suffocating. The low fire in the grate, the green-tinged shadows curling across the ceiling, even Pansy’s faint laughter from the girls’ side, it was all softened, muted. Wrapped in that lingering ease, you allowed yourself to believe you could breathe again.
You climbed the stairs, slipping into your dorm with the same practiced flick of your wand. The lamps glowed to life, casting a golden sheen over your bed, the neatly stacked books on your trunk, the wardrobe door you never quite managed to shut properly.
It felt safe.
You set your satchel down and began peeling away the layers of your day. Robes first, folded with more care than usual, then your shoes, tucked against the wall. Your body felt heavy in that pleasant way exhaustion sometimes did, your mind drifting back to the way Theo had looked in moonlight, the unguarded tilt of his smile when you laughed.
You tugged open your wardrobe, humming under your breath as you reached for your night things.
And stopped.
The drawer where you kept your lingerie gaped slightly, as though it hadn’t been shut properly. You frowned, crouching to pull it open. Most of your things were in place, silks folded neatly, lace tucked toward the back, but the dark green set you favoured most was missing.
You rifled through quickly, irritation sparking. I must’ve left it in the laundry basket. You dug through the bottom of the drawer again, just to be sure. Still nothing.
Your lips pressed thin. It wasn’t like you to misplace things. But still, your mind leapt to the rational, the logical. Laundry elves mixed things up sometimes.
The idea of anything else… you dismissed it before it could take root.
Straightening, you shut the drawer firmly and waved your wand. The lamps dimmed. You pulled a soft nightshirt over your head and slid into bed, the cool sheets curling around you like a balm.
For a moment, you stared at the canopy, your mind drifting.
You thought of Theo again. The way his voice had softened by the lake, the weight of his gaze when he said maybe that’s the point.
You smiled faintly in the dark, chest tightening in a way you didn’t want to examine.
The missing lingerie slipped from your thoughts as sleep tugged at your edges, heavy and warm. By the time the last lamp extinguished, you’d convinced yourself it didn’t matter. Just a mistake. Misplaced. Nothing more.
But in the quiet corners of your mind, where reason faltered, the smallest chill lingered.
cw: rough sex, degradation, yandere theodore nott, gryffindor fem reader, stalker theodore nott, manipulation, smut for a little bit not much - I feel like this is a mix of various different povs but most of my stories are like that
It was no mystery to anyone that you hated Theodore Nott as much as he hated you.
"I'm starting to think you're angry because you're severely attracted to her."
Theodore paused for a moment, his fingers resting on the cigarette in his mouth before tsking. "No, that's not it. She's just so egotistical and insufferable like the rest of the lions."
"Right." Mattheo rolled his eyes but decided to give up trying to reason with his friend besides reasoning wasnt exactly in his forte.
Theodore sat there a moment before standing up, he knew exactly where to find you at all times. It was a gift in itself.
Private studying room in the library, he pushed the door open anyways much to your dismay.
"Get the fuck out." You glanced up for a moment but kept your focus on the book infront of you. He shut the door behind him but remained inside the room, taking a seat on the other side of you.
"I have a challenge for you, principessa."
This made you sit straight in your chair and focus on him fully now. "And what would that be?"
"Which of us fucks better."
"Beg for it and I'll consider this proposition."
.
.
.
You gripped his hair hard and tilted his head so that you could look down at him, his eyes bore into your own. His pupils were blown wide so much so that you barely saw the blue, you laughed. "Look at you, Theodore Nott, groveling at my feet."
His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Let's just see who can do it better before you let your ego inflate your head bigger than what it already is." His tone was mocking but his eyes told a different story. He would be crushed if you walked away, good thing you didn't really want to.
He was attractive.
"You can fuck me if you-"
He wasted no time, not even letting you finish your sentence as he turned you around and slammed you into the wall. His heavy breathing against your ear made your knees weak. "I'll fuck you better than anyone ever has."
"This isn't a competition between others, it's us against each other." You reminded him with a roll of your eyes, he smiled against your neck.
"Us." He muttered, his hands grabbing whatever he could on your body.
You could only feel him growing harder as he did so, subconsciously or not he was rubbing his erection against your ass.
"You have no idea how long I have wanted to put you in your place." His ragged breath was made you close your thighs, was it going too far?
"Put me in my place? Look who's humping me like a dog right now."
Instead of stopping, he kept going. "Can't help the affect you have on me, cara mia - doesn't mean I won't bring you down a peg."
"And if I said - stop, no more. What would you do?"
He stopped at last, his eyes narrowed for a moment. You decided to speak for him. "Be heartbroken, devastated, absolutely crushed? That might be more victory than this."
"You wouldn't," He bit your neck rather roughly causing a gasp of shock to leave your lips. You were sure he drew blood but being too in the mood to care at the moment. "You have this need to prove your better than me, so do it."
You turned your body back around, yanking on his hair to bring him down to your level. A kiss that seemed more like a competition began, his fingers began to undo your clothing as you did the same with him.
Riiippp
You gasped as your skirt was completely ripped off of your body, you stared at him in complete bewilderment. "What the fuck? That was my favorite skirt."
"Whoops." A playful smirk was on his lips as he said that, continuing with destroying what clothing remained on your body. Pushing you back onto the table that previously occupied your books, ones long forgotten.
With no foreplay, he tried to slide himself in but pushed him away. He smirked when you did so, "Too big for you to handle?"
You shrugged. "Not in the slightest, I've had-"
His nails gripped your hips as he slid himself into you, a sharp inhale of air made you shut up. "That hurt!"
"Good, teach you to shut up." He moaned out as his eyes closed from the new found feeling of pleasure. His hips slammed roughly into yours a few times before he found rhythm, you sat on the edge of the table - your nails digging into his back.
"Trying to hurt me?" He whispered, out of breath to really speak.
"No, I'm trying to heal you. Dumb fuck," You sarcastically moaned out. He chuckled but sent a glare down at you regardless.
The main reason was that you wanted to draw blood and hurt him as he had done to you earlier, the other half of you was so overcome with bliss that you had to let it out in another place. His back seemed to be doing the trick, he wasn't going easy with his thrusting. It seemed that each whimper you let out only made him go harder and faster, almost like a man possessed.
Had it not been for the silencing charm, you were certain people would have heard your moans from across the castle.
You had never experience pleasure this good before, you would never admit that to this already egotistical bastard but god was it good. "Fu-fuck, right there." Your eyes rolled back as he kept going holding your hips to only increase the speed of his thrusts.
His own teasing had stopped as his breath was taken over by his own moans, you could have sworn you heard him say I love you alongside them as well.
It didn't take long for you both to reach your climax after that, you felt your eyes closed involuntarily - feeling utterly spent. Not before hearing him chuckle, and feeling arms wrap around your body. Too tired to fight back, you succumb to the fatigue of your body.
Fucking him was the easiest thing that ever came with Theodore Nott. No wonder so many do it with him.
You carefully got out of the bed, peeling yourself from his possessive hold. It was a little weird he had even cuddled up to you afterwards, it made your skin crawl when you think back to it. Thankfully, you heard that he barely spoke to anyone after sleeping with them.
That might be heaven on earth.
And it was just that until notes began to pour in.
None of them were cute or funny. They were utterly insane.
'I saw you laughing with Cormac McLaggen today, if you do it again - I'll kill him.' All Cormac did was tell a funny joke.
'I'll break her neck for talking to you that way.' You had gotten into a fight with a fellow classmate, one that had already been forgiven.
'Why are you trying to sleep with other people when you already had me?' You had not tried to sleep with anyone, you simply had a study buddy that happened to invite you to their dorm.
'Why did you agree to become his partner?'
The note that came after coincided with the previous one that had been sent. 'If he pulls anything, people will be finding his body parts for years to come.'
Next came the ones that weren't exactly threats more so just asking how your evening was after knowing where you had been that said day.
'Your little outfit was cute today, do anything different? Of course you did, you want to look cute for me don't you?' That was one that sent shivers down your spine, what kind of sick joke was this?
These notes were driving you into insanity. This person was watching you constantly, the only clue you had was that you had slept with this person. And another clue just that you knew yourself was that you have only slept with men so far. None of them were capable of writing such things except for Theodore Nott. So, your only theory was the most insufferable bastard who was able to lure you into bed under the assumption that it was a challenge.
Peering over your shoulder did you no good either. He, if it was Nott, was always hidden from the naked eye, but you knew he was still there. You could sense him, the hairs on your body would often stand up when you got that instinctual feeling.
"He's watching me." You told your friends that night, laying in your bed - staring at the ceiling of the room.
"Who?" They already knew who you were talking about.
"Nott."
"I think you need some sleep." Your friends no doubt thought you were delirious, lack of sleep only proving their theory more.
"Why doesn't anyone believe me?"
"He slept with the entire school, you really think he decided to stalk you after doing what he has done with the majority of the population?"
No.
She had a point.
Sighing, you turned over on your bed. Was it all in your head? Surely not.
Maybe it was. Were you the psycho obsessed with him? Merlin, had you been obsessing over him this whole time and using that as a coping mechanism?
You began to think of different scenarios of that being likely, but then who was leaving the notes? You sure as hell were not doing that.
A creepy secret admirer? One that you had previously slept with, at that.
You can't say you've slept with as many people as Theodore has so that can only leave the few people you had slept with. Pin point exactly who was behind all of this. "Let's test this theory out."
If it wasn't Nott, it was one of the others.
"Are you mad? Why would I leave you a note like that?" The first boy you asked was the person you had your first time with, he raised a brow inquisitively. "Are you alright, love?"
"I'm fine." You forced a smile.
Not him.
The others looked at you as if you were crazy, perhaps you were - you believed them all though. They had no reason in doing so, no one really did.
So, all roads led back to the original suspect. Though, did you have the nerve to ask him?
"Is it you?"
Theodore had his arm wrapped around a girl's shoulder, whispering in her ear as she giggled. The both of them eyed you up and down before Theodore cracked a smug smile. "Is what me, principessa?"
"...can we speak alone?"
Theodore looked at the girl. "Do you want me to leave you?" He teased her with a nibble on her ear, she shook her head no with a giggle.
That made you feel sick, you had sex with the biggest whore in Hogwarts. That was a known fact. Rolling your eyes, you huffed in annoyance and crossed your arms. "Alright then, I'll leave you alone-"
Theodore stared at you a moment. "That's it? No fight left in you? Did my dick numb you down?"
"Your dick did no such thing, nott. I am just exhausted from all this nonsense, so good day." You held up your hand as a dismissive wave which only made him stand up much to the dismay of the girl he was previously occupying.
He began to follow you out of the room.
Checkmate.
"Why're you being so-" He started but stopped with a laugh when he saw your smirk. "Ah, you clever girl."
"Tell me, nott. Is this your work?" You handed him the psychotic notes that had been left in various places just for you.
He grabbed them with suspicion. "Sorry, cara mia. Not me, can't say that it doesn't make me a little jealous that someone else likes you in this way."
Yeah, right. Theodore Nott jealous? That was laughable. You puffed out your lower lip. "If not you or any of them, then who could it be?"
"There are many who hate you-"
"This isn't hate, this is full blown obsession! This person is threatening to kill anyone I even accidentally look at, that is-" You groaned loudly and turned on your heel. "Forget it, you're no help."
He smirked as you walked away. Fuck, he was having way too much fun with this. It kept your mind off your studies and off other suitors.
THIS WAS ONE OF THE POLL WINNERS!!
This one took awhile because I am not good at writing smut and I did not want it to be like the others I have written before!
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: This is the second part and since you waited so patiently i included 3 bonus scenes teehee posting it early for my babies
Special mention to @for-the-love-of-puppies and @luffysprincess who predicted this turnout lol our brains are in sync
Credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Part 1
Bianca was a blur of movement by the Great Lake.
She darted along the grassy bank, boots thudding softly against the earth as she zig-zagged around rocks and half-buried roots, stopping every few seconds to crouch down and inspect something with intense focus before bolting off again. A stick became a wand, a pebble became treasure, and the reeds at the water’s edge were clearly hiding something very important.
You watched her with a fond smile, arms folded loosely as you leaned back against the cool stone.
“She has too much energy.” You said, though there was no real complaint in your voice—only wonder.
Theo huffed a quiet laugh beside you, eyes never leaving her, “She’s a firecracker.”
Bianca shrieked with laughter as she nearly tripped over her own feet, caught herself at the last second, and then stood very still—carefully regaining her balance before continuing on her way.
Theo tilted his head slightly, watching her, “She takes after you.”
You laughed, startled, “Are you crazy?”
He glanced at you, amused, “What?”
You nodded toward Bianca. “Look at her. She’s observant. Thoughtful. She watches everything. She’s lively, yeah—but she hardly ever leaps without looking first.” You smiled softly, “That’s all you.”
Theo went quiet at that, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth.
He watched Bianca sprint past a patch of wildflowers, slow just enough to avoid stepping on them, then take off again.
“…Maybe.” He conceded.
A moment later, he added, half-thoughtful, half-teasing, “She’d be a good Chaser.”
You snorted, “Of course you’d say that.”
“Did you see that turn?” He said, nodding toward her as she swerved sharply to avoid the water’s edge, “She'll be a star quidditch player.”
You hummed, considering it. “I don’t know,” You said slowly, “I kind of see her as a Magizoologist.”
Theo glanced at you, “Yeah?”
“She’s gentle,” You said, “Curious. She doesn’t just want to look—she wants to understand.” You smiled as Bianca crouched again, whispering something to a very unimpressed-looking duck, “I think she’d love creatures.”
Theo’s expression softened.
“Whatever she chooses,” He said quietly, “she’ll be brilliant.”
The words lingered between you.
The lake rippled softly. The breeze carried the scent of water and grass. Bianca’s laughter echoed across the shore, bright and unburdened.
And then—slowly, inevitably—the conversation faded.
Neither of you spoke.
Because the truth settled in like a weight neither of you wanted to name.
There were futures you were imagining that you wouldn’t get to see. First matches. First discoveries. First failures. First triumphs.
Theo swallowed.
You hugged your arms closer to yourself, eyes fixed on Bianca as if memorizing the way the sunlight caught in her curls.
For a moment, it was almost peaceful.
And for a moment, that made it hurt so much more.
Bedtime was always a gamble.
There were nights when Bianca conked out long before she was meant to, curled boneless and warm in Theo’s arms, and you and him would exchange a silent look before jointly deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. No pajamas. No teeth brushed. Not if it meant waking her. You’d just lay her down as she was and hope she didn't wake up.
Some nights, she went down like a dream—padding excitedly toward bed because she was looking forward to the story that Theo read to her. When it was your turn, Bianca would read to you instead, you'd study the pictures with exaggerated seriousness, and make enthusiastic oohs and ahhs at all the right moments while Bianca beamed in pride at her reading skills.
And then there were the nights she refused.
It would almost be easier if she weren’t tired—at least then you could burn the energy off. A walk around the castle usually did the trick. More often than not, she’d be asleep in Theo’s arms before you even turned back toward the common room, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, breathing slow and even.
But the worst nights were when she was exhausted and still couldn’t sleep.
Overtired, overstimulated, and furious about it.
The crying cut through you in a way nothing else did—sharp and relentless, scraping along your nerves until you felt hollowed out. Theo held on as long as he could. When it became too much, he’d quietly excuse himself.
"Ten minutes." He promised, "I'll be back."
But when fifteen passed and he still hadn’t returned, you didn’t go looking for him. You knew where he was—the common room, breathing, grounding himself. You let him have those extra minutes.
You held Bianca instead, her small body tense in your arms, her face damp with tears. You hugged her close and rocked back and forth, humming softly at first, then singing—a lullaby from a film you used to love as a child.
Gradually, the sobs quieted.
Her breathing evened out.
And when you were absolutely certain she was gone—truly asleep—you tucked her into bed, smoothing the blankets, lingering just long enough to make sure she didn’t stir.
Only then did you leave.
You closed the door quietly behind you and let out a long breath.
“She’s finally down.” You murmured, collapsing onto the couch beside Theo like your bones had simply decided they were finished.
He looked up from the parchment spread across the coffee table. His hair was mussed, sleeves rolled up, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come back up.” He said quietly.
Your head tipped against his shoulder without thinking. “It’s okay, Theo,” You replied softly, “You deserved the break after the fight to get her into pajamas.”
He exhaled—a deep, exhausted sigh—and let his head fall forward for a moment. The common room was dim, fire crackling low, everything wrapped in that hazy, end-of-day quiet where the world felt temporarily paused.
After a beat, Theo straightened slightly, shaking his head like he could physically shake himself awake. “Okay,” He said, gesturing to the parchment with his chin, “Do you want to start writing the Charms essay?”
You nodded, eyes already heavy. “In a second,” You murmured, “Just… give me a second.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
The fire crackled. The room softened. The parchment remained untouched.
And sometime in the night, Theo’s head tipped gently against yours, his breathing evening out as sleep finally claimed him too—the two of you tangled together on the couch like you belonged there.
Morning crept into the Slytherin common room slowly.
Pale light filtered in through the tall windows, casting faint shapes across the stone floor and catching on the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was quiet in that in-between way—too early for students rushing to class, too late for true solitude.
Sometime during the night, the distance between you and Theo had disappeared entirely.
Your head was tucked beneath his chin now, his arm slung loosely—but securely—around your waist. One of your legs had somehow ended up tangled with his, your body curved into his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His cheek rested against the crown of your head, breath warm and steady, fingers curled faintly into the fabric of your sleeve.
You looked… settled.
Theo hadn’t slept that deeply in weeks.
The first voices shattered the quiet.
“Oi—what the hell?”
Blaise stopped short just inside the common room, halfway through a yawn. Mattheo, behind him, followed his line of sight—and froze. Then a slow, shit-eating grin spread across his face.
“Mama y papà.” He said cheerfully.
Theo stirred at the sound, brows knitting together. You shifted too, burrowing closer on instinct, your face scrunching in your sleep in that exact way Bianca did when she didn’t want to wake up yet.
Theo’s eyes fluttered open.
It took him a moment to piece things together.
The couch. The dying fire. The weight against his chest.
You.
His arm tightened before he could stop himself.
Draco let out a low whistle. “Merlin,” He drawled, “You leave one kid with him for a week and suddenly he’s playing house.”
Theo’s eyes snapped fully open, “Shut up.”
Lorenzo folded his arms, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, “Are we interrupting something?”
You shifted again, mumbling something soft and unintelligible into Theo’s chest. Your hand slid up, fingers curling into the front of his shirt like it was a lifeline.
Theo held his breath.
For a moment, he stared up at the ceiling—at the stone arches, at the faint greenish light—fully aware of his friends staring like the two of you were a particularly scandalous exhibit in a zoo.
And still, despite himself, his eyelids felt heavy again.
“Bianca?” He murmured, voice barely there.
“Still fast asleep.” Mattheo supplied easily.
Theo didn’t even fight it.
His eyes slid shut again, arm tightening just a fraction more around you as his head tipped back against the couch.
Out cold.
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
“Oh my God,” Blaise whispered, “He’s actually asleep."
Lorenzo stared, "My old man used to do the same too. Fell asleep through a whole movie once."
The Slytherin common room was almost unnervingly quiet at that hour.
The fire burned low in the hearth, casting slow-moving shadows across the stone walls, green flames reflecting in the tall windows like something alive beneath the lake outside. Most of the lamps had been extinguished, leaving only a soft pool of light near the couches where you and Theo sat—books spread open, parchment littered with notes, ink smudges marking the evidence of three solid feet of Transfiguration essays each.
You were officially on a break.
You shivered, tugging the blanket tighter around your shoulders just as Theo stood, rolling his neck once before moving toward the small table where he’d set up the kettle. You watched him quietly as he brewed tea—precise, unhurried, like the ritual itself grounded him.
When he returned and placed a cup in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that curved your lips.
The teabag was still steeping.
You took a careful sip. It was perfect. Strong, but not bitter. Exactly how you liked it.
A soft chuckle slipped out of you before you could stop it.
Theo glanced up, “What?”
You shook your head, lifting the cup slightly, “Nothing. Just—thank you.”
He nodded once, but his mouth twitched like he knew there was more to it.
Then, almost without thinking, you said, “You know… before meeting her, I didn’t think I’d ever even look twice at you.”
Theo’s quill froze mid-scratch.
Slowly, he turned to face you, one brow lifting. “Wow,” He drawled, “I feel incredibly flattered.”
You winced, “No—wait. That came out wrong.”
He studied you now, the teasing edge fading, curiosity sharpening his expression.
“I just mean,” You continued, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, “before Bianca, I honestly thought we’d graduate and pass by each other without ever really being in each other’s lives.” You hesitated, “But now…”
“Now what?” He asked quietly.
You gestured vaguely between the two of you—the firelight, the late hour, the way his knee brushed yours and neither of you moved away.
“You know exactly how I like my tea,” You said softly, “And I know how you like yours. I’m allergic to smoke, and you stopped smoking before this even became…” Your voice trailed off as you ducked your head, unsure how to name what sat between you, “Whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” You finished, almost to yourself, “It’s funny, isn’t it? How sometimes things just… happen. Completely out of order.”
Theo leaned back slightly, watching you like you were something fragile and dangerous all at once.
“She changed things.” He said.
“Yes,” You whispered, “She certainly did.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“I never thought about it before.” He admitted finally, voice low.
“About what?”
“Any of this,” He said, “A family. A future. I didn’t think I was capable of it, to be honest.” His jaw tightened. “Thought I was too screwed up to deserve one.”
Your chest ached.
“And now?” You asked softly.
“Now,” He said, barely above a breath, “I want it more than anything in the world.” His eyes met yours, “Bianca. And you.”
Your heart stuttered painfully.
“I don’t know when it happened,” He went on, “Or how. I just know that somewhere along the way, I stopped yearning for my past—and started anticipating the future instead.”
The fire popped, sharp in the stillness.
You looked at him—really looked. The shadows beneath his eyes. The tension he carried like armor. The boy who had let himself love without realizing how deeply it would cut.
“I think,” You said, voice trembling just slightly, “I feel the same way, Theo.” You swallowed, “I want a future with you.”
You reached for him before fear could catch up, your fingers brushing his wrist. He went utterly still at the contact, breath hitching like you’d struck something vital.
You hesitated, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you lifted your gaze to his—and then your hands began to tremble when you saw it. The want in his eyes. Bare. Unguarded.
Theo leaned in slowly, deliberately—giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His forehead rested against yours first, warm and steady, grounding you both.
“Ti amo.” He whispered.
You didn’t need to understand Italian to know what he was saying.
The kiss started softly, tentative—his lips brushing yours like a question he was afraid to ask too loudly. When you responded, just as gently, his breath shuddered, relief and emotion tangling together.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, slower. Like he was learning you. Like he was afraid that if he rushed, the moment might fracture.
His hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if anchoring himself. You melted into him, fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, the firelight warming your skin as the world narrowed to this—this quiet, impossible thing that had found you both.
When he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath, foreheads still touching.
You really did love him.
Theo had been in a mood.
It settled over him the moment the owl arrived—thick parchment, precise handwriting, the professors’ seal pressed into the wax like a finality. You’d read it together at the kitchen table in the common room, Bianca swinging her legs beneath the chair, humming to herself as she colored, blissfully unaware.
We believe we have found a way to reverse the spell.
Preliminary tests indicate a high probability of success.
We are confident we can return the child to her proper time.
Ever since then, something in Theo had gone quiet.
Not angry. Not cruel. Just… withdrawn. As if he’d folded inward, brick by careful brick, building walls he refused to name. He spoke less. Smiled less. When Bianca reached for him, he held her a little tighter, a little longer—like he was memorizing the weight of her, the way she fit against his chest.
You told yourself you understood.
Of course he was going to miss her. You were going to miss her too. Somewhere between shared breakfasts and bedtime stories, scraped knees and tangled curls, Bianca had taken root in your heart. The thought of watching her vanish—of returning to your normal lives and pretending these weeks hadn’t rewritten you—made your throat ache in a way you didn’t know how to soothe.
That night, Bianca went to bed easily.
Too easily.
She pressed a sticky kiss to your cheek, murmured something sleepy in Italian, and curled beneath her blankets without protest. No fuss. No tears. Just acceptance.
It felt like a bad omen.
Theo waited until the door clicked shut behind you before he spoke.
“What if we don’t send her back?”
You turned slowly, the words not quite registering, “What?”
“What if we keep her here,” He said, voice low and urgent, like if he spoke too loudly the idea might shatter, “What if we just—don’t go through with it. We have time with her. Real time. Why should we give that up?”
Your stomach dropped.
“Theo,” You said carefully, “What are you talking about?”
“We’re her parents,” He said, like it was obvious. Like it had always been obvious, “And if we send her back, we’re sending her to a life where she doesn’t have a mother. At least this way—” His voice cracked, just slightly, “—at least this way she has both of us.”
“Theo—”
“I know it hasn’t been perfect,” He rushed on, stepping closer, words tumbling over each other, “But we’re learning. We can do this. We already are. You see her—she’s happy here. She’s safe.” His eyes searched yours desperately, “She doesn’t have to lose you.”
Your chest burned.
“I know we could do this,” You whispered, “I know that. But Bianca isn’t our child. Not really. No matter how badly we want her to be.”
His jaw tightened, muscles jumping beneath the skin.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” He said sharply, “To grow up without a mother. To wake up every day knowing there’s a hole in your life you’ll never fill.” His voice dropped, rough and raw, “If she stays here, she doesn’t have to lose you. Whatever it is—whatever happens to you—we can catch it early. We can fix it.”
Your vision blurred.
“If Bianca stays here,” You said, voice breaking, “the you in the future loses his daughter forever. He’s already lost his wife, Theo. Don’t make him lose his baby girl too.”
Something in him snapped.
“Screw him.” He said hoarsely.
He reached for you suddenly, hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes like he could stop the tears if he tried hard enough. He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
“I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here,” He whispered, “Right now.”
Your sob escaped before you could stop it, fingers clutching at his sleeves like an anchor.
“Theo,” You breathed, “you know as well as I do… she isn’t meant to be here.”
He sucked in a breath—and this time, he couldn’t hold it back.
The sob tore out of his chest, raw and broken, his grip tightening like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“Don’t make me give you up, (Y/N),” He choked, voice collapsing on your name, “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you too.”
His forehead stayed pressed to yours as his shoulders shook, grief and fear and want spilling out all at once. He wasn’t just pleading for Bianca.
He was pleading for you.
For the life he’d tasted and already couldn’t bear to lose.
And you held him there, crying quietly into his collar, knowing that love—no matter how real—was not enough to change fate.
The second Theo entered the hospital wing, every instinct in his body screamed the same reckless, impossible thing.
Grab you. Grab Bianca. Apparate.
Disappear so completely that no one would ever find you again.
His mother had family in Italy—old blood, old names, people who still believed hospitality was sacred. They would open their doors. They would help you. They would protect you.
How hard could it be, really, to end up on their doorstep with a frightened child and a woman he loved?
Too easy.
Too selfish.
You didn’t even look at him when the thought flickered across his face. You simply squeezed Bianca’s hand and guided her forward, gentle but firm. You knew if you looked back at him, you would be all to convinced to leave together.
Theo swallowed hard, the bitterness rising sharp and ugly in his throat.
All he wanted—all he had ever wanted—was for the three of you to be happy. Together. Why was that such an impossible thing to ask for? Why did it feel like the universe kept dangling it just close enough for him to taste before ripping it away?
He knew the truth, even if it tore him apart.
Bianca belonged with his older self.
The man who chose to have her.
The man who could protect her.
The man who could stay.
But she was his daughter too—damn it. Flesh of his flesh. Blood of his blood. And the thought of letting her go felt like carving something vital out of his chest.
You knelt in front of Bianca, pulling her into a tight embrace. You kissed her forehead, whispered words she couldn’t possibly understand, and said as little as you could. Her fingers were small and warm in yours, but they grew slick with sweat as she glanced around at the unfamiliar adults. She tightened her grip, grounding herself the only way she knew how, holding onto you like she could anchor the moment in place.
Theo watched, throat burning.
Then he knelt too.
He’d done it a thousand times—tying her shoes, wiping tears from her cheeks, crouching to her level when he needed her attention—but this time his knees hit the stone floor harder than usual. Pain flared and vanished, eclipsed by something far worse. His hands trembled as they came up to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing over her skin slowly, reverently—like he was trying to memorize the exact warmth of her.
“Hey.” He said softly.
His voice cracked immediately.
He closed his eyes, jaw tightening, and tried again, “Bambina.” (Little one)
Her eyes lifted to his.
Just like yours—wide, glassy, endlessly deep. Like looking into a pool of pearlescent ink that reflected too much truth.
“Ti vedrò presto, amore.” He said gently, brushing a curl back from her face. (I’ll see you soon, love.)
“Le cose saranno un po’ diverse…” His breath hitched, “Ma devi avere pazienza, va bene? Andrà tutto bene.” (Things will be a little different… but you need to be patient, okay? Everything will be fine.)
Bianca studied him with grave seriousness, like she was weighing his words carefully.
Then—suddenly—her face lit up.
“Oh!” She said brightly, “Come quella volta.” (Oh! Like that time.)
Theo blinked, “Come quando?” (Like when?)
“Come quando sei andato via con la mamma.” She explained easily. (Like when you went away with Mama.)
His chest tightened, “Quando?” (When?)
“Quando siete andati in ospedale.” She continued, rocking on her feet. (When you went to the hospital.)
"E poi sei tornato a casa felice." (And then you came home with happiness.)
Theo’s breath caught violently.
The room tilted.
"Felice?" He asked quietly, feeling like hell. (Happy?)
The word felt wrong in his mouth.
A cold, sickening thought slithered into his mind.
Was he happy when you passed?
His chest tightened, panic blooming sharp and fast, bile rising in his throat. His hands trembled where they rested, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then—
Bianca tilted her head, frowning slightly—confused by his confusion.
“Quando sei tornato con il mio fratellino, Felice.” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. (When you came back with my little brother, Felice.)
The world went very, very still.
Blood rushed through Theo’s head so fast he swayed, knees locking as though a feather could knock him over.
“Tuo… fratello?” He repeated hoarsely. (Your… brother?)
She nodded, curls bouncing. “Sì.” (Yes.)
“È piccolo,” She added solemnly, “Piange tanto.” (He’s little. He cries a lot.)
The hospital.
You being sick.
Too sick to carry her.
Too sick to eat breakfast.
The reason Bianca hadn’t seemed sad.
The reason she’d been so independent.
Not because you were going to die.
But because you were making room for someone new.
Felice.
Happiness.
Everything slid into place with sickening, breathtaking clarity.
“Oh." Theo breathed.
Bianca reached up, cupping his cheek with her small, warm hand.
“Non piangere, papà,” She whispered. (Don’t cry, Papa.)
He hadn’t even realized he was crying until that moment.
Salazar—this was mortifying. Breaking down like this. In front of professors. In front of you. In front of a three-year-old.
And yet—he couldn’t stop.
Tears spilled freely now, hot and unrestrained.
Because now he knew.
He would be happy.
He would love you.
And you would love him back.
You would build a life together. Two children. Maybe more. A family so warm and whole that Bianca would speak of it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His children would never have to imagine a future without their mother.
He would never have to watch them grow up with that hollow ache he’d carried his entire life.
He would never have to watch you get sick, watch you leave this world, leaving him alone to raise your daughter, the last remaining memory of you.
Theo pulled Bianca into his chest, holding her like he could imprint the feeling into his bones—her weight, her warmth, the steady beat of her heart.
“Ti amo.” He choked, “Ti amo tantissimo.” (I love you so, so much.)
Her arms wrapped around his neck—fierce and small.
You stared at the pair of them, heart aching, mind reeling. You felt for Theo—deeply—but shock quickly overtook sympathy.
Because between the two of them, you had absolutely not expected him to be the one crying.
“…Wait,” You said slowly. “What’s going on?”
Bianca turned her head as best she could while still buried against Theo’s chest.
“Papa says he loves me, mamma,” She announced cheerfully, “You’re too slow these days.”
Both of you froze.
“…You speak English?” You and Theo said in unison.
bonus:
The room was finally quiet.
Bianca was gone—sent back to a future that suddenly felt more real than the present—and Theo’s bedroom felt too large without her small presence filling it. The curtains were half-drawn, moonlight spilling across the sheets in pale silver bands. You lay on your side facing Theo, your head tucked beneath his chin, his arm resting loosely around your waist.
Theo was on the cusp of sleep, just as he had been for the past hour, but your incessant thinking refused to let him go.
“But if Bianca hadn’t come back,” You murmured, staring up at the shifting shadows on the ceiling, “we would’ve just… gone on with our lives.”
He hummed softly, half-asleep but listening, his thumb tracing absentminded shapes into your side.
“And we wouldn’t have fallen in love,” You continued, the words tumbling out faster now, like if you didn’t say them you’d drown in them, “And if we didn’t fall in love, she wouldn’t exist. Which means she wouldn’t be able to come back and make us fall in love in the first place.”
You turned your face into his chest, your voice muffled, “So at the center of the loop—at the very beginning—there had to be a version of us that fell in love and had Bianca without any intervention at all.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy but not empty.
Then Theo sighed, fond and exhausted and deeply amused in that way that meant he loved you too much to be irritated.
“(Y/N), my love… amore mio,” He said gently. He had taken to repeating everything in Italian after English so it would help you learn faster. You felt his chest rise as he spoke again, slower and deliberate.
“My future bride… la mia futura sposa. It is four in the morning.”
You groaned softly. “I know,” You sighed, “I just… I miss her.”
His arm tightened around you, grounding and warm, “Me too.”
For a moment, that was all there was—breathing, moonlight, and the quiet certainty that somewhere, somehow, the two of you were happy and whole.
Then Theo shifted.
You felt it before you saw it: the subtle slide of his hand, warm fingers sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt like he thought you wouldn’t notice.
“Say the word, dolcezza,” He murmured, his voice dipping into something unmistakably dangerous, “and I’ll bring her back to us.”
You slapped his hand away without even looking.
“It is four in the morning.” You said flatly.
He chuckled, low and unapologetic, eyes still closed like this was all part of his master plan, “Italiano, per favore.”
You hesitated, “Um… sono...sono le… una, due, tre, quattro… quattro del mattino?” (Um...it's....one, two three, four....four in the morning?)
“Perfetta,” He said smugly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Your accent is getting better.”
bonus bonus teehee:
The front door closed with a quiet, final click behind you.
For a moment, you just stood there.
The house felt different somehow—too still, like it had been holding its breath. Sunlight spilled through the front windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. The sofa. The stairs. The framed photos waiting to be filled with memories that hadn’t happened yet.
Home.
You looked down at the bundle in your arms, your baby boy wrapped in impossibly soft blankets, his face pink and sleepy and perfect. Tears blurred your vision before you even realized they were coming.
Theo stepped in behind you, arms full—hospital bags slung over his shoulders, a car seat awkwardly balanced against his hip. He froze when he saw your face.
“Hey.” He murmured gently.
You turned, blinking hard, then leaned into him anyway, pressing a soft kiss to his lips—slow, grounding, full of everything you didn’t have words for. Then you kissed Felice’s tiny forehead, breathing him in like you’d been afraid he might disappear.
“Bentornato a casa, piccolo,” You whispered, voice shaking, “This is where you’re going to grow up.” (Welcome home, baby boy)
Theo swallowed, eyes shining. He reached out, brushing one finger over Felice’s cheek like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.
And then—
“MAMMA!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Bianca came flying into the hallway, curls bouncing wildly, socks half-slipping off her feet. Mattheo, her godfather, was right behind her, laughing and reaching out uselessly like he could actually stop her.
“Bianca—piano, piano!” He called, “Slow down—!”
Theo reacted instantly.
He dropped the bags without a second thought and scooped Bianca up mid-run, lifting her clean off the ground just before she could crash straight into you. She shrieked with laughter as he spun her once, relief spilling out of him in a dozen breathless kisses pressed to her cheeks, her temple, her nose.
You watched them with a soft, aching smile.
Your heart lurched at the sight of your baby girl in his arms—hair wild, eyes bright, whole and glowing with excitement. You had missed her more than you’d allowed yourself to admit during the last few days. Every quiet moment in the hospital had carried the echo of her laughter, the absence of her small weight climbing into your lap.
You had been waiting eagerly to acquaint your children.
Theo had insisted it was better this way. Better for your recovery, better that you didn’t have to juggle between children so soon. He’d been gentle but unmovable about it, the same way he’d been your entire pregnancy—this one and Bianca’s.
At the first sign of discomfort, he’d been apparating you straight to the hospital wing or summoning your healer for a home visit without hesitation. You’d teased him once that your obstetrician must be thoroughly sick of him by now.
But judging by the way Theo paid—promptly, generously, without ever blinking—and by the fine silk scarf and expensive purse he’d gifted the healer who brought both of his children into the world, you suspected annoyance was the last thing they felt.
If anything, they were probably fond of him.
“Hey—hey—hey,” He murmured into her hair, “Careful, amore mio. Papà’s got you.”
Theo finally stopped spinning, still holding Bianca securely against his chest. He pressed one last kiss into her curls and rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes closed like he was grounding himself.
And you realized, with a sudden, overwhelming tenderness—
And despite the 36 hours of grueling labor, you realized that, for this man, you would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Theo shifted Bianca onto one hip, still holding her tight as if she might vanish if he let go. Her laughter softened into a happy hum as she curled into him, arms looped around his neck.
Then her eyes finally landed on you.
On the bundle in your arms.
“Mamma?” She whispered, voice suddenly small.
You felt your throat close instantly.
“Vieni qui, amore,” You murmured, smiling through the sting behind your eyes, “Piano, va bene?” (Come here, love. Easy, okay?)
Theo crouched, keeping Bianca safely lifted as he guided her closer, one protective hand braced at her back. Mattheo lingered a few steps behind, unusually quiet, waiting for the family to have their moment.
Bianca leaned forward, peering into the soft folds of the blanket.
The baby stirred, tiny fingers flexing, lips puckering in a half-sleepy frown.
Her gasp was barely a sound.
“È… piccolo,” She breathed, "He's smaller than me."
Theo huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glassy.
You tilted Felice just enough so she could see his face properly. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second—dark, unfocused, brand new.
Bianca’s hand twitched like she wanted to reach out, then froze mid-air.
“Posso?” She asked, glancing up at you for permission. (Can I?)
“Yes,” You whispered, “Gently.”
Felice shifted again, a soft sound leaving him, and Bianca’s eyes went impossibly wide.
"He spoke to me." She gasped.
Theo pressed his lips together hard, eyes shining as he bent to kiss the side of Bianca’s head, then yours. His free hand came up to cradle you, thumb stroking slow, careful circles like he was afraid the moment might shatter.
“This,” he said quietly, voice thick, “is Felice, your little brother.”
Bianca straightened immediately.
“Felice,” She repeated, testing the name. Then she smiled, bright and sure, “Ciao, Felice. Io sono Bianca.”
The baby slept on, oblivious.
Mattheo cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes like something had gotten in them, "Merlin, enough to make a grown man cry."
And standing there in the doorway of your home, with laughter in the air and your children between you, you knew—
This was it.
This was the life Bianca had promised.
Happy.
bonus bonus BONUS scene for my patient babies:
The one thing about living in Italy was that you missed the company.
Not the weather, not the food—certainly not the wine—but them. The loud, sharp-edged comfort of people who knew you before the life you’d built now. The friends who felt less like friends and more like family, forged in dungeons and late nights and shared survival.
The friends you’d left behind at Hogwarts.
You thanked every higher power you could think of that Mattheo had moved here a few years after Bianca was born. It softened the ache. Made the distance feel survivable.
And now—now that it was Bianca’s sixth birthday, the first child in the entire group to hit that milestone—the rest of them had descended to Italy like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Thank goodness Slytherins were rich.
Draco and Blaise were already deep in conversation near the terrace doors, voices low and animated, catching up like no time had passed at all. Lorenzo and Mattheo, meanwhile, had somehow been tricked—lured, really—into assembling Bianca’s princess castle in the middle of the sitting room.
That would teach them to bring gifts that required instructions.
Bianca hovered nearby like a general overseeing her troops, crown slightly askew, offering entirely unhelpful instructions. Felice, on the other hand, had claimed the discarded wrapping paper as his own, even though his uncles had been kind enough to bring presents for him as well.
Instead, he toddled around the sitting room, triumphantly dragging the empty box the princess castle had come in behind him, until Theo scooped him up at the last second—saving him from the scattered screws as Mattheo struggled to put the thing together.
Theo hovered near you like a shadow, as he always did these days. One hand rested habitually—possessively—against the small of your back, grounding, warm. The other balanced Felice on his hip, your son’s face still slightly sticky with cake frosting as he played absently with the little tie you’d put him in today.
Then the front doors flew open.
“MISS ME, YOU MISERABLE BASTARDS?”
Pansy Parkinson’s voice sliced clean through the manor.
Theo barely had time to turn before she was already there—flinging her coat into Draco’s arms without looking, heels clicking furiously across the marble floor. Her eyes found you instantly.
Her face lit up.
“Oh my God—” She started, already smiling—
Then she stopped.
Her gaze dropped.
Paused.
Lifted.
Dropped again.
You barely had time to blink before—
SMACK.
Theo yelped, jerking back, hand flying to his arm, “What the hell—?!”
Pansy rounded on him like a woman possessed, “Can you PLEASE stop climbing on top of this poor woman?”
You laughed helplessly, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.
Theo stared at her, scandalized, “Excuse you—”
“Salazar’s balls,” Pansy cut in, eyes wild, “How many children are you planning on having? Fancy your own Quidditch team, do you?!”
“How many children we decide to have is none of you—”
“And she is not an oven to keep popping out your buns,” Pansy said sweetly, patting his shoulder like she was doing him a favor, “Control yourself.”
Theo spluttered, “It’s not like I could carry them myself, now could I?!”
“You’re a wizard,” She snapped back, “I think you could figure it out!”
You tried—tried—to regain control, “Pansy—”
She turned on a dime, expression melting instantly as she crossed the space between you and pulled you into a careful hug.
“Oh, come here,” She murmured, “Look at you. Absolutely glowing.”
You laughed against her shoulder.
“I get it,” She added thoughtfully, pulling back to look at you again, “If I were Theo, I’d be filling you up with kids too.”
Theo opened his mouth.
SMACK.
“Do not.” Pansy warned.
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)
Summary: Theodore never wanted children. The day his mother died was the day he had sworn off any semblance of a family. That was until a child appears before him, claiming to be his daughter.
A/N: this is NOT a pregnancy fic you guys i promise also i didn't want to split this into two parts but tumblr deemed it too long so um two parts ig
credits to @dividers-are-us for the divider
Theodore Nott had read enough books to know that the day his entire life changed was supposed to feel different.
The air would be heavier. The world sharper. Something—anything—would be off. A subtle wrongness, a warning. Foreshadowing of the wrench about to be thrown into his carefully ordered life.
He had felt it once before, when his mother died and left a hollow space behind that never quite filled.
But that was the thing.
Nothing felt wrong about today.
Had everything gone as it usually did, it would have been completely mundane—monotonous, even. Theodore woke up, ate breakfast, slipped outside for a smoke. Double Potions. Another smoke. Transfiguration. Lunch. Arithmancy.
And now he was stuck in Charms.
Professor Flitwick had been lecturing about advanced spell interactions—something about like and unlike spells, wand movements and intent—when the first spell fizzled.
Then another.
Then three more went wildly off course, sparks ricocheting off desks and dissolving into the air like fireflies gone wrong.
Theo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“Focus,” Flitwick snapped, wand raised, “Clearly someone here has—”
The room cracked.
Not shattered. Not exploded.
Cracked—like reality itself had split open for half a second.
There was a blinding flash of gold light, a rush of displaced air, and then—
Silence.
Sitting in the middle of the classroom floor was a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. Dark curls fell into her face, dressed in pajamas, and her small hands were clenched into fists as she looked around, eyes wide and terrified.
For exactly two seconds, she was quiet.
Then her lip trembled.
“—Papà?”
Her voice broke.
And then she started crying.
Not soft sniffles. Full-on, panicked sobs—the kind that came from being suddenly, completely lost.
“Voglio il mio papà!” She cried, scrambling to her feet, “Voglio andare a casa!” (I want my daddy! I want to go home!)
The classroom froze.
“…Did she just Apparate?” Someone whispered.
Another voice, baffled, “She’s a child.”
A Ravenclaw girl cautiously stepped forward, “Hey, it’s okay—”
The girl recoiled instantly, backing away as if burned, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No! No, no, no!” She sobbed, shaking her head violently, “Non ti conosco! Voglio il mio papà! Voglio papà!” (I don't know you! I want my daddy! I want daddy!)
She spun in a slow, desperate circle, looking at all of them with pure, unfiltered fear.
“Papà! Dove sei?!” (Dad! Where are you?!)
Theo stared at her from his seat.
He wasn’t heartless—of course he wasn’t. There was something about the way she wailed, the sheer terror in her voice, that made his chest tighten painfully. And yet, he stayed where he was.
Blaise nudged his arm, “Oi, Nott. You speak Italian, don’t you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Everyone already knew—thanks to the absolute slew of Italian curses he’d hurled at Weasley during the last Quidditch match.
“Great,” Blaise said immediately, “Do something.”
Theo’s eyes flicked back to the girl.
She had dropped to her knees now, small hands pressed to her face as she cried, her breathing beginning to hitch dangerously. A Hufflepuff girl hovered nearby, concern written all over her face, but every step closer only made the child cry harder.
“Voglio il mio papà… per favore…” She sobbed between gasps. (I want my daddy… please…)
Something twisted uncomfortably in Theo’s chest.
“I’m not exactly a baby person.” He muttered.
“Nott,” the Ravenclaw girl hissed, “She’s a toddler. She’s about to have a panic attack, and she can’t understand a word we’re saying.”
The girl let out a sharp, breathless sob, her chest stuttering as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
“Papà…” She whimpered.
Theo closed his eyes for a brief second and exhaled.
“Cazzo.” (fuck)
He pushed his chair back and stood.
The entire classroom fell silent as he took a step toward her.
Theo approached slowly, hands raised in a placating gesture despite himself.
“Ehi,” He said gently, crouching a few feet away from her. His voice was low, careful, “Va tutto bene. Respira, sì? Piano, piano.” (It’s okay. Breathe, yeah? Slowly, slowly.)
The girl barely registered him.
She was still crying hard, hiccupping sobs shaking her tiny frame as she shook her head over and over, “No, no, no… voglio papà… voglio papà adesso…” (No, no, no… I want daddy… I want daddy now)
“Io so,” Theo murmured, trying to keep his tone steady, “Ma sei al sicuro. Nessuno ti farà male. Guarda me, piccola.” (I know, but you're safe. No one's going to hurt you. Look at me, little one.)
He reached out slightly—then stopped, unsure.
“Come ti chiami?” He asked softly. (What's your name?)
She sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve, eyes squeezed shut as if refusing to look at the world around her. “Voglio papà,” She repeated stubbornly, voice breaking again, “Ho paura…” (I want dad, I'm scared)
Theo swallowed.
“Papà non è lontano,” He said, choosing his words carefully, “Va bene? Respira con me.” (Dad’s not far away, Okay? Breathe with me.)
That was when she opened her eyes.
Really looked at him.
Her crying hitched mid-sob.
For half a second, her face went utterly still—eyes widening, breath catching like she’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then—
“Papà!”
She surged forward.
Theo barely had time to react before a small body collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck with desperate force. She buried her face into his robes, clutching him like he might disappear if she let go.
“Papà, papà, papà,” She cried, the word tumbling out between sobs, “Ti ho trovato… non andare via… per favore…” (I found you… don't go away… please…)
Theo froze.
Completely. Utterly.
His arms hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do as the child clung to him, shaking with leftover fear. Her tears soaked straight through his uniform as she pressed closer, like she was trying to crawl into him.
The room was dead silent.
Theo’s eyes flicked up.
Every single person was staring.
Flitwick looked like he might faint. The Ravenclaw girl’s mouth hung open. Blaise had gone eerily still, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly in his hairline.
Theo slowly mouthed, Get this child off me.
No one moved.
The girl sniffed loudly and tightened her grip, small hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. “Papà.” She whimpered again, quieter now, exhausted.
Theo looked down at her—at the way she fit far too easily against him, at how natural it felt for her to be there—and felt his brain short-circuit.
“I—” He cleared his throat, voice coming out rough, “Io… eh…”
She tilted her head just enough for him to feel the movement, her grip loosening slightly as the tension finally drained from her small body. Her breathing stuttered once more, then evened out, warm against his chest.
Theo looked down just in time to see her eyelids flutter.
Once.
Twice.
And then she was gone.
Fast asleep.
Her forehead rested against his collarbone, tiny fingers still curled tightly in his robes like she was afraid to let go even in sleep. A quiet, shaky sigh left her, the last echo of fear finally spent.
Theo swallowed hard.
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish. Sunlight slanted through the tall windows, but it did nothing to calm the chaos of the little girl in Theo Nott’s arms. Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Snape hovered nearby, wands and parchment at the ready, while a few house-elves scurried nervously at the edges of the room.
Theo wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here—one hand on her back, the other awkwardly supporting her legs—and frankly, he didn’t care. All he wanted was to set her down in a cot and get the hell out of there.
“She appears… well, as far as magical diagnostics go." Pomfrey said uncertainly, trailing off.
Flitwick rubbed at the crease between his brows and sighed, “I’m not even sure what spells were cast. Perhaps someone transfigured an object into a child… though it seems highly unlikely. I did a head count, but maybe a student from another class managed to get de-aged? It will take me some time to get to the bottom of this.”
“During which,” McGonagall added crisply, “We need to figure out where exactly she is going to reside.”
All eyes turned to Theo, still awkwardly seated on the bed. The green tie in her grubby hands was clutched tightly, her shirt streaked with snot from her tears. He stared at the ceiling, silently praying to whatever deity listened that this problem would disappear.
“All right,” Flitwick muttered, “We need… more concrete information. Perhaps a simple veritas test to confirm basic biological markers…”
He waved his wand carefully over a tiny strand of her hair, muttering under his breath. The result came up empty. Flitwick let out a frustrated sigh, before his gaze fell on the way her small body curled naturally against Theo. Her fear of strangers was… painfully clear.
He waved his wand again, more deliberately this time.
“It would seem, Mr. Nott,” He began cautiously, “that you are biologically related to her.”
Theo blinked in shock, his grip faltering. The little girl nearly toppled in his arms.
“Excuse me?” He managed, voice tight, heart racing, utterly refusing to acknowledge what Flitwick had just said.
Flitwick adjusted his glasses nervously, “I—I understand this is… unusual. But the magical markers are clear. There is no doubt: you are biologically related to her.”
McGonagall stepped forward, arms crossed, her voice calm but firm, “Mr. Nott, we must consider all possibilities. Clearly, she has appeared here through some magical anomaly."
Snape, leaning against the wall with an unimpressed frown, muttered, “Magical anomaly is one way to put it. Unprecedented, more like.”
Flitwick cleared his throat, “We may need to consider the… temporal aspect. Combined with the accelerated spellwork and residual transfiguration energy from earlier… it is conceivable that she has been displaced here from another point in time.”
Theo blinked, “…You’re saying… she’s from the future?”
“Yes,” McGonagall said carefully, though her eyes softened as she looked at the child curled against him, “And until we can stabilize whatever magical interference brought her here, we will need to come up with a plan to care for her."
Theo exhaled slowly, a sound somewhere between frustration and disbelief, "Alright then, take her."
Flitwick hesitated, frowning. The professors exchanged glances.
Theo’s heart thumped in a way that was decidedly unhelpful. The child pressed closer, nuzzling her face into his chest, hiccupping softly.
"Perhaps, it would be best for the child to stay with her fa—"
“I’m not her father,” He said firmly, “…And she is not my responsibility.”
“If you truly refuse,” McGonagall said quietly, “then the staff will care for her until we can determine a safe way to return her to her own time.”
McGonagall nodded once and gestured toward Madam Pomfrey, “Very well.”
Pomfrey stepped forward gently, arms outstretched, “Come now, dear. Let’s get you settled—”
The moment she felt herself being pulled away from the warm chest she’d been clinging to, the effect was immediate.
The little girl stiffened in Theo’s arms, eyes flying open as she registered that the hands lifting her did not belong to him. Her face crumpled, breath hitching once before she broke into loud, panicked sobs.
“No—no, no!” She cried, voice high and shaking, “Papà! Papà, portami!” (Dad! Dad, carry me!)
She twisted against him, burying her face into his chest as if trying to disappear. Tiny arms wrapped around his neck with desperate strength, her small body trembling violently.
“Papà, per favore,” She sobbed, words tumbling over one another, “Ho paura… non voglio… non voglio…” (Daddy, please. I'm scared… I don't want… I don't want…)
Theo’s jaw tightened. He stared straight ahead, pulse pounding, every instinct screaming at him to hand her over and walk away. But her grip only tightened, her cries growing sharp and breathless.
She was shaking.
“Alright,” Theo snapped suddenly, sharper than he meant to, “Stop—just—don’t—”
Everyone froze.
Theo swallowed and glanced down at her. Her face was blotchy and red, lashes clumped with tears, chest hitching unevenly as she struggled to breathe. She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, like she was bracing for him to vanish.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
“…Va bene,” He muttered, the Italian rough but instinctive, “Va bene. Basta piangere.” (All right. No more crying.)
Her sobs stuttered—not stopping, but slowing.
Awkwardly, he adjusted his hold, one arm settling more securely around her back while the other patted her shoulder once—too stiff, too careful. He cleared his throat.
“Shh.” He said quietly, glancing around like he’d been caught doing something illegal, rocking her back and forth like a rusty robot that hadn’t been oiled in years.
She sniffed hard, still clutching him, but the panic ebbed enough for her breathing to even out. Her head tucked beneath his chin, warm and damp against his collar.
McGonagall studied the child for a long moment, then Theo. Her expression softened—just a fraction.
“It seems,” She said evenly, “that she has made her preference quite clear.”
Flitwick nodded, rubbing his hands together nervously, “Yes… yes, I’m afraid forcing the issue would only distress her further.”
Theo exhaled sharply through his nose, “…Unbelievable.”
The girl whimpered once more, fingers tightening in his shirt as if reminding him she was still there.
Theo stiffened, then sighed.
“…Fine,” He said quietly, “Okay. She can—she can stay. For now. Until you figure this out.”
The walk back to the Slytherin dorms was… an experience.
Theo kept his pace measured, one arm secured firmly around the sleeping weight against his chest. She’d fallen back asleep somewhere between the hospital wing and the dungeon corridor, her curls tickling his jaw every time she shifted, breath warm against his collarbone.
He ignored the stares.
The whispers.
The way a passing Hufflepuff nearly walked into a wall trying to figure out why Theodore Nott was carrying a child through the corridors like this was a perfectly normal occurrence.
The Slytherin common room fell silent the moment he stepped inside.
Lorenzo blinked once. Then twice.
“…Is this some sort of social experiment?”
Mattheo’s grin spread slowly, wicked and delighted, “Papa's home.”
Theo shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Say another word,” he warned quietly, “and I’ll hex you.”
Blaise tilted his head, eyes flicking between Theo and the small, curled form in his arms. “Congratulations,” He said lightly, “When were you planning on telling us you’d been leading a double life?”
Theo didn’t dignify that with a response. He adjusted his grip slightly when the girl shifted, instinctively tightening his hold, and turned toward the stairs.
Behind him came a chorus of barely-suppressed laughter and stage-whispered “Night, daddy!” that followed him all the way up.
He noticed the change in his dorm the second he stepped inside.
Not because it was loud.
But because it was wrong.
Sitting neatly on his bed were things that had absolutely not been there that morning.
Tiny clothes, folded with precise magical care. Soft socks. A small blanket charmed with a low, steady warmth. Even a stuffed creature—some sort of dragon, judging by the horns—rested near the pillow, its stitched eyes cheerfully oblivious.
Theo just stood there.
Staring.
This was real. This was happening.
He looked down at the small, sleeping child in his arms, her face slack with sleep, lashes dark against her cheeks. A living, breathing human being. And somehow—somehow—he was now responsible for her.
His stomach twisted.
This hardly seemed responsible.
Did the staff really just let him walk out with an entire child and no follow-up instructions? No pamphlet? No checklist? How was he meant to keep one of these things alive? What if she woke up hungry? Or scared? Or—Merlin forbid—started crying? Again.
Theo swallowed hard, dread creeping in like a cold chill down his spine.
He crossed the room slowly and carefully, as if any wrong step might shatter the fragile reality holding this together, and lowered her onto the bed. She stirred faintly but didn’t wake, curling instinctively toward the lingering warmth of his body.
He hesitated.
Then, with movements stiff and unsure, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and tucked it in the way he vaguely remembered adults doing when he was small—firm but gentle, like it mattered.
He stepped back.
She looked… peaceful.
Completely unaware that she had just detonated his entire existence.
Theo dragged a hand down his face and turned toward the door.
He needed a cigarette. Immediately.
Just as his fingers brushed the handle, a small sound stopped him.
“Papà…”
It was barely audible—a sleepy mumble, her brow knitting faintly as one small hand twitched against the sheets.
Theo froze.
“…Papà.” She murmured again, softer this time, like she was reaching for him even in her dreams.
He closed his eyes and let out a slow, resigned breath.
“Merda.” He muttered.
If he left and she woke up—
He glanced at the chair beside the bed.
Then back at her.
“…Unbelievable.” He whispered.
Theo pulled the chair closer and sat down, leaning back with his arms crossed, eyes never leaving her face. He flinched every time she so much as twitched, every uneven breath sending his pulse spiking.
Just for tonight.
That’s what he told himself as exhaustion settled heavy in his bones.
Just until she woke up.
Theo woke to pins and needles.
A sharp, unpleasant numbness shot up his legs, like they’d ceased to exist sometime during the night and were only now remembering their purpose. He sucked in a quiet breath and shifted—immediately regretted it.
There was weight on him.
Warm. Solid.
Theo froze.
Slowly, carefully, he looked down.
She was asleep in his lap.
At some point during the night—at some point he did not remember authorizing—the little girl had migrated from the bed, curled herself into the space between his arms and legs, and settled there like she belonged. Her head rested against his bicep, curls splayed messily over his chest, one small hand clutching the fabric of his shirt.
Theo stared.
His mind helpfully offered no explanation.
He vaguely recalled her stirring sometime in the early hours. A soft whimper. A half-formed Papà breathed into the dark. He must have reached out—must have pulled her close without fully waking, murmuring something useless and soothing under his breath.
Apparently, his subconscious had decided this was his life now.
He didn’t move.
Couldn’t, really—his legs were numb to the point of concern, and any shift risked waking her. Her breathing was slow and even, lashes fluttering faintly as she slept, utterly unbothered by the fact that she was using him as a mattress.
Theo let his head fall back against the chair with a silent groan.
“This is a disaster.” He whispered.
She stirred at the sound, nose scrunching slightly, fingers tightening in his sleeve as if anchoring herself. Theo went completely still, heart hammering like he’d been caught committing a crime.
He tensed, eyes snapping down just as she stirred properly, lifting her head and blinking blearily up at him.
For a long second, they just looked at each other.
Then her face brightened.
“Buongiorno,” She said, voice thick with sleep. A pause, “…Papà.” (Good morning.)
After getting her dressed for the day using the clothes the professors had provided, Theo could only thank Salazar that whoever—or whatever—had sent her back in time had at least had the decency to send an older child.
Because Merlin help him, she was competent.
She managed socks on her own. Shoes, too—wrong feet at first, but she fixed it herself with a sharp little huff of frustration. He didn’t even have to supervise. He just stood there, half-awake, watching in stunned silence.
The only time he stepped in was when the shirt became her enemy.
She wrestled with it valiantly, tugging it halfway over her head before getting stuck, arms flailing wildly as she wobbled on the mattress like a headless chicken. For one terrifying second, Theo was certain she was going to pitch forward and crack her skull open on the floor.
Just as he reached her, hands already out, she stamped one socked foot and protested indignantly.
“Papà! Sono una bambina grande—faccio da sola!” (Dad! I'm a big girl, I can do it on my own!)
He waited—hands hovering uselessly in the air—until she finally relented with an irritated sigh and allowed him to tug the shirt the rest of the way down. She immediately smoothed it herself afterward, chin lifted proudly.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose.
This was going to be a long day.
By the time they stumbled downstairs, the Slytherin dorm was already awake and in motion. Mattheo, Draco, Lorenzo, and Blaise were halfway through getting ready, bags slung over shoulders as they headed out for breakfast.
Theo was still in his pajamas.
He didn’t care.
The professors had given him permission to skip class until further notice—something he had accepted with a detached nod, too tired to even question how serious this apparently was.
He was already mentally charting a course to the kitchens. Quiet. Private. No gawking students. No questions.
He turned toward the common room—
And she bolted.
“—Oi, wait—!”
Too late.
She launched herself down the stairs at an alarming speed, feet barely touching the steps. Theo’s heart stopped dead in his chest.
“Slow down!” He snapped, already moving after her, “You’re going to—”
She did not fall.
Instead, she hit the common room floor at a full sprint and beelined straight for Mattheo, slamming into his pant leg with the force and commitment of a homing missile.
Mattheo yelped, stumbling half a step, “What the—”
“Zio Mattheo!” She chirped joyfully, arms wrapping around his leg like she’d just found a long-lost treasure.
The room went dead silent.
Draco stared.
Lorenzo choked.
Blaise pressed his lips together, shoulders shaking.
Mattheo looked down slowly. Very slowly.
“…Little girl,” He said carefully, “how do you know my name?”
Theo stopped behind her and closed his eyes.
“She can’t speak any English, you idiot.”
Mattheo glanced up at him, affronted, “I see recognition in those beady eyes—”
He looked back down at her just in time to see her grin widen, all teeth and delight.
“Buongiorno!” She announced brightly.
Mattheo snorted despite himself.
Then she lifted her arms toward him, wobbling slightly on her feet, “Portami! Portami, zio Mattheo!”
Mattheo blinked. Once.
Then he looked up at Theo, eyebrow raised.
Theo sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, the tips of his ears burning.
“She’s asking her uncle to carry her.”
Mattheo’s grin turned downright smug as he crouched and scooped her up like she weighed nothing—slung against his arm with all the care of someone carrying a sack of potatoes. She giggled, utterly delighted, legs kicking happily.
Theo moved instantly.
“Oi—if you drop her, I swear to Merlin—!”
Mattheo adjusted his grip lazily, unfazed, “Relax. I’ve got her.”
Blaise smirked, “Wow. Someone’s being all fatherly for a bloke who isn’t a baby person.”
Draco leaned against the stair rail, grinning, “Yeah, daddy. Love this look on you."
“…I hate all of you,” Theo muttered darkly.
The girl twisted in Mattheo’s arms, peering over his shoulder. “Papà!” she called brightly. “Voglio fare colazione con zio Mattheo!” (Daddy! I want to have breakfast with Uncle Mattheo!)
Theo opened his mouth on instinct.
“Non puoi chie—” (You can't ask)
He stopped.
Because she wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t reaching for him.
She wasn’t clinging to his sleeve like the world might end if he stepped two feet away.
She was perfectly content. Happy, even. Nestled comfortably in someone else’s arms.
Theo’s brain stalled.
Then—click.
The realization hit him like divine intervention.
An hour.
A whole, uninterrupted hour without tiny hands grabbing his clothes. Without panicked crying. Without being someone’s emotional anchor.
The synapses in his brain fired one by one like fireworks. Sweet, blessed relief bloomed so fast he was pretty sure he could feel tears—possibly drool—gathering.
He lifted his gaze slowly and locked eyes with Mattheo.
“You,” He said calmly, decisively, “are on babysitting duty.”
“What?” Mattheo barked, “Oi—wait—!”
Theo was already turning away.
“Feed her,” He called over his shoulder, “Don’t drop her."
Out of the common room. Down the corridor. Gone like a wanted man escaping Azkaban.
“HEY!” Mattheo shouted after him, “That’s not how this works!”
The girl waved cheerfully from his arms, “Ciao, papà!”
Mattheo looked down at her.
Then back at the hallway Theo had vanished down.
"Well, I hope you enjoy being an orphan. Take it from me it's better than having a shit dad." He said absently, carrying her toward the door.
Theo didn’t even remember reaching the usual alcove.
He only knew his hands were shaking by the time he lit the cigarette, breath dragging deep and slow as the smoke filled his lungs. The burn grounded him. Anchored him. For five blessed minutes, he was just Theo again—no professors, no timelines, no small human being calling him papà.
He shouldn’t feel guilty for this.
Dammit.
It wasn’t like he was some kind of deadbeat. He wasn’t even her actual father. Her actual father existed a decade in the future and had—presumably—actively chosen to have this suctioning little tentacle of a child.
He exhaled, staring at the stone wall.
And yet.
She adored him. Wanted him. Chose him over everyone else without hesitation. Which meant—somewhere in the future—he must be doing something right.
Sometime in the future… I’m a good father.
The thought unsettled him more than the panic ever had.
He had never imagined children in his life. Never thought himself capable of it—not after losing his mother so young. How would future him handle this? How would he guide her, discipline her, protect her from the quiet, unrelenting cruelties of the world?
How would he keep her safe?
Theo exhaled again, watching the smoke curl upward and vanish.
Merlin, he needed that.
When he finally returned to the common room, the laughter hit him first.
She was being levitated up and down—up and down—by Mattheo, shrieking with unrestrained delight. Chocolate smeared her cheeks, and it was painfully obvious Mattheo had absolutely no sense when it came to not jostling a child who had just eaten her body weight in breakfast.
Theo stepped closer.
Her face lit up the moment she saw him.
“Papà!”
Something eased in his chest.
At least future me doesn’t screw this up, he thought faintly.
Mattheo gently lowered her into Theo’s arms.
And immediately—
“—achoo!”
She blinked. Sniffed.
Then again.
“Ach—ah—choo!”
Theo froze.
Her nose scrunched as she rubbed at it clumsily, eyes beginning to water, cheeks flushing, “Papà…?”
Theo’s heart dropped straight into his stomach.
Was she sick? Had he missed something? She’d been fine an hour ago—
Mattheo’s gaze flicked from her red nose to Theo’s ash-stained fingers. He sighed, already reaching for her and lifting her back into his arms.
“…Go shower,” He said calmly, “I’ll skip first class.”
Theo blinked, “I—I didn’t know—”
“I know,” Mattheo cut in easily, “It’s all good. Go.”
Theo swallowed.
“…Right.” He muttered.
He hesitated only a moment before turning toward the stairs. As he passed, she reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Papà?” She asked softly.
Theo stopped.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly—then corrected himself, Italian rough but sincere, “Tornerò subito. Promesso.” (I'll be right back. Promise)
Her shoulders relaxed instantly.
Mattheo watched him go, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
When Theo returned—hair damp, robes changed, skin scrubbed raw of smoke and ash—the little girl didn’t sneeze once.
Instead, she wriggled free of Mattheo’s arms and launched herself at him with a delighted squeak, wrapping her arms around his neck like she’d been waiting.
Theo caught her automatically.
She settled against him, warm and content.
And for the first time, the weight that settled in his chest had nothing to do with panic.
It felt a lot like guilt.
And something dangerously close to resolve.
Theo was collapsed across his bed, utterly defeated. The day had been… long. He hadn’t even gone to class, but that was before the small human currently treating him like a jungle gym had decided it was time for her daily inspection.
He didn’t even have the energy to move her. She clambered over him, tugging at his robes and sniffing at his hair, and he let her—somehow, it was easier than trying to resist. Five minutes of relative respite came only when she discovered something else interesting: the top of his dresser, the ceiling, the corner of the bedpost.
Every so often, one of her “uncles” captured her attention—Blaise, Draco, and Enzo—each appearing just long enough to be ignored by the child, much to Theo’s surprise. Somehow she recognized them, somehow she liked them, and somehow they had managed to reconcile the fact that she adored Mattheo more than all of them combined faster than Theo had reconciled her existence at all. He watched them all patiently endure, his mind boggling at how quickly they’d adjusted.
Currently, she had his hair in a death grip, determined to tug out every last strand with her clammy little hands. Theo winced as she yanked again, a protest lodged somewhere deep in his chest. She scrambled backward across his chest—kicking him squarely in the face in the process—then crawled toward the edge of the bed and started opening the drawer of his bedside table.
“Oi. Cosa fai?” He asked, tone half-scolding, half-exasperated. (What are you doing)
“Voglio un elastico per capelli! Mamma sempre ne tiene qui.” She declared, fumbling through the drawer. (I want a hair tie! Mom always keeps some here.)
Theo froze.
Mom? She has a mom?
The thought hit him like a bucket of ice water. All this time, he had assumed—stupidly—that she had appeared out of thin air, some magical anomaly he had to manage. Now the idea that she had a mother… a real, actual human mother… knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt absurdly unprepared.
She pulled something plastic-sounding from the drawer and held it up.
“Papà… cos’è questo?” (Papa... what is this?)
Theo’s heart skipped. He blinked, eyes widening. And then the aneurysm in his brain fully bloomed: a condom wrapper. In his daughter’s hand.
“Oi! Restituiscilo!” He shouted, leaping upright just in time for her to bolt, giggling, around the room. (Give that back!)
“Get that out of her hand!” He yelled again, spinning to intercept her, but it was too late. She dashed past Blaise, who was already doubled over laughing, and then past Draco, who had his hands pressed over his mouth to keep from cackling. Even Lorenzo had tears in his eyes from the absurdity.
“Little girl,” Lorenzo called, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably as he wiped tears from his face, “wait a second—what is her actual name?”
Theo froze mid-chase, mind scrambling.
“You… you don’t know her name?”
The little girl shrieked with laughter from the foot of the bed, completely oblivious to the chaos she had caused, while Theo felt like the universe was quietly reminding him that, yes he was an utter fool.
The little girl zig-zagged across the room, still clutching the condom wrapper like it was some kind of treasure. Theo lunged, arms flailing, but she ducked under his reach and squealed with pure delight.
“Papà! Prendimi!” She shouted, her voice ringing with mischief. (Papa! Catch me)
“Merlin’s beard, why am I even doing this?!” Theo groaned, diving forward again, only to collide gently with Blaise, who had fallen onto the floor laughing.
“Oi! Watch it, Nott!” Blaise gasped between giggles, brushing off his robes, “Maybe if you had been as enthusiastic about birth control as your little girl there, you wouldn't be having this problem."
Theo didn’t even glance at them. His focus was entirely on the girl, who had somehow vaulted onto the armrest of the sofa and was teetering dangerously.
“Oi! Scendi di lì, immediatamente!” He barked. (Hey! Get down from there, right now!)
“Papà!” She chirped again, holding the wrapper above her head like a flag, “Guarda! Guarda!” (Papa! Look! Look!)
Before he could reach her, Mattheo appeared like a hero in the last second, levitating gently above the floor with his wand, and swooped in. “I got her!” He said triumphantly.
He glanced down at the pile of humans scattered around the room—Blaise doubled over, Draco snickering, Enzo leaning helplessly against the wall—and grinned, “You really gave them a run for their money, huh, Bianca?”
Theo froze mid-lunge.
“You… you know her name?” He asked, voice tight with disbelief.
Mattheo raised an eyebrow, utterly flabbergasted, “You didn’t?”
Raising children, Theo decided, was an absurd amount of work.
He handed Bianca over to Madam Pomfrey the second she woke up.
He had tried—really tried—to delay it, holding out hope that the professors would have some sort of solution by now. But it had been three days. Three days of dungeon air, sleep-mussed curls, and the unmistakable stickiness that came with being a toddler. She desperately needed a shower.
And while Theo was getting increasingly comfortable handling her—some might even say paternal—he was still very much not prepared to be the one responsible for that particular task.
Pomfrey had taken one look at the state of Bianca’s curls, the faint smudges on her cheeks, and Theo’s exhausted expression and immediately agreed.
Theo sighed in relief, already imagining a shower of his own. Or maybe collapsing onto a bed and stealing an extra hour of sleep. He didn’t understand why he was so tired—he was sleeping the same amount he always did.
Still. He felt wrecked.
He promised he’d come back.
Repeated it, even.
Swore on—well. Something. He wasn’t sure what, but it sounded convincing enough.
It didn’t help.
She cried anyway.
Clutched his robes with tiny hands, face crumpling as she begged him not to leave, words tumbling out too fast and too panicked for him to catch more than Papà and non andare. Theo pried her fingers loose with a wince, murmuring reassurances the entire time—but he couldn’t will himself to walk away while she was screaming like that.
Especially now that he knew the difference between her cries.
So, one of the girls’ bathrooms had been cleared out for the morning.
Pomfrey, Bianca, and Theo occupied it alone, the echoes far too loud for his liking. He stood just outside the stall while Pomfrey bathed her, hands shoved deep into his pockets, posture stiff—like a chastened criminal awaiting judgment.
The child sang.
Loudly.
Badly.
And every time Theo stopped responding—
“Papà?”
—her voice wobbled, threatening to tip into tears.
“Sono qui,” He called back immediately, instinctive, “Brava.” (I'm here. Good job)
She giggled and continued singing something that sounded vaguely like a nursery rhyme and vaguely like a direct threat to musical theory.
Theo leaned his head back against the tiled wall and exhaled.
My God, was she clingy.
Then again… he supposed he couldn’t fault her for it.
If Flitwick was right—if she truly had come from the future—then she’d been ripped away from her home. Likely somewhere warm and familiar in Italy. Dropped into damp, grey Scotland. Surrounded by strangers. Spoken to in a language she didn’t understand.
Clinging to the only constant she recognized.
Him.
The thought settled heavy in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. Theo swallowed, fingers twitching as the familiar urge for a cigarette crept in—persistent, comforting.
He resisted.
Inside the stall, the singing faltered.
“Papà!” She called, sharper now.
“I’m here,” Theo answered immediately, softer this time, “Sono qui. Non vado da nessuna parte.” (I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.)
The singing resumed—quieter. Sleepier.
Theo closed his eyes.
Unbelievable.
Bianca emerged from the bath wrapped in a towel with a warming charm woven into the fabric, her pajamas peeking out beneath it. Her curls were still damp, springing in every direction, cheeks flushed pink and clean, eyes already heavy with sleep. Madam Pomfrey handed her over with a satisfied nod and a stern warning about drafts, and Theo took her automatically, settling her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He was now only dimly aware of how absurd this entire situation was.
They stepped out into the corridor together, the stone cool and quiet at this hour—
—and promptly ran straight into you.
You froze.
You’d heard the rumors, of course. Everyone had. Whispers carried between classes, exaggerated retellings murmured in the Slytherin common room. Nott has a kid. From the future. Ridiculous. Entirely ridiculous. There were more reasonable theories floating around—some magical accident that accidentally teleported a child here from outside Hogwarts walls. Others were more creative, claiming Theo had a secret child hidden away in Italy and the time-travel nonsense was just a cover story.
You firmly belonged to the former camp.
This—whatever this was—had to be some sort of misunderstanding.
You opened your mouth, ready to apologize for bumping into him—
“Mama!”
The word rang out, bright and clear, echoing far too loudly down the stone corridor.
Bianca lit up like she’d been waiting for this moment all day. She wriggled out of Theo’s already-loose hold with surprising strength, arms stretching toward you, the towel slipping dangerously as she leaned forward.
“Mama! Mama!” She chirped, utterly delighted, fingers grasping at empty air, “Sei tornata! Mi sei mancato!” (You’re back! I missed you!)
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You stared at her.
Then at Theo—who looked just as stunned, mouth parted slightly, grip tightening instinctively around her before he even seemed to realize he was doing it.
Then back at the small, very real child reaching for you like this was the most obvious thing in the world.
You forced a smile, gentle and careful, lowering yourself slightly so you weren’t towering over her.
“I’m not your mama, little one.” You said softly.
You spared Theo a glance, silently pleading for him to say something—anything—but he looked like a statue carved from pure shock, arms still locked around Bianca as though letting go might shatter reality itself.
Bianca frowned.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied you, head tilting to one side in confusion. Then she turned in Theo’s arms, small hand gripping the front of his robes like an anchor.
You spared Theo a glance.
He hadn’t moved.
Not an inch.
He looked like a statue carved in shock, Bianca still tucked securely in his arms, as though letting go might shatter something irreparable.
Bianca’s smile faltered.
Just a little.
Her brows knit together as she studied your face, head tilting in quiet confusion. Then she turned slowly toward Theo, curls brushing his collar.
“Papà?” She asked, uncertain now.
Theo swallowed.
She pressed her cheek against his chest and spoke again, voice small but earnest—
“Papà… ora che la mamma è tornata, possiamo andare a casa? Ho sonno.” (Papa… now that mama is back, can we go home? I'm sleepy)
“There is absolutely no way I’m her mother.”
Your voice echoed far louder than you intended in the hospital wing, ricocheting off white curtains and cold stone with humiliating clarity.
Madam Pomfrey paused mid-sentence.
Flitwick blinked.
McGonagall’s lips thinned—just slightly.
Theo, seated stiffly on the edge of the bed with a sleeping Bianca curled against his chest, did not move. He looked like someone who had accepted his fate three hours ago and was now simply watching the universe pile on for sport.
It was hard to believe he’d been standing in this exact position less than a week ago, being told the very same thing.
Honestly, he wasn’t even sure the news had fully settled yet. He hadn’t had time to properly panic—not just about Bianca having a mother, but about who that mother apparently was. A girl he’d never given a second glance to. Someone who, in some unfathomable future, he had fallen in love with. Married. Chosen to have a family with.
Theo Nott. Married. A father by choice.
The thought felt so foreign he thought he might throw up.
“For one,” You continued, gesturing vaguely at yourself like the evidence should be self-explanatory, “I would remember giving birth. I am quite certain of that.”
Pomfrey cleared her throat delicately.
“And second,” You added, beginning to pace, panic sharpening every word, “there are processes involved in creating children. Processes which I have never done—” You pointed sharply at Theo, “—with him.”
Theo didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his grip slightly when Bianca shifted, instinctively tucking her closer as she sighed in her sleep.
Flitwick glanced down at his parchment, “…The magical diagnostics are, I’m afraid, quite clear.”
You stopped short. “So you’re actually telling me,” You said slowly, incredulously, “that this child is from the future? A future where I have a baby with Nott of all people?”
McGonagall folded her hands calmly, “Miss (Y/N)—”
“You’re joking, right?” You cut in, letting out a hollow laugh, “I mean, everyone here can see that there isn’t even a modicum of possibility that the two of us would date—let alone get married, let alone have a child.”
Theo’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to argue—wanted to back you up, to scoff and insist this was ridiculous, that there had to be some enormous mistake, some elaborate cosmic joke with particularly poor timing. A week ago, he would have done exactly that.
But he’d been standing in this same position barely days earlier.
He knew now that arguing would get him nowhere.
Soon enough, Bianca would wake up. She always did. And when she did, she would cry—sharp, panicked, desperate cries that cut straight through stone and reason alike. She would call for you the same way she had called for him, voice cracking, hands reaching for something familiar in a world that made no sense.
And if you were even remotely a decent person, you wouldn’t be able to ignore it.
The thought sat heavy in his chest, uncomfortable and inescapable.
But Bianca only shifted in his arms, letting out a small, congested sniff as she rubbed at her itchy nose against his robes. Theo adjusted his hold without thinking, brushing his thumb gently along her back until her body went slack again, weight settling against him.
Theodore Nott was not a single father.
Absolutely not.
He wasn’t even a father if one wanted to argue technicalities—and frankly, he did. Loudly. Frequently. If he wasn’t considered a father, then you certainly couldn’t be considered a mother. It was only fair. Balanced. Logical.
And yet.
If he was being forced to look after a suction cup turned human child—day in and day out—then he didn’t see why you got to take the easy way out and keep avoiding her. Avoiding them.
It felt less like co-parenting and more like he was chasing you down for childcare payments.
So he handed Bianca off to Mattheo—who was, once again, skipping class and therefore had no grounds to complain—and went looking for you.
He caught you just as Potions let out, students flooding into the corridor in clusters of laughter and complaints. Theo slipped through them with singular purpose and grabbed your elbow just outside the classroom doors.
You startled, turning sharply, “Nott? What do you need?”
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what this is about,” He hissed, releasing you only to cross his arms over his chest, “Go see your child.”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “She’s not my kid.”
“She’s as much yours as she is mine,” Theo shot back, frustration flaring hot in his chest, “and it’s not fair that I’m the one looking after her all day.”
“We can’t even speak the same language.”
“She’s three,” He snapped, “All you need to do is watch her while she plays with toys or draws or—Merlin—something.”
“She doesn’t even want to come with me.”
The words hit harder than he expected.
“Maybe she would,” Theo said, quieter but still sharp, “if you spent more time with her.”
The conversation had officially crossed into absurd territory. Theo felt like every dramatic woman in those ridiculous telenovelas his mother used to watch—hands flying, emotions everywhere, dignity nowhere to be found.
You scoffed, “Oh, come off it, Nott. Don’t you find it strange that she can only speak Italian? Nothing else? Not even my first language?”
Theo frowned, but you weren’t finished.
“She never comes to me first,” You continued, voice tightening, “Never asks me for help when she’s eating. Never reaches for me when she wants something. You’re always her first choice. Have you noticed that?”
His mouth opened—closed again.
“And,” You went on, softer now, more brittle, “you know she never lets me carry her? Not even once. And believe me, I’ve tried. She squirms out of my arms every time.”
The anger he’d carried with him faltered.
He could see it then—the hurt etched into your expression, raw and unguarded. Theo shifted, frowning, “She’s just… not used to—”
“I don’t think that’s it.” You interrupted quietly.
You hesitated. Took a breath.
“What if,” You said, voice barely above a whisper now, “what if in the future… I’m not there?”
Theo’s chest went cold.
“No,” Theo said quickly, the word cutting through the silence like he could sever the thought itself, “No. That’s—there are other explanations.”
You looked at him, eyes searching his face.
“Like what?” You asked.
He exhaled sharply, already reaching, “Maybe we just—split up. In the future. People do that. All the time.”
Your mouth twisted, humorless, “Right. So either I’m dead, or I’m a deadbeat.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said,” You shot back, “Because if I’m alive and well and present, Theo, then why doesn’t she know my language? Why doesn’t she come to me? Why doesn’t she trust me?”
His jaw clenched, “You don’t know that she doesn’t—”
“She doesn’t,” You said quietly, firmly, “And you know it.”
He felt like he couldn't breathe. His hand twitched at his side.
Theo shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, “You’re making assumptions."
"I don't want to confuse her," You snapped, "What if I spend time with her now and she goes back to a future where she's confused that future me doesn't? Don't you think it's better for her to not be left with any painful memories?"
"Fuck this." He said harshly.
You stared at him, stunned, “Theodo—”
He turned away before you could finish.
He needed a fucking cigarette.
Theo didn’t look at you when you spoke.
“I thought I might find you here.” You sighed, stepping into the Astronomy Tower. The night air was sharp, the stars cruelly clear.
He only glanced at you once before turning back to the edge, exhaling smoke into the dark. The orange tip of his cigarette flared, then dimmed.
He hadn’t gone back before bedtime like he’d promised Bianca.
The thought twisted in his chest—but he shoved it down. Mattheo would handle it. He told himself Mattheo would’ve worn her out enough that she’d gone down on her own. That she’d fallen asleep surrounded by noise and laughter and familiar faces. That she wouldn’t notice.
But he couldn’t go back now. Not like this. Not smelling like smoke and guilt and the kind of fear that hollowed you out from the inside.
You shifted, eyes flicking to the small graveyard of cigarette stubs at his feet, and visibly bit back a comment.
“You can’t seriously be that upset at the thought of me dying, are you, Nott?” You said lightly, like it was a joke you didn’t quite believe in, “After all, we aren’t anything to each other.”
Theo’s fingers stilled.
Truthfully, he wasn’t.
Not in the way you meant.
It wasn’t you he was grieving.
It was the future he thought he was building.
He had thought—Merlin help him—that he was doing something right.
Thought that maybe—maybe—this was him breaking the cycle. Overcoming his own childhood, his own grief, his own scars. The way she clung to him, trusted him, sought him out—he’d taken that as proof. Proof that he was doing something right. That he was raising her in a house full of warmth. Of love.
A home that wasn’t cold.
A father who didn’t disappear into silence.
A childhood that didn’t feel like walking on broken glass.
He had thought he was undoing the damage his own father had carved into him.
Breaking the curse.
And now it felt like he was watching history fold back in on itself.
Bianca would lose her mother. Just like he had.
She’d be left in a cold home, one that hollowed out instead of held you together. She’d grow into something sharp and distant and unfeeling—just like him. Just like his father.
Would he turn into him?
Would he still be able to love Bianca if every time he looked at her, all he saw was you? Would he sit across from her in silence at meals, watching her struggle to eat in the tension, only to hear her throwing up later—alone on the bathroom floor, crying for a mother who wasn’t there?
Would he say the same vile things? Lock her in the same closet?
Would his hands—
Theo’s breath hitched.
He’d never imagined hitting a child. Never.
But perhaps his father hadn’t imagined it either. Not at first.
Perhaps he was driven to it.
He took one last drag from the cigarette and flicked it away, crushing the ember beneath his heel before reaching for another with trembling fingers.
He never got the chance to light it.
Your hand closed around his wrist.
Firm. Steady.
He stilled.
Slowly, his focus shifted—really shifted—to you.
For the first time since Bianca had seen you, since the world had tilted on its axis, he truly looked at your face.
And there it was.
Your eyes.
Or rather—
Bianca’s.
His throat closed, eyes flickering over your face as he began to compare the two of you when your nose began to twitch, the smell of the smoke finally getting to you.
"Achoo!"
Theo couldn't help but let out a dry breath of laughter.
“You should spend time with her,” He said finally, voice rough—scraped raw by smoke and something dangerously close to tears, “I wanted nothing more than to remember my mother when she died.”
The words hung between you, fragile and devastating.
Theo swallowed.
“She deserves that,” He added quietly, “And so do you.”
Morning came quietly in the Slytherin dorms. The others had already left the dorm to get breakfast and begin classes.
Theo had been awake long before it—again. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the small lump buried beneath his blankets. Bianca had twisted herself sideways sometime in the night, curls exploding in every direction, one chubby foot sticking out from under the covers like a silent rebellion.
“Bianca,” He murmured gently, nudging the lump, “È mattina.” (It's morning.)
She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine and promptly rolled onto her stomach, hugging the pillow tighter.
“No,” She mumbled sleepily, “Ho sonno…” (I'm sleepy)
Theo blinked, staring at the blanket-wrapped lump that was technically his responsibility. For a fleeting moment, he considered letting her sleep—just fifteen more minutes, surely that wouldn’t hurt.
But experience had already taught him better.
If she slept in, she’d be feral by noon. No nap. No quiet. No sleep later. Which meant another night of pacing the dorm with a squirming toddler while his own body begged for rest.
He sighed. The deep, tired, fatherly kind—the one he was rapidly perfecting.
Just as he leaned forward to try again, there was a knock at the door.
Theo froze.
His mind leapt immediately to the all possibilities.
Professor McGonagall, stern and efficient, here to inform him they’d finally found a way to send Bianca back to her own time.
Or worse—here to say they couldn’t.
Another knock followed. Softer. Hesitant.
Theo stood slowly, smoothing a hand through his already-mussed hair, heart doing something distinctly unhelpful in his chest. When he opened the door, he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d been expecting.
But it was you.
You stood there awkwardly, hands clasped in front of you like you might bolt at any second. You weren’t in your uniform—dressed casually instead—and floating just behind you was a small enchanted tray, stacked with breakfast.
Theo’s brows lifted despite himself.
“Oh,” He said. Guarded. Careful. “…Morning.”
You hesitated, then offered a small, tentative smile.
“I brought breakfast.”
Behind him, there was sudden movement.
Bianca’s head popped up from the blankets, curls crushed on one side of her face, eyes still hazy with sleep.
She stared at you for half a second before her entire expression lit up.
“Mama!”
Theo barely had time to react before she scrambled upright, tangling herself in the covers.
“Buongiorno?” You said, tilting your head as you stepped inside, “I—uh. I’m hoping I'm pronouncing that right.”
Theo stepped aside as you entered, watching carefully as Bianca scooted closer, clutching her blanket around her shoulders like a cape. You set the tray down on the bedside table and sat beside her without hesitation.
Breakfast became a quiet, shared thing.
Bianca sat between the two of you on the bed, half-awake but cooperative, munching on cut fruit and toast while you worked patiently through the knots in her hair. She winced once, then relaxed when your touch stayed gentle.
“I used to have curls like this too.” You said softly, lifting a section of her hair.
Theo glanced over, wondering why you were saying this. Perhaps you were just getting sick of being out of the loop while Theo constantly reminded Bianca not to chew with her mouth open, “Really?”
You hummed, “Yeah. Until I spent one entire summer swimming. Completely ruined them.”
"Oh." He muttered.
“And then,” You continued, amused, “I discovered Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and never really went back.”
You began sectioning her hair, fingers moving more confidently now, twisting it into neat little ponies.
Theo slid the tray closer to you, “You sure you don’t want some?”
You shook your head lightly, “I already ate.”
Bianca paused mid-bite, brows knitting together. She looked up at you, then spoke quietly.
“Mamma… stai male di nuovo?” (Are you sick again?)
Theo stiffened slightly, “…Cosa intendi?” (What do you mean?)
Bianca shrugged, matter-of-fact in the way only children could be, “A volte la mamma sta male e non riesce a mangiare.” (Sometimes mommy gets sick and can’t eat.)
Theo looked at you slowly, something uneasy settling in his chest.
You tilted your head, confused, "Am I missing something?"
The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet.
Theo had never realized just how quiet it could get when everyone was actually in class. On the rare occasions he skipped, he was usually surrounded by his noisy gaggle of friends—laughter, insults, the scrape of chairs. Now, with most of the students gone, the space felt cavernous, almost reverent.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, casting lazy rectangles of gold across the stone floor. The lake beyond the glass shimmered faintly, shadows drifting slowly along the walls.
Theo sat at one of the long tables, a textbook open in front of him. Beside him, Bianca occupied her own chair, perched atop a cushion to give her some height. Even then, she barely reached the tabletop—her upper body completely propped up on her elbows as she strained forward, tongue poking out in concentration.
A piece of parchment lay in front of her, covered in colorful scribbles, and a box of crayons sat nearby—formerly one of Theo’s cigarette packs, now successfully transfigured.
You sat on his other side.
Your space had slowly expanded until it spilled over into his—parchment and quills scattered between you, a textbook here, a notebook there. You leaned in to show him a particularly complicated potion formula, pointing at your notes with the tip of your wand.
“So yesterday, we covered the difference between tinctures and infusions,” You explained, flipping through your notebook until you found the relevant lecture, “I wrote the key points here—see? You mostly just need to memorize the ratios.”
Theo scanned your notes, brow furrowing as he compared them to the questions listed beneath. He tapped one section with his finger.
“What about this one?” He asked, “It doesn’t match the ratio.”
You leaned closer to see what he was pointing at, scooting nearer without thinking, “Oh—okay, this one’s an exception. It’s considered an infusion because of the brewing process, not the base ingredients.”
You were just about to continue when Bianca suddenly sat upright, eyes wide, like she’d uncovered a great secret.
“Papà! Mamma! Guarda!” She chirped, spinning the parchment toward you with pride.
You leaned in immediately, your expression softening.
It was a drawing—very clearly the three of you. Stick figures, yes, but unmistakable. One tall with dark hair. One beside him with longer hair. And a much smaller one in the middle, curls drawn in chaotic loops. Behind you stood a crooked little house, flowers floating inexplicably in midair, and a tiny sun tucked into the corner of the page.
You laughed quietly, “This is adorable.”
Bianca smiled, satisfied, but said nothing—already basking in the praise.
You turned to Theo, “What’s wow in Italian?”
He shifted his gaze from the drawing to you, and it was only then you realized just how close you’d gotten—practically halfway into his seat. At this distance, you could see every individual lash, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
You froze.
Theo leaned in, lowering his head toward your ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and lazy, far too close.
“Wow." He said simply.
You pulled back just enough to glare at him, “You’re unbearable.”
A corner of his mouth lifted, “You asked.”
Theo hadn’t planned on going to the Hufflepuff house party.
Not really.
But you’d insisted—gentle, firm in that way that made it hard to argue without sounding like an idiot.
“Go,” You’d said, already kneeling to help Bianca with her pajamas, “You haven’t been out in days. You deserve a night that doesn’t involve a sticky toddler."
Bianca had protested briefly, arms looping around his neck like a vise, but you’d distracted her with some Jaffa cakes. That seemed to do it.
So he went.
There was music. Laughter. Too many people packed into a common room that smelled faintly of firewhisky and bad decisions. Mattheo handed him a drink almost immediately.
Theo stared at it.
Then thought of Bianca—overtired, unfamiliar bed, the very real possibility that she’d decide midnight was an appropriate time to throw a tantrum and demand to be taken back to Theo's dorm only to be greeted by his drunk self.
He handed it back.
“No?” Mattheo blinked.
“No.” Theo said flatly.
He stayed long enough to prove he’d tried. Not to himself but to you. Who he knew would give him a teasing scold when he'd come back early, tail tucked between his legs.
And then—quietly, without much fanfare—he left.
The Slytherin dorms were dim when he returned, the corridors hushed and cool. He moved carefully, like any loud noise might break something fragile.
When he opened his door, the first thing he noticed was the lamp.
Low. Warm. Soft golden light spilling across the room.
The second thing—
You were there, curled on your side beneath his blankets, Bianca tucked against your chest like she belonged there. One of your arms was draped protectively around her small body, fingers curled instinctively at her back. Bianca’s face was pressed into your collarbone, curls splayed wildly across the pillow.
Fast asleep.
Theo stopped just inside the doorway.
Something tight in his chest loosened. Something else replaced it—heavier, warmer, far more dangerous.
You’d kicked off your shoes, throwing off your jacket as well in favour of casting a warming charm over the two of you right as you had fallen asleep. Bianca’s tiny hand was fisted in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring herself.
Theo approached slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He studied your face.
A loose strand of hair had fallen across your cheek, brushing your lips. In your sleep, your brow pinched faintly, nose scrunching in the exact same way Bianca’s did.
He let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle before he could stop himself.
Carefully—so carefully—he reached out and brushed the strand of hair away from your face with two fingers.
You stirred.
Not fully awake—just enough to shift closer to Bianca, murmuring something soft and unintelligible. Your hand tightened reflexively around her back.
Theo froze.
Bianca was going to lose this one day.
She was going to lose this—the warmth, the safety, the arms of her mother.
He was going to lose this someday.
He didn't want to lose you.
He wanted you for the rest of his life.
The thought hit hard and fast, knocking the breath out of his chest.
He swallowed, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on the slow rise and fall of Bianca’s back. On the way your fingers curved protectively at her spine even in sleep, like your body knew the job before your mind ever caught up.
Then you shifted again.
This time more sharply.
Your eyes blinked open, unfocused and glassy with sleep, lashes fluttering as you took in the dim room. For half a second, you looked confused—then awareness snapped in all at once.
You stiffened.
“Oh—Merlin—” You whispered hoarsely, lifting your head an inch before immediately freezing again when Bianca huffed and burrowed closer.
You blinked.
You slowly sank back down, mortified.
Theo watched as realization dawned on your face.
Then, horrified, you wiped at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“I—” You croaked, then cleared your throat quietly, “I wasn’t… I wasn’t actually asleep.”
Theo raised a brow.
You winced, “Okay. That’s a lie. I was trying not to fall asleep.”
He stayed silent, letting you dig.
“I was pretending,” You continued in a rushed whisper, cheeks warming, “I thought if I stayed really still she’d think it was bedtime and settle down and—well—apparently I fell asleep first.”
Theo huffed out a soft breath that might’ve been a laugh.
You shot him a look, “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
You sighed, rubbing your face with one hand, careful not to jostle Bianca, “This is so embarrassing.”
Theo didn’t respond right away.
Instead, he stood, crossed the room quietly, and took the blanket draped over the chair. His movements were careful—deliberate—as he unfolded it and drew it up over you and Bianca, tucking it in around her small shoulders before letting it settle across your waist.
“You can sleep here tonight,” He said finally, voice low. Then, after a beat, softer, “If you want.”
You blinked up at him, the last of sleep still clinging to you.
“Here?” You asked, whispering like the room might object.
He shrugged one shoulder, “She’s already settled. No point moving her.”
You hesitated.
Then nodded, “Okay.”
Theo’s jaw loosened, just a little.
A few days later, Theo was running on fumes.
The bone-deep exhaustion that settled behind his eyes and refused to leave. The kind that made time blur and thoughts lag half a second behind reality. Between the staggered schedules, half-missed classes, and nights that never quite counted as sleep, he felt like he was permanently five minutes behind himself.
You weren’t doing much better.
The professors still hadn’t found a way to send Bianca back, which meant the two of you had fallen into a strange, grinding rhythm: one of you attending class while the other watched her, trading off half-written notes—if by some miracle you hadn’t fallen asleep mid-lecture. You were grateful the professors were granting you at least that much grace.
The rest of the time was spent cramming together right before bedtime while Bianca threw a tantrum of truly mythological proportions.
It turned out she’d woken up once to find the two of you studying together and had somehow come to the conclusion that whenever she went to sleep, you and Theo threw secret parties without her.
So now—despite being exhausted—she refused to sleep.
You hadn’t known children could get overtired before.
Apparently, it was a thing.
A loud, shrill, nails-on-a-chalkboard thing.
Bianca was a small whirlwind. All limbs and laughter and boundless, feral energy that refused to burn out indoors.
So when you suggested a picnic by the Black Lake, Theo thought you’d finally lost your mind.
“You want to let her run free,” He said flatly, “near a giant squid.”
“She just needs to run,” You insisted, rubbing your temples, “Like—really run. Until her lungs give out.”
Theo stared at you, hollow-eyed.
“…You’re a genius.”
So there you were.
The grass near the lake was warm beneath the afternoon sun, the water dark and glassy, the mountains reflected on its surface like a painting. A blanket was spread out behind you with food you’d asked the house-elves to make—and while it looked incredible, you were deeply offended by the lack of sweets.
Apparently the elves had decided Bianca didn’t need sugar.
Who cared about Bianca?
You wanted a chocolate lava cake, damn it.
Bianca, meanwhile, had already abandoned the blanket entirely.
She shrieked with laughter as Theo lifted her into the air, spinning once before tossing her just high enough to make her squeal—then catching her easily.
“Ancora!” She demanded, breathless. (Again.)
Theo obliged.
He laughed—really laughed. Not the tired, guarded version you’d grown used to, but something lighter, freer. He threw her again, caught her, bounced her once on his hip before setting her down just long enough for her to sprint off in a wild, crooked circle.
You watched from the blanket.
At first, it was just fondness. Relief. Gratitude that she was finally burning off that impossible energy. You couldn’t deny it—the sound of a child laughing so freely tugged a smile from you before you could stop it.
Then your gaze shifted.
Theo crouched when she spoke, his attention completely zeroed in on her. When she stumbled, he steadied her without thinking. When she reached for him, he went instantly—lifting her with an ease that felt instinctive, like muscle memory he’d never known he had.
And something in your chest shifted.
Warm.
Tight.
Soft in a way you hadn’t expected.
He stole your breath.
You stared at him.
At the boy you’d never really noticed. The boy you’d fully expected to graduate without so much as a conversation between you. Someone who, before all of this, would’ve been nothing more than a footnote—if that—in the story of your life.
Not your ending.
And yet the realization hit you so suddenly you almost laughed.
Somewhere—somewhen—years from now, a version of you would love him enough to choose to have a child with this man.
And now?
You got it.
You got the vision your future self must have seen when she decided to lock him down.
You supposed it made sense that you’d never seen Theo like this before. He was just a boy—how could you possibly know whether a teenage boy would grow into someone steady? Someone safe. Someone capable of love that endured, of support that didn’t waver.
A man you could build a life with.
But watching him now—watching him lift Bianca again as she squealed, watching the way his hand stayed firm at her back—your stomach flipped.
Your brain short-circuited.
Your ovaries, traitors that they were, staged a full rebellion.
And for the first time, the future didn’t feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.
You stood abruptly and joined them, brushing grass from your skirt. “Alright,” You said, “My turn.”
You bent to lift Bianca—
“No!” She protested instantly.
She wriggled out of your arms with shocking strength for someone so small and darted straight back to Theo, wrapping herself around his leg like an anchor.
Your smile slipped. Just for a heartbeat.
“Oh—okay,” You said quickly, forcing it back into place, “That’s fine. Totally fine.”
You took a step back, suddenly unsure of where to put your hands, your weight, yourself. The breeze off the Black Lake felt colder now. You stared out at the water instead of them, swallowing the strange tightness in your chest.
Theo noticed.
He frowned, glancing between you and Bianca, then crouched so he was level with her. Gently, carefully, he loosened her grip just enough to look at her face.
“Perché non vuoi che mamma ti prenda?” He asked softly. (Why don’t you want mamma to pick you up?)
The word mamma hit you even before you processed it.
You turned away a little more, heart stuttering. You didn’t understand the rest of what he said, not really. You suddenly felt like you were standing on the edge of something sacred and private, like you’d wandered into a family photograph you didn’t belong in.
Bianca’s face scrunched up, serious in that way only children could be when they believed they were being very reasonable.
“Mamma è troppo malata per portarmi, papà,” She said firmly, “Lo sai.” (Mamma's too sick to take me, papa. You know that.)
Theo froze.
The world seemed to tilt, just slightly.
Theo’s eyes flicked to you slowly.
You tilted your head, not knowing how spines began to claw up his hands and feet, making him feel cold, "What's wrong?"
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)
synopsis. when your brother mattheo brings his new girlfriend on the annual boys-only camping trip, you're invited along to balance out the dynamic. everything’s fine... until your old tent gives out, forcing you to share one with the only person staying alone — theo nott. insufferable yet maddeningly hot theo nott. let’s just say… they should be making warning signs of him too, not just of bears.
pairing. brother's bsf! theo x reader
content/mdni. fem! reader, brother’s bsf! theo, very mean! theo, switch! theo energy (he's losing it), pent-up! theo, pussy-drunk! theo, messy-eater! theo, enemies-to-lovers tension, allusions to male masturbation, handjob (assisted), clit stimulation, oral (f receiving), dry-humping, cum play, allusions to overstimulation, allusions to edging (m receiving), dirty talk, pet names (amore, good girl), p in v implied but doesn’t happen, smut with ton of plot, one freddy fazbear joke
word count. 4k
a/n. hello, honeybuns! as promised, i came back to theo, specifically brother’s best friend! theo. this fic is also part of the first week of @acourtofchaos ’s event (although i am late oopsi). let me know what you think about this theo piece! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the harmonious sounds of the crickets were the only hums spilling over the camping grounds. the joyous laughter and the ongoing chatter of daylight toned down little by little, falling prey to nighttime, vanishing entirely.
four tents were pitched around a put-out campfire, all jet black and covered by a thick layer of drowsiness. one lonely tent was perched farther from the cluster, partially hidden behind a sturdy tree.
a glowing beam of light emerged from one of the four tents, hauntingly hovering — fast yet quiet — towards the isolated one.
some might say that was a forest spirit, making its appearance at midnight to prowl around the mortal word.
some, against such meager fairytales, would suggest the yellowish orb to be but a tiny firefly, aimlessly flying around the camping grounds.
you would confirm that it was actually the light of your portable lamp, dangling from your hand and swinging according to the whim of the forest’s chilly wind. and the trajectory was not arbitrary — even before you’ve emerged from your tent, you decided to stick to the quickest route towards nott and his secluded shelter.
your feet, clad in simple flip-flops, crushed the dry dirt of the pathway, stepping with swiftness through the cold air of the night. the distance between the tents was not that far, yet your pajamas and your almost bare feet were not enough to protect your body from the temperature change.
hurrying your pace, you finally arrived before nott’s enclosure.
no inside light pierced through the thick material of the tent, a clear signal that theodore may be asleep. soft murmurs could be heard here and there, but you were not sure those came from inside.
you stretched out your arm by reflex, pushing the lamp forward, closer to the tent, trying somehow to see what theodore was up to. however, the additional light did little to nothing, making only the dirty green colour of the tent more vibrant; the inside was still a mystery.
“n–nott?” you whisper-yelled his name, testing the waters, still hoping he was awake.
it would make your life so much easier.
your call and the silence following it made the entire moment feel eerie. you were suddenly more aware of your singular existence in the middle of a sleeping forest.
the air felt harsher, cutting into your lungs. the light of your lantern was suddenly too bright, blindingly so. urgency spiked throughout your body, making goosebumps appear all over your skin.
fuck it, you will wake him up.
reaching out your free hand, you tightly gripped the outside slider of the zipper. and, with a final intake of air, you dragged it in the opposite direction, slowly revealing the entrance.
but it immediately flew away from between your fingers, fastly separating half the length of the zipper’s teeth.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?”
theodore's voice boomed in your ear, hitting you before his dishevelled appearance did. his voice sounded exhausted, although he did not seem to have been sleeping before your intrusion. yet, his visible grimace and his hand shooting upwards to shelter his eyes from your stupid lantern gave away the fact that he has been staying with the light off for a while.
“umm, i-”
“put that shit away, will ya’?”
his words were harsh and rude, thrown at you with no second thought. that's usually how he is when it comes to you; your brother’s best friend barely holds back, and if he must restrict his vocabulary, he colours his speech through intonation.
intonation showcasing annoyance and displeasure.
“yeah, yeah, my bad.”
you mumbled a half-hearted apology as you flipped off the switch of the lamp, the light slowly dimming in your hand until there was no more.
your surroundings were yet again swimming in darkness, and your eyes — not yet accustomed to the lack of brightness — seem to betray your disadvantage in the face of nott.
“what do you want?”
you could barely distinguish his silhouette, the contour of his body slightly blending in with the shadowy insides of the tent. you could see, however, the way his tent was partly open, a sign you were unwelcome in his vicinity.
that and his venomous words. he clearly wanted you gone.
you sucked in a breath, hammering down your ego, and carefully answered theodore.
“my tent’s ripped. didn’t notice until now–”
“and? the fuck do you take me for? bob the builder?”
oh, his patience was wearing thin. with your vision slowly adapting to the darkness, you registered the way his hand dragged the slider back down by a quarter of the length, wishing to separate the two of you for good.
“wait, wait.” panic surged into you and your hands jumped out instinctively, clutching theo’s fingers, stopping his movement altogether. your lantern long forgotten, dropped somewhere on the dirt path. “i can’t sleep there.”
“oh, please. you think a ghost will eat you?”
theo bit back at your reasoning, poking fun at the silly horror stories the group told right before bed and mocking your childish fear.
you can insist all you want, he doesn’t care.
his other hand ushered yours away to prove his stance, pulling the slider further down.
“you’re so ugh–” you were using all your power to stop yourself from kicking the supports of his tent and have it collapse over him.
“BEARS. i am scared of bears. actual animals that are in this forest.”
“just har har back at–”
“can i please stay in your tent?”
please. you never say please to him. please, thanks, and sorry are three words you’d never redirect at him unless you were extremely desperate.
and, shit, you seem to be needing to share his tent by the way you’ve swallowed up your pride and begged.
“fine. hop in.”
he does it for mattheo, he convinced himself as he pulled back the slider, revealing the full width of the entrance for you. he does it so your brother won’t rip his skin off if something does happen to you in your ripped tent.
yeah, that’s the only reason.
you slowly crawled into the tent, careful not to touch anything in your wake; theo seems to be in a bad mood, and you did not want to aggravate the situation further. so you propped yourself at the opposite side of him, sitting with your legs crossed one over the other, observing how he zipped back up the entrance.
you were now irrefutably stuck in a small tent with theodore nott.
after securing the slider, theo turned around to locate you. and when his eyes landed on you, all stiff and unmoving, he just sighed and slapped his forehead with his own palm.
“i hope you won’t stay like that all night.”
“like what?”
“like a creep, watching me sleep.”
“a creep? what do–”
“just lay down and sleep.”
theo issued his command and moved away from the topic at once, crawling back to his sleeping bag and sliding right in. ignoring you. even if you tried to continue the discussion, him turning his back towards you was enough evidence he did not want to interact with you more than necessary.
“okay, okay.”
you still answered him, sighing with exasperation at his bitchy attitude.
why was he so irritated tonight? indeed, theodore nott was not a big fan of yours, but his patience was never this fragile. maybe you angered him during the day? you don’t really remember talking to him at all though, more interested in spending time with mattheo’s girlfriend away from the boys.
the reasons behind his shitty behaviour will remain a mystery, as theo seemed to be adamant to go to sleep. you conceded too, finally laying down, closer to the edge of the tent, taking a similar sideway position as him.
the tent was warmer than yours, no rupture disturbing the temperature of the insides, yet the lack of covers did make your body curl into itself and seek more warmth. you did so for a few minutes, twisting and turning from side to side, searching for the optimal position.
theodore seems to be aware of it all as a long exhale emerged from his side of the tent. all loud — exaggeratedly so — and purposeful, acting as a warning, as a replacement for a verbal complaint.
you bit down on your bottom lip, hoping you were just reading too much into it, and shifted the position of your legs again. the loud whoosh sound of your pants across the tent material resonated around the entire shelter.
“move one more time and i am kicking you out.”
he spat the threat at you in a heavy tone, seriousness latched onto every word of his. he even betrayed his initial position and turned around to prove it, facing you for a third time that night.
“i am not doing it on purpose.” you hissed back at him, encircling your arms around your torso and pushing your knees further into your stomach, hoping he will realise cold was making you so restless.
“oh, so your body moves on its own?”
sassiness. mockery. rage.
“i am cold.” you blatantly stated, more of a whisper than a fully articulated sentence.
this will soften his resolve, right?
“not my problem.”
no.
you huffed out a shaky breath, curling tighter into yourself. your body was visibly shivering against the cool air, air that was sneaking underneath your pajama and pinching at your skin. you did not dare to spoke another word to him, certain his coldness will only worsen your situation; so, trembling into yourself deeper and deeper, you hoped your body will just heat up on its own.
silence stretched between the two of you, heavy and palpable. you paid theo no mind, completely averting your gaze from his emotionless face and closing them with an unspoken wish for sleep.
“fuck, fine. c’mere.”
your head snapped immediately at his words, your eyes locked in on theodore in an instant. “what?”
“you won’t sleep otherwise, right?” he muttered, reaching for the edge of his sleeping bag and pulling at the zipper just enough so you could slip in. “just– get in.”
your heart stuttered, nerves, confusion, and something else colliding inside you. carefully, you inched closer to him, joining him into the sleeping bag as instructed.
it was cramped. too cramped.
it was obvious the sleeping bag was made for one person only. yet you couldn’t complain. wouldn’t complain.
your thighs shifted against his, pajama pants brushing against pajama pants, and your chest pressed against his arm. the space between you two was almost non-existent, your bodies mushed under the too-small sleeping covers.
it was so strange, but it felt so good.
a sigh of pleasure slipped past your lips as your body soaked in the warmth of the sleeping bag and of theodore’s body. unconsciously, you even drew closer into him, dipping your head towards his clothed chest and–
“back off, weirdo.”
his hand emerged from underneath, pressing against your forehead and regaining some distance between the two of you. your upper body might have been pushed away towards the edge, but your lower body was strongly opposing theo by latching your legs to his own and keeping your ground.
“but you’re warm.”
“i don’t offer cuddles, so stop– ugh”
his complaints were interrupted by a deep loud groan. you would have said you hit a nerve with your forwardness, and that was his reaction.
but no.
you hit something else, something in the nether regions — your knee aimlessly nudged between his thighs in your attempts at trapping him, brushing against his cock.
his hard cock, if you were to be specific.
“oh my god, is that–”
“i told you to back–”
“is that why you’re so bitchy?”
you suddenly had a moment of epiphany: theodore nott was so irritated by your arrival because you ruined his jack-off session.
“you’re so weird, geez– ah.”
you kneed him again, this time applying more pressure to his cock. you did it to stop his mindless ramble, but also to see that raw reaction again. to see how his lips parted, quivering in pleasure, to see his annoyed eyes roll back at the slightest touch.
to feel how his shaft twitched against your leg.
“were you mid-stroke?”
oh, you were so taking advantage of his weakness, taunting and humiliating theodore for his previous actions. yet, your knee never stopped its ministration, shifting around his cock and applying just enough pressure to take theo’s breath away.
“and because of me, you didn’t finish?”
“f–fuck.”
his hand dropped completely from your head, slipping down your body and sliding right over your problematic knee. and with a harsh thug, he removed your leg altogether, forcing it in the opposite direction.
any sort of control you had over him disappeared.
“i really hate you, y’ know?”
he was angry. really angry. his hand on your knee was strong, pushing at your leg hard enough to hurt. the muscle stretch indeed burned, but so did his eyes. they were focused on your face, part of his gaze wishing to light you on fire and turn you to ashes, part of it to ignite a similar flame within you.
“give me one good reason why i shouldn’t throw you out, hm?”
his beautiful orbs betrayed him, but his tongue still spoke in lies.
he managed to captivate you fully, and for a moment you did not register his question. you only stared back into his eyes, forming a link with the hidden yet burning desire in them. that blazing lust was pouring out of his gaze straight into yours, only to slowly expand all throughout your entire body.
you were submerging in undeniable arousal, and his big hand pressing into your knee was keeping you underneath it all.
“i can help you out.”
so charmed by your own unwavering stare, theo did not registered the movement of your own hand, slowly creeping down his pajama top and sliding downwards to the band of his pants. your fingertips, still cold from theo’s negligence, dipped underneath the waistband in no time, only stopping their trail when reaching his cock.
“s–shit, fuck.”
his cock was heavy and hot in your palm, trembling at the mere contact with your cold fingers. his hips jerked upwards instinctively, his cock slotting deeper in your grip. it was all wet and sticky, covered in precum and what you assumed was theo’s own spit from before, so his shaft glided along your palm nicely.
“so cold, damn.”
a shaky exhale joined his remark, puffed against the crown of your head, as you slowly started to stroke him.
“told you so.”
you merely retorted, smirking against his clothed chest, allowing your hand to pick up a lazy, teasing rhythm. now it was the perfect time to torture him, carefully twisting your wrist and applying more pressure to the underside of his cock, or shamelessly thumbing at his weeping slit.
theodore couldn’t even complain, his tongue caged by a plethora of grunted moans and nonsensical babbles. his incoherence betrayed him, and so did his hand, leaving your poor knee alone and slapping itself on your ass.
with fingers spread out across your pants, he grabbed with vigour your left buttcheek.
“shut it.”
he growled low in his throat, all his pent-up frustration and need vibrating through both of your bodies. his hand was becoming greedier and greedier, groping and squeezing your ass at every harsh tug on his cock. and you had no mercy, sliding your hand up and down his shaft, with so much dexterity.
but when you dipped your other hand lower to his balls, fondling them at with a gentle touch, he too dipped his fingers into your pajama pants.
“oho, what do we have here?”
his warm fingers dragged downwards along your skin, smacking your ass one last time and, finally, dipping lower to your cunt. the tip of his digits pushed underneath your thong, all slutty and wet against your pussy, parting your sloppy fold with a single calculated stroke.
“dirty fucking girl.”
you moaned against his chest loud, unrestricted, taken by surprise by theo’s lack of hesitation at exploring your messy cunt. you could feel his fingers brushing up and down your slit, swimming in your arousal and collecting as much of your wetness as possible.
“all this just from jerking me off?”
he was taunting you, grinning like a little devil into your hair, somehow forgetting how needy and touch-starved he behaved just minutes ago.
you would have reminded him, really, but you couldn’t form one single coherent word as his fingers pressed down harshly on your clit.
“so so needy.”
tight little circles followed soon, his fingers toying with your little bundle of nerves to his heart’s content. theo finally found your irrefutable weakness — as long as he played with your quivering pussy, you were less annoying.
“i kind of like you like this.” theo mused, humming against your head as he peered down at your face. “look at me.”
you were less annoying and more obedient. you immediately listened to his command, raising your gaze up to his eyes, looking at him with your glassy orbs, so full of lust and desperation. your lips were caught between your teeth, already bruised and bullied in the process of quieting down.
but your tiny whines were loud enough for his ears to pick up.
you were so fucking cute.
“is that what it takes, huh? all i have to do is toy with your cunt to keep you in check?
his hand sped up, flicking your clit with the pad of his fingers. your hand on his cock stilled a while back, so overwhelmed by your own pleasure, but theo seems to not care about his release right now.
“what if i eat you out, hm? will you be a good girl for me?”
“theo! good god, yes.”
and here it was, your beautiful cracking voice, finally making its appearance after a good period of only moans and whimpers, accepting theodore’s proposal in a heartbeat. your pleading eyes were a nice touch to it all, making theo conform to your wishes without additional fuss.
“no takebacks.”
it’s all he says, like a warning, before retracting his palm from between your legs. and what he does next makes another glob of arousal gush out of you.
theodore nott removed his hand and directed it towards his mouth to lick it clean.
to lick it clean.
your wetness was all over his lips and tongue as he diligently lapped up all the stickiness from his hand.
“please, god. pleaseplease–”
“yeah, amore, i got you.”
pulling his fingers away from his mouth with a squelching pop, theo then completely discarded the covers of the sleeping bag, throwing the piece somewhere to the side.
“on your back, let me see that pretty pussy.”
you conformed to his words immediately, plopping yourself on your back and even discarding your pants and panties in the process. the garments joined the forgotten covers, the ones you’ve craved since the beginning of your intrusion.
but warmth was no longer important now, as you were practically burning with lust underneath theo’s predatory gaze.
his hands joined your knees again, applying enough pressure to part them away and create a passage for him and his hungry mouth. and no great effort was needed, your legs complying and allowing theo to finally see the mess between them.
“fuck, you’re soaking wet.”
his voice was gritty, disbelief laced with something darker, something feral. he was no longer mocking you — his gaze was locked between your thighs like a starved man, as if the gates of heaven have opened at the same time as your legs.
theo pushed your knees a bit more, just enough for him to slot himself between them. and you gasped as you felt his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your hole twitching in anticipation.
“spread wider for me, amore.”
you didn’t hesitate — again. your thighs stretched further apart for him, your muscles burning yet again from the pressure. but this was something you could handle for the sake of ultimate pleasure.
“fuckin’ perfect.” he muttered briefly and then–
his mouth was on your cunt.
his slippery tongue licked a long stripe from your pulsing entrance to your hard clit, savoring every drop of your arousal just like he did with his hand. your hips jerked upwards into his face, chasing his mouth — yet his arms immediately snaked around the upper part of your thighs, locking you in place and making you take every single flick of his tongue, every single kiss to your swollen pussy.
and when he sucked your clit in his mouth, between his plush wet lips? you sobbed.
“theo– that feels so good, fuck.”
your fingers clutched at his hair, tugging at his messed-up curls, needing something to hold onto as pleasure washed all over you. and that only made him delve into your cunt more, groaning in between your folds and making such vibrations travel straight to your clit.
your enjoyment was clear from miles away, but so was his. if you got extremely wet from fisting his cock, theo also got excruciatingly horny from licking your pussy. his hips were grounded into the sleeping mat, humping the surface in desperation as he lapped at your core.
he has been edged for quite some time now, and he was no longer patient.
he too needed to cum.
“always wanted to eat this pussy.”
theo was so pussy-drunk, god. you would have never in a million years expected theodore nott to announce between slurps and kisses how much he’s dreamed about your cunt.
“y–yeah?”
“yeah. i knew you’d have the tastiest fuckin’ cunt.”
his clothed cock was moving faster against the mat, the wet squelches of theo messily making out with your pussy being joined by the swish-ing sounds of the two materials colliding.
he was definitely close, and so were you.
“this” and he placed a kiss right against your clit. “haunted me all day.”
“shiiit… w–why?”
“your dress was so goddamn see-through, and fuck–”
theo was already picking up the pace, his tongue working harder to make you cum at the same time as him. his fingers even joined in, pulling your pussy lips apart for him to feast better on you, while his nose continued to poke and prod at your bundle of nerves.
“had a boner all fuckin’ day.”
and there it was. the full story on why theodore nott was jacking off before bed and why he was so irritated by your mere presence in his tent: he was affected by you all day and you had no idea.
“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so– ughh.”
you had no time to give him a warning, retorting to weak apologies as you creamed all over his face and tongue. thighs clamming around his head and convulsing from the immense pleasure.
theo, your brother’s best friend, just made you cum in his tent, on a camping trip with all of your close friends.
and that wasn't all.
“ah, shit, wait, wait.”
he didn’t stop.
no, no, no.
theodore continued to lap at your pussy, slurping up all of your release as he continued to jut his hips into the sleeping mat. and, finally, after a couple more seconds, with a guttural moan, he too came, spilling his release inside his boxers.
filthy, pathetic, and so so hot.
he pulled away from your pussy only after his own hips stabilized, moving up from the ground and away from between your legs. his face was wet, incredibly so, yet he was smiling bigger than ever.
with glistering lips and blown-out eyes, you expected theo to say something meaningful about the entire ordeal.
but alas, he was still the idiot friend of your brother.
“someone did eat you. but it wasn’t a bear.”
“oh, shut up.”
you were so done with him and his idiocy. if it weren’t for your shaky legs, you would have kicked him in the shins by now.
“what? you make a tasty meal.”
“nott, stop! you–”
“come tomorrow too.”
oh?
“i will steal condoms from mattheo and fuck you all night, amore.”
⏾ Summary: lifelong best friends, spending a quiet night drinking together at his house. What starts as comfortable familiarity shifts when you suggest a game of strip poker, turning playful banter into charged tension. With each round, clothing is lost, glances linger, and the line between friendship and desire slowly disappears. The game becomes an excuse to finally acknowledge what has always been there, ending with the cards forgotten and both of you giving in to a long-suppressed attraction.
⏾ Warnings: +18, MDNI, smut, squirting.
Night falls slowly over Theo’s house. You’re sitting on the living room floor, your back against the couch, a glass in your hand, low music playing from some forgotten speaker. Theo’s laughter echoes through the room before fading into an exaggerated sigh. He’s stretched out on the couch, one leg hanging over the edge, a glass of whisky resting dangerously on his thigh.
“I can’t believe Blaise said that out loud,” he says. “In front of everyone.”
“The worst part,” you reply, pointing at him with your glass, “is that he thinks he was right.”
“He always thinks he’s right.”
You clink your glass with his and take a sip. The alcohol burns pleasantly as it goes down, warming your chest. You’re sitting on the carpet, leaning against Theo’s couch as if that were your natural place. Because it is.
“And Pansy?” you ask. “Don’t tell me she was involved too.”
Theo laughs again.
“Of course. She bet that you and I would end up together before the end of the year.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“And what did you tell her?”
“That she shouldn’t bet money she wasn’t willing to lose.”
The comment hangs in the air a second too long. You ignore it… more or less.
“Our friends are obsessed with us,” you say. “It’s unhealthy.”
“It’s because they’ve known us forever.”
And it’s true.
You met in third year, when you were seated next to each other because you both talked too much in class. Theo had spent half the year in detention, and you had spent the other half defending anyone who needed defending. Two kids too curious, too smart, and far too uninterested in following pointless rules.
You grew up together. Shared homework, whispered secrets, brief fights and inevitable reconciliations. You were the first person Theo ever called home without realizing it.
“We’re best friends because we survived everything,” you say, as if reading his mind. “Changes, drama, people who come and go.”
“And because you’re the only person who doesn’t leave when I become unbearable,” he adds.
“I won’t lie,” you reply. “I consider it an extreme sport.”
You laugh. You take another sip.
The atmosphere is comfortable. Safe. Too familiar to feel dangerous… until it is.
“You know what’s funny?” you say suddenly. “That we never do anything different when we’re alone.”
Theo tilts his head.
“Is that a complaint?”
“It’s an observation.”
You look around, the dim living room, the low music, the half-finished bottles. The night stretches out in front of you like something full of possibilities you never explore.
“We could play something,” you suggest.
“What kind of something?”
Your fingers find a forgotten deck of cards on the table. You lift it, spinning it between your hands.
“Something that makes tonight… memorable.”
Theo watches you with renewed attention, as if he’s just noticed a subtle change in your voice.
“I’m always worried when you say that.”
You smile.
“Poker.”
“I’m going to beat you.”
“Maybe,” you reply, leaning against the table. “But I was thinking of adding a twist.”
“What twist?”
You look him straight in the eyes.
“Strip poker.”
Silence falls softly but heavily, like a wave approaching without warning.
And just like that, without realizing it, you cross the first line.
The deck lands on the table with a dry sound as you shuffle the cards.
Theo sits across from you, resting an elbow on the back of the couch, watching you with a calm that fools no one. The alcohol softens his movements, but not the attention he gives you.
“Last chance to back out,” he says.
“If I don’t accept now, you’d remind me for the rest of my life.”
“That’s true.”
You shuffle slowly. Too slowly. Theo follows every movement of your hands as if it’s already part of the game.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──
First round
You look up with a slow smile.
“I’ll start.”
Theo leans back a little more.
“Be gentle.”
You study your cards carefully, then the ones on the couch. Your eyes light up when you realize you can win this round with a straight. You glance at Theo and see him thoughtful.
“Ready, Nott?” you say, smiling as you raise an eyebrow.
Theo looks you in the eyes and says, “I’ll let you win this round out of courtesy, darling.”
You laugh and reveal your cards. Six, seven, and eight. You combine them with the nine and ten resting on the couch and look at Theo with a victorious smile. “Better luck next time, dear.”
Theo raises an eyebrow. “I let you win because I like you. Now shut up and tell me what piece of clothing you want me to lose.”
You look him up and down with calculated boldness.
“Your shirt.”
Theo lets out a short laugh, but he obeys. He takes it off without hurry, as if he understands it’s not just about losing fabric, but about being looked at. When he sits back down, you notice the shift in the atmosphere. You look at Theo a little longer than you should, admiring his torso.
Lately he’s been working hard on his body, and his arms prove it. Incredible biceps that don’t require effort to show the muscles decorating his arms. And his abdomen. God. This man is mouthwatering.
“Enjoying the view, princess?” he murmurs.
“Shut up.” You blush when Theo catches you staring.
Second round
You lose.
Theo says nothing at first. He watches you slowly, deliberately, as if deciding something important. He’s just won with a straight flush, and it’s clear he’s enjoying himself as he thinks about what you should lose.
“The sweater,” he says at last. “I want you to be comfortable.”
You lean forward to take it off, aware that underneath you’re only wearing a black strappy top that shows most of your breasts. You settle back onto the couch and notice Theo shamelessly staring at your chest.
Third round
You win again.
“Cheating?” Theo asks.
“Talent,” you correct.
You get up to grab another bottle of wine, and when you return, you sit closer to Theo.
“The belt,” you say.
Theo obeys. His fingers brush his waist, and the metal lands on the table. When he looks up, he’s looking at you differently. Darker. More focused.
Fourth round
You lose.
Theo doesn’t smile this time. He leans forward.
“Your pants.”
“It’s hot,” you murmur.
“Exactly.”
You take them off slowly, letting them fall carelessly. The silence thickens when you sit back down. Theo doesn’t look away.
“You were always dangerous,” he says softly. “I like the color of your panties.”
You laugh as you lie face down on the couch, trying to seduce Theo with your breasts. “So we’re playing with distractions now, huh? Okay,” he says, smiling and shaking his head.
Fifth round
Theo wins.
“My turn again,” he says, his voice deeper. “This is getting interesting. The shoes. I want you to be comfortable.”
You stand without arguing, aware of every look, every second. When you sit back down, the space between you feels smaller.
Sixth round
You win.
“There aren’t many options left,” you say softly.
You move closer to him, so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“Your pants,” you whisper. “Let’s be on equal terms.”
Theo stands. He takes them off with almost provocative slowness, holding eye contact the entire time. When he sets them aside, he remains standing in front of you.
“This doesn’t feel like a game anymore,” he says.
“It never was,” you reply. “We just needed an excuse.”
The cards lie forgotten on the table. Theo leans down toward you, one hand on your waist as you pull him by the neck into a hungry kiss.
His hands explore with deliberate slowness, your back, your shoulders, the edge of the fabric still covering you. Each touch feels like a silent question. Each breath, an answer.
Theo lifts you quickly, grabbing your ass, and carries you toward his bedroom. When you arrive, he lays you gently on his bed, and his kisses begin to trail down your neck, each one more hungry and wet than the last.
“Theo… this feels so good,” you moan, your head tilting back.
Theo continues his path until he reaches your breasts. He pulls away and slowly lowers your strappy top without breaking eye contact. Then he takes one of your breasts into his mouth while massaging the other with his hand, pinching your nipple.
“God, they’re exactly what I’ve always imagined,” he says before kissing you again, squeezing your breasts with both hands.
“Please, Theo. I need to fuck,” you beg as your hand slides over his hardened length, still covered by his boxers. “Please.”
Theo lowers his hand and slips it beneath your panties. “You’re already wet for me, sweetheart?” he says as he drags his soaked fingers over your clit. “Let me make you feel good.”
Without asking, he slides two fingers inside you and moves them quickly. You start moaning at his touch, gripping his muscles. “Ahhh, Theo, please don’t stop.” Hearing your pleas, Theo quickens his movements, sending you straight to heaven, hitting that perfect spot you love, pushing you to the edge.
“You’re doing so well for me, princess, keep going,” Theo teases while attacking your neck with wet kisses, leaving a few dark marks behind.
“Theo… I think I’m going to come,” you say between moans, enjoying every second as you tug at his hair.
Before Theo can respond, you release in a squirt, your legs trembling around his body.
“Oh, princess…” he murmurs as he looks at the mess you’ve made.
You prop yourself up on your forearms and look at him. “Wow, the rumors the girls at Hogwarts spread about your skills in bed were actually true,” you say, then laugh.
Theo looks up as he cleans you with a damp cloth and replies, “This is only the beginning, sweetheart. You haven’t seen everything yet.” He sets the cloth aside and leans in to give you a slow, sensual kiss. “Ready for another round, baby?” he asks.
“Let’s keep testing how true those rumors really were,” you say as you sit on Theo’s lap, taking control.
theodore’s favourite insult was to call you ‘insufferable’; however the way he hissed it tonight against your neck whilst pinning your wrists above your head to the common room wall make it sound suspiciously like foreplay.
wrapping your legs around his waist tightly, you tilted your head back moaning out his name in a flurry of panted gasps as he filled you to the hilt with every thrust – the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot inside that made your eyes roll back hard enough to see stars.
“insufferable fucking slut”, he choked out as you began to writhe against him; chest flush against his own with each ragged breath you took. panties chaffing the inside of your thighs with how he’d yanked them across rather than sliding them off of you. “look at you principessa – perfect little wet cock sleeve out here where anyone could walk in find you.”
your eyes fluttered open; cheeks a deep shade of cherry red as your pupils blew side and you caught his feral gaze – nipping at your bottom lip in a sad attempt at keeping quiet which gave theodore the consent he sought to drop a hand from your wrists and wrap his fingers firmly around your throat.
“c’mon now – don’t be shy. let the dungeons hear you scream.”
perfect prefect virgin - theodore nott x virgin!reader
all characters written aged up 18+
tw: virgin sex, slut shamming just for story line, best friend sex
nb: written at work on my lunch break so... sorry if it's shit but at least it isn't ai. this is to compliment the recent theo work @my-hearts-kickdrum-type-beat wrote that you can read here.
Slut – by definition – is someone who is comfortable with the idea of promiscuity across a broad range of potential partners. That: you weren’t. God; you’d never been fucked before. The ‘perfect prefect virgin’ as so many of your classmates teased you about. One of those classmates: Daphne Greengrass, who on the other hand, definitely fit the earlier definition.
Daphne was the kind of girl who could smirk and have boys dropping at her feet. It seemed that anyone with an XY chromosome makeup who got within a few foot radius of her fell under her black magic type spell. This of course, included Theodore, your best friend. The aloof, far too attractive for his own good pureblood that you’d fawned over for years since awkwardly bumping into him on the Hogwarts Express one ride in and that you’d never had the courage to pursue further.
It was a shame really. You’d day dreamed in far too many classes and touched yourself on far too many nights thinking about him and how it would feel crawling into his lap where you just knew, deep down, you should be – but alas, instead of you, Daphne was perched there as they sat in the common room late one Thursday evening, as she whispered god knows what into Theodore’s ear and he let his hands stroke eagerly at her waist a little too easily for your stomach to try and digest.
“You know, you could just tell him that you like him”, Pansy pointed out, flipping a page of the magazine she was reading without looking up at you. Your eyes had been glued across to where Theodore and Daphne sat; both warm and cosy in front of the fireplace. Hell, if it weren’t for the straggle of students still littering the dungeons you knew that they’d probably be fucking.
“It’s not that easy”, you reply, sighing as you shift to glance back at her; eyes evading the sight you simply couldn’t look away from. Or at least, you hoped it wasn’t obvious. To this, Pansy laughed. It wasn’t a giggle, but not quite a cackle. Something in between which vibrated against your skin uncomfortably.
“So then just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.”
“DTF?”, you replied.
“Down to fuck, baby girl.”
Your cheeks went red. “No – absolutely not. Fuck, no, never ugh – I just couldn’t.”
To this, Pansy merely shrugged and focused back on her magazine, “Your loss sweetheart.”
And so, you continued with the rest of your night, insanely jealous of the gorgeous blonde who had quite literally made herself comfortable on the object of your desire and wallowed in self-pity that you – the perfect prefect virgin – would more than likely at this rate; die with that honorific title.
That night, staring up at the ceiling of your dorm room was about as exciting was watching one of Trelawney’s predictions come to life. The pillow beneath your head felt softer than it should have. The curtains around you bed drawn closed. You’d suspected that a little masturbation might help clear your brain and send you into a deep lullaby state but before you could even drop your hand down between your thighs, Daphne-fucking-Greengrass came to mind and bang – night ruined.
‘Just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.’
Pansy’s words replayed in your mind as you tried to convince yourself that she was just crazy.
‘Just send him an owl with a piece of parchment that says ‘dtf’.’
…maybe an owl was excessive, but a text message? No. What a stupid thing to think. That was bad right? Texting your best friend at whatever god awful hour it was just three letters and expecting him to act like a functioning individual. Surely Theodore would just laugh at you. It’d be pathetic, but most probably fucking humorous. Would he tell his mates? Would they laugh? Would they tell people? Would rumours be started? Would you be known as the witch who couldn’t scratch her itch? Perhaps Colin Creevy would take a photo of you and send it to Rita Skeeter who would publish it as front page news. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck no… this was ridiculous.
Take a breath and calm the fuck down.
With your phone in your hand, you deliberated on the text to send – typing and erasing the words ‘can we talk’ and eventually, giving in to Pansy’s suggestion and just sending ‘dtf’. If anything, you could play it off as some cruel prank that Ms Parkinson had played on you and act naïve.
The word ‘sending’ appeared on your screen for far too long as you watched your wifi bars dwindle and strengthen. Eventually, the word disappeared entirely. Dropping your phone to your chest, you went back to staring up at the ceiling; not expecting a reply with how late it was, and yet to your surprise, less than a minute later, you felt a buzz against your breasts. Plucking the phone up – you glanced at the screen.
Teddy: Open the door.
Alright – pushy.
Swinging your legs off the bed, you waded past your curtains and with soft footsteps as to not wake up anyone else who was asleep, tip toed across the room to unlock the door. Behind it, resting against the door frame - Theodore huffing and puffing in plaid pyjama pants that hung far too low on his hips to be considered casual and no shirt on.. because honest, why would he?
“…you okay?”, you asked a little concerned. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon.
“Yes.” The word came out faster than you could have imagined and god, did it sound like a dream as it was panted.
“Are you sure?”, you pushed.
Once again, he repeated himself. “Yes.”
“Is this about the text?”
“Yes.”
“Are you here to tease me?”
“No”, he changed up his answer; yet after a final ragged breath, he shook his head from side to side. “Well.. technically – yes.”
“Technically?”
Theodore didn’t hold back stepping in to capture you in a kiss that sent stumbling backwards. If it weren’t for his hands cupping your face you’d have probably tripped or melted into a heap right there on the floor. What were you supposed to do with your hands? Touch him? Fuck – he was shirtless. Was this allowed? You didn’t know. Well, you didn’t need to – your hands found their way to his waist with the softest touch imaginable causing the muscles of his abs to flex slightly and boy with the groan that he made into your mouth you could have orgasmed right there and then.
Before you could make out anything else happening, your were being led backwards; thighs hitting the bedframe before Theodore whispered jump and you did so, catching you in his arms for just long enough to throw you back against your bed. Slipping past the curtains, the mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled above you – caging you in; lips nipping at that sensitive spot on your neck you never knew you had as your back arched willingly.
“Theo--.”
You could barely get his whole name out as he settled between your thighs and rocked his hips against your own; your legs parting wider than you’d intended. Trailing a pepper of kisses across your skin and down your throat, he used his teeth to pop open the buttons of your pyjama top and took in your scent – that fruity strawberry perfume you’d brought on a whim once in Hogsmeade last year. Absolute perfection.
“Can I?”, the words he spoke sounded suspiciously like a beg. You nodded before you could whimper out a yes that sounded more like an ‘uh-huh’ and that was all it took for Theodore to curl his fingers around the hem of your pyjama shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs with a soft, smooth drag that you assisted with mercifully. Biting your lip, unsure of where this was going, you were mortified to watch him drop his head down and –
“Oooh..”
One lick straight up your core between your folds that you hadn’t noticed were dripping wet and you fell silent. Mouth falling into a perfect O-shape, your eyes widened, pupils exploding as he began to devour you slowly – surely – like a last meal he wanted to both savour and never forget. A finger finding its way into your mouth, you bit down on a knuckle harshly and suppressed a moan that you were sure would have woken the entire dorm. It would have worked had Theo not suddenly sucked at your clit which was far too over sensitive and not yet received any attention.
“OH MY GOD!”
Quick thinking on his behalf had a hand come up to cover your mouth as a string of lewd phrases and moans rambled against his palm. Your nails scraping at the bedsheets, your fingers weren’t sure where to go but hearing Theodore pop off your clit with a delicious smack and half push up to gaze at you; your hands quickly froze.
“You alright, principessa?”
It wasn’t what Theodore asked, but how he said it before placing two fingers in his mouth to suck on and gently rub at your entrance that made your whole body quiver as your eyes rolled back. Nodding nervously, you bit your bottom lip and tried to take a deep breath – nervous, excited, squeamish.
“It’s okay – we’ll take our time. I know your new to this. Fuck.. have I told you tonight that you look beautiful?”
You could feel your arousal drip out and coat your thighs, the bed; you were wet and so were his fingers, and chin, and ugh, those blue eyes of his looked oh so glossy and innocent as circled your entrance and slowly slid a finger in. You tensed. He stopped at the first knuckle. You didn’t breathe. He talked you through it. Whimpering in pleasure, pain, pride, prudence your body accepted his fingers more and more. Knuckle by knuckle, inch by inch. First one. Then another.
“You’re doing so well my girl, so well.”
His girl? Did he want you to faint at this rate? Gosh – having said that would have worked. I mean, hell – it did. You were already a mess. Metaphorically and figuratively. Trying not to lose yourself, you worked through the feeling of his fingers plunging in and out of you – the way he scissored them apart ever so gently; the way his thumb curled up to draw stars on your clit that matched the ones you were seeing in your eyes. His breath warm and inviting against your skin. This was so much better than touching yourself – so much better than daydreaming. Without realising it; you rocked your hips a few times shamelessly, trying to chase the feeling.
When Theo felt he’d worked you open enough; he removed his fingers – causing a murmur of disappointment to escape you as he crawled up the bed and asked a husky, “You sure about this?”, to have you almost pleading with a high pitched “please”, as he fiddled with his waist band; pyjama pants shimmying down lower and down to his knees as his thick, hard, heavy cock sprung free, smacking his stomach with a glistening pre-cum bead. Oh the sound..
“If it’s too much – tell me yeah?”
You couldn’t respond. He was breathing whilst you’d forgotten how to. Sliding his cock between your folds; the mushroom head catching your clit that almost made you scream; Theo lined up at your entrance, ordered in a whisper for you to look at him and used the wetness of your cunt to slowly push in. he took his time, stretching you wide and suddenly, the earlier scissoring made sense.
“Fuck.. Nott.. holy--.”
“--Salazar.”
The two of you stopped for a moment.
You let out a pant.
He swallowed a groan.
Another inch in.
You winced.
He had a hand on your hip.
Your nails clawed into his shoulders.
The both of you moaned.
Gritting your teeth; a hiss of air blew through them as he sunk in once more; filling you entirely to the hilt like nothing you’d ever felt before. Oh there was no way you’d go back to touching yourself after this. Pausing; Theodore shifted both hands to your thighs and held the outside of them firmly as he rocked in and out of you with soft, paced thrusts that were every inch as good as your dreams.
“J-just…f-feel-feels go-good-good.”
Were you convincing yourself, or him? The praise made Theodore snap his hips into you but after an almost scream he hadn’t expected that you let out, he put on the brakes. Calm and in control. Each thrust pacing.
“So-fuck, so fucking tight.”
Now that was a given.
The apple of your cheeks flushed a hundred shades of red; your skin tingled, you bra felt too tight, your lips too dry, your body like a dream. Theodore’s breath was hitched once again – just like it had been at your door, just like you’d imagined it so many nights before – you, you best friend..
“A.. a little more?”, you coo’d with an innocent voice, but he knew better; stalling.
“This is just perfect, bella. Take it easy yeah; take it slow..”
“Would you be this slow with Daphne?”
What an idiot. Of course, you had to ask and potentially ruin the greatest fucking moment of your life; but you were surprised by his answer that came rather quick.
“Wouldn’t know.” Head lolling to one side, you felt your back arch again as his hands shifted from your thighs to your waist; firm and true. “She’s not you – hell.. have I told you that you’re beautiful?”
You couldn’t help but laugh as Theo repeated his earlier words; caught in a daze – abs tightening at the same time your own stomach did. Thighs shaking; you tried your best to hold out a little longer, but with how he worked your clit and the sensations and the trying to keep quiet and the barely there moans and the tenderness and the way he kissed your jaw and stroked your hair and whispered your name into the crook of your neck – resistance was futile.
A warm sensation washed across you from head to toe. You clenched; body tightening in a way you didn’t know was possible as your hands knotted into his hair and pulled him up for a lip sealing kind of slow burn kiss. Theo pulled out; something hot and sticky painting your thighs, the sheets, his ego. You remembered how to breathe. He took each breath in as his own and fell off to bed beside you; an arm loosely trailing across your waist; watching you amorously.
“Next time…”, he caught his breath, “…don’t text so late.”
“You know, you’re lucky you even got one.”
“Pansy?”, Theo asked calmly.
“She may have convinced me.. yeah”, you replied; half turning towards him.
Out of the blue – or maybe, not so out of it; a know it all sounding, “YOU’RE WELCOME!” is yelled across the room that you both giggle to.
“So”, you breathe; heart racing, cheeks from red to magenta to pink.
“Yeah…”, Theo replies; chest rising and falling a little harder making him struggle to speak.
“We should do that again sometime.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Yeah.”
"Sounds like a plan", he murmurs, curling against your side and nuzzling his face into your neck.
“Oh and your lap…”, you mutter, “…I think you should start reserving that spot just for me.”
“Aww, Principessa, don’t cry. Y’know Theo’s only teasing.”
You aggressively rolled your eyes, a foul look of distaste on your face, “Stop talking about yourself in the Third person, it’s so fucking weird. And I’m not crying, you dick.”
Theo laughed, “Someone’s really riled up today, hm? You’re just making this more fun for me.”
“Clearly.” You huffed, irritated — he was really winding you up today.
Something about teasing you for hours on end, putting you through intense mental stress to not absolutely obliterate him with one spell or break his nose with your first, exhilarated him. He absolutely loved it.
And this brutal, relentless teasing never ended.
Oh, no.
Theo, to the blind-eye, to a fellow passerby, would look like your average teenage bully. Someone who wouldn’t let you be — always there to shoot a snide remark and ruin your day. But, those same teasing words spat from his deep, rasped voice irritated you in public.
But, sent you absolutely wild when he had you all to himself.
Theo was pressed so close to you, you could smell his woody, musky cologne, the smell of sex and sweat leaving your nostrils for half a second as he yanked you upwards from the sheets and up against his chest.
“Really acted up today, didn’t you, darling?” He rasped in your ear, panting ever so slightly as his pace remained brutal inside you, “So disrespectful.”
“M-m’sorry!” You forced out, tears slipping from the corner of your eyes, the sheer force of his cock sliding devilishly fast in and out of your squelching pussy — his fat tip repeatedly slamming against the most vulnerable spot in your eager walls had you seeing stars.
He tutted, licking a stripe up your neck to meet his lips with your ear, before whispering, “Not good enough, Tesoro.” And forcing you back down into an arch, a gasp ripped from your throat, as he pinned your arms harshly behind you, speeding up his harsh thrusts, grunting in sheer determination to make you regret ever answering him back.
“So pathetic,” He spat, laughing cruelly behind you, reaching underneath you to pinch your throbbing clit, “Let me bully you all day, but then use your easy little pussy whenever I want. ‘Such a fucking whore.” Theo seethed, a breathy laugh following.
You cried under him into his pillow, his words hitting you right in the chest — the sting nothing compared to the stretch between your legs at the sheer size of his thick cock splitting you open. But, the sound of Theo’s judgemental laugh at the sound of your wet pussy and eager whines of pleasure, sent waves of embarrassment through your soul.
“That’s it, baby, keep cryin’ for Theo.” He huffed, his thrusts getting sloppy as he grew closer, “Take this cock and keep being my little slut.”
You whined as he rolled your clit between his fingers a certain way that had you finishing around him — crying his name as you came around him shamefully, pussy clenching around his twitching cock.
“Fuuuuck, yeah, I’m cumming, baby — fuck, take it, you stupid bitch.”
Theo filled you up to the hilt — his cum squelching out the sides of his length as he fucked it into you, groaning at the feeling of your quivering walls around him. He remained inside you until he caught his breath, huffing out one final last time before slipping his softening cock out of you with a quiet hiss.
You winced as you slid onto your back, eyes closing as you attempted to ignore the throbbing between your legs as the empty feeling consumed you. Theo leant over you, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your parted lips, forcing your eyes open.
“Up, darling.” He whispered, eyes boring into your own with seriousness, “You’re not one of the girl’s I let stay after I’m done with them.”
mdni, 18+ content; established relationship, (slight) fighting, teasing, praise, fingering
You don’t usually fight—truth is, you never fight—but the past week? It’s been like walking through a minefield, every step threatening to blow. It feels cursed, as though some invisible hand decided the two of you needed to claw at each other over every trivial thing. The tension between you and Theo doesn’t just hang in the air; it coils, tight and electric, like a storm waiting to break.
When you catch his gaze, you notice how his eyes have sharpened—once soft and steady, now edged with something colder, harsher—and the sight makes your stomach twist. You hate it. You hate him looking at you like that.
“Wanna sleep over at my dorm tonight?” Theo asks, his voice carrying the faintest crack of weariness, like he already expects the fight before it begins.
You pause, weighing your words, but your chest is already tight. “Sorry, love,” you manage, with a forced lightness. “I just need to wake up early tomorrow. You know I always sleep in when I’m with you.” It’s the truth, but not the whole truth. The real reason presses like a secret against your ribs—you’re afraid. Afraid that if you stay, you’ll unravel into yet another pointless argument.
Theo exhales, a sound more like a scoff than a sigh, and it grates against your nerves. The dismissal in it. The dissatisfaction. It feeds your anger, makes it swell hot and reckless. You clench your fists at your sides, then force yourself to speak, slicing through the silence that feels heavy enough to choke. “I can stay for a little while though. If that’s okay.” The words scrape your throat, sharper than you intended, the bite in your voice undeniable. “Yeah, it is,” Theo replies, and his tone mirrors yours—sharp edges reflecting sharp edges, a perfect echo of irritation.
You start walking faster, your heels striking the pavement like punctuation marks to your anger, each step a small declaration of war. Theo lags a step behind, and for some reason, that only fuels the fire. By the time you reach his dorm, you’re already simmering, arms crossed tight over your chest, foot tapping impatiently as you wait for him to unlock the door.
The second the lock clicks, something inside you breaks. You don’t hesitate, don’t even give him time to breathe—your mouth crashes into his like you’ve been starving for it. Your smaller frame shoves him backward, hard, until his back slams against the door with a loud thud. The sound rattles through the room, but neither of you care. You pin him there, your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt like you could tear the fabric straight from his skin if you wanted.
The kiss is wild, teeth clashing, tongues fighting, neither of you willing to give the other an inch. It’s not gentle—it’s war. Every ounce of irritation, every cutting word from the past week, every sharp look exchanged—it all spills into this moment. You bite his bottom lip hard enough to make him groan, and you smirk against his mouth because you wanted to hear it.
Theo’s hands fly to your waist, gripping you tight, like he’s trying to ground himself—or maybe hold you back—but you shove them higher, pressing his wrists above his head against the door, claiming control. His sharp inhale makes your stomach flip, but you don’t let yourself soften. Not tonight. Tonight, this isn’t about tenderness. “You’re so damn infuriating,” you growl against his mouth, but your words melt into another bruising kiss before he can answer. Your nails scrape down his arms as you release him, only to drag your hands lower, tugging at his belt, your movements impatient, demanding.
Theo laughs, low and breathless, though his voice carries the same edge as yours. “Guess you’ve found a better way to fight with me.”
“Shut up,” you snap, yanking him toward you by his waistband, your mouth returning to his, harder this time, hungrier. The kiss tastes like fire, like fury and want blurred into something dangerous. When he finally manages to push you back a step, it’s not to escape—it’s to spin you, pressing you against the door instead, his body crowding yours, his lips at your throat. The air between you is hot, electric, every touch heavy with weeks of unsaid things. And you know, as his teeth graze your skin and your breath hitches despite yourself, that you’re done pretending this was ever just fighting.
Theo’s body pins yours to the door, his chest pressing into yours, but instead of giving you exactly what you’re clawing for, he slows down. The bastard slows down. His lips trail deliberately along your jaw, down to your throat, where he lingers—teeth grazing, tongue flicking—just enough to make your knees threaten to give out. You fist his hair, tugging hard, demanding more. “Theo,” you bite out, your voice sharp with frustration, “stop playing.”
He chuckles against your skin, maddeningly calm for someone who was just as angry minutes ago. “Funny,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear, “you didn’t seem to mind me playing when you had me pinned.” His hands slide slowly—too slowly—down your sides, his fingertips burning through your clothes, until they grip your hips with bruising force. He holds you there, close enough that you can feel exactly how much he wants you, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in.
The tension makes your head spin. You buck your hips against his, and his smirk deepens, infuriatingly smug. “Impatient, aren’t we?” You glare at him, lips swollen, chest heaving. “Don’t act like you don’t want this just as much.”
“Oh, I do, dolcezza” His voice is low, teasing, like honey dripping with venom. He dips down suddenly, capturing your mouth in a kiss so deep it steals your breath. Just when you start to melt into it, when your body arches against his, he pulls back, leaving you gasping, chasing after him. His thumb brushes across your bottom lip, deliberately slow, his eyes dark with amusement. “But I like watching you lose your composure even more.”
That does it. You shove him hard, spinning him so he’s the one against the door again. You expect him to fight back, to crash into you with the same raw hunger you’ve been throwing at him all week—but instead, Theo goes still. Too still. His eyes gleam with something dangerous, and before you can react, his hand catches your wrist mid-motion, pinning it above your head against the wood. “Easy,” he murmurs, the word sharp but maddeningly calm, like he has all the time in the world. His other hand trails down your side, slow enough to make you squirm, until it rests heavy on your hip. He presses in, his body crowding yours, but doesn’t kiss you. Doesn’t move. Just hovers close enough that you can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. “Theo,” you whine, frustration and need lacing your voice, “don’t play with me.”
“Oh, but that’s exactly what I want to do,” he says, voice dark velvet, smug and infuriating. His thumb strokes lazily against your hip, holding you in place with infuriating ease. “Look at you. So worked up you can’t even think straight. All week you’ve been snapping at me, trying to pick fights… and for what? So I’d finally pin you here like this?” Your pulse hammers in your throat. “Shut up,” you snap, though your voice betrays you, thinner, needier than you’d like.
He smirks, lowering his mouth until his lips just barely brush yours, never closing the gap. “You don’t really want me to shut up.” His voice dips lower, huskier, each word dragging heat across your skin. “You want me to take my time… make you earn it.” The deliberate pause that follows is unbearable. You push against his chest, trying to force him closer, but he doesn’t budge. He just chuckles, low and taunting, his mouth grazing your jaw before trailing down your throat, laying feather-light kisses that make your knees weaken, while still denying you the kiss you’re desperate for. “Patience,” he whispers against your skin, his breath hot. “I’ll give you what you want. But not until I’ve had my fun first.”
Theo’s grip on your wrist tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he’s the one in charge now. His lips drag down your throat, slow and deliberate, leaving trails of heat across your skin. Each time you try to push closer, he pulls back, that maddening smirk playing at his mouth like he’s savoring every second of your impatience.
“You think you’re in control?” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice low, taunting. “All week you’ve been barking at me, starting fights… pretending you could win.” He lets his teeth scrape lightly at your skin, and the sharp sting pulls a gasp from your throat. “But we both know who’s really in charge here.”
Your free hand claws at his shoulder, trying to drag him closer, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he catches your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, burning, and far too amused at how easily he’s unraveling you.
“Say it,” he whispers, hovering a breath away from your lips. “Say you want me.”
Your pride bristles—you want to snap at him, curse him, anything but give him what he wants. But his thumb drags across your bottom lip, slow, teasing, and it makes your breath stutter. He notices. Of course he does. His smirk deepens.
“The longer you fight me,” he says, his mouth brushing just below your ear, “the longer I’ll drag this out.”
It’s infuriating. It’s unbearable. And when he finally kisses you again, it’s agonizingly slow—his tongue sliding against yours, claiming, teasing, but never giving you the rough, hungry kiss you crave. He’s controlling the pace, the pressure, everything, and it’s driving you insane.
When you arch against him, desperate, he chuckles darkly, pulling back just enough to make you whine. “There it is,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and sin. “That little sound I’ve been waiting for. You’re going to give me everything tonight, cara… and I’m going to take my time.”
Theo finally releases your wrist, only to let his hands wander lower—down your sides, over the curve of your waist—before slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His touch is maddeningly light at first, fingertips skimming your bare skin as if he has no intention of hurrying. Every brush makes your stomach clench, makes your body arch toward him in silent begging.
“Sensitive tonight, aren’t we?” he teases, his lips grazing your ear. “All that anger… and now look at you. Shaking for me.”
You want to snap back, to throw another sharp retort his way, but the words die on your tongue when his hands finally push your shirt higher, bunching the fabric above your ribs. He takes his time, deliberately slow, his knuckles brushing across your stomach as though he’s memorizing every inch.
You grab at his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours, but again—he doesn’t give you what you want. His lips barely brush yours before he dips lower, trailing down your throat, nipping at your collarbone, dragging out every second of the build-up. His tongue flicks against your skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp, and he grins against you at the sound.
“Impatient little thing,” he murmurs, one hand squeezing your hip as the other drags teasingly along the waistband of your pants. He hooks his finger there, tugging just enough to make you whimper, but not enough to give you relief. “Tell me how badly you want it.”
Your pride burns. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction—but then he slips his hand lower, palm pressing over you through your clothes, slow, deliberate pressure that makes your knees buckle. A sharp cry slips from your lips before you can stop it, and Theo chuckles darkly, savoring the sound.
Theo presses you harder into the door, his body caging yours in place, and finally his hand slips past the barrier of your waistband. His touch is slow, deliberate, fingers grazing where you ache the most, but never with enough pressure to satisfy. You jerk against him, a sharp whimper escaping your throat, and he groans low in his chest like the sound feeds him.
“God, you’re already this wet for me?” he taunts, his lips brushing your ear. “And I haven’t even started.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders, frustration clawing through you. “Theo,” you gasp, desperate now, “stop—”
“Stop?” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark and glinting with wicked amusement. His fingers still, hovering maddeningly close.
Your answer comes in the way you push against him, grinding into his hand, pride dissolving as the need wins out. He smirks, the bastard, and presses harder, just the way you wanted. Your breath hitches, and he watches you closely, drinking in every reaction like it’s his favorite reward.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, moving his hand with agonizing slowness. “Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”
The teasing pace is unbearable. Every time your body tenses, chasing release, he eases off, keeping you teetering on the edge but never letting you fall. He kisses you through it—deep, consuming, his tongue sliding against yours as if he’s savoring the taste of your frustration.
“You’ve been fighting me all week,” he says between kisses, his voice low and ragged. “And now look at you—melting, begging without even realizing it.” His fingers curl just right, and your back arches against the door, a broken moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.
He growls at the sound, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he pushes you higher, his pace still torturously measured. “There’s my girl,” he whispers, lips brushing yours. “Don’t you dare hold back from me now.”
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