pearl

hi i'm pearl! she/her eighteen cat lover oolong tea theodore nott enthusiast smiskis pink lace books dancing ballet

🌷 masterlist ; latest work

word count: 760

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.

word count: 7,336

summary: (includes smut) you and theodore have been friends since 4th year, and are like peas in a pod. there's nothing that can separate the two of you. so when theodore becomes increasingly jealous at the attention you're receiving after your glow-up the summer before 7th year, he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands.

authors note: i lowkey hate this i can't lie... but i really just wanna get all of my stuff out since i'm not going to be able to write NEARLY as much for essentially the whole summer :( anyway hope u all enjoy this!

🌷 masterlist

Everyone knew Theodore Nott was good-looking, in that effortless way where he never had to try to get other people’s attention and affections. Even so, he never let his ego swell, and never really paid attention to his or other people’s looks. He gave his hair a good tousle in the mornings, and that was that. He just assumed that’s what everyone else did. When his friends would rank girls in their year from prettiest to ugliest, Theodore could never give his opinion. He didn’t have one. He simply just never thought about those sorts of things.

Most people were surprised when the two of you became friends in 4th year. You weren’t ugly, no, but let’s just say you weren’t exactly a head turner. But none of that mattered to Theodore. That’s why your friendship with him was so refreshing. He understood you on a level that no one else did, because he saw who you were past your physical features that everyone else saw as unflattering or as flaws. He appreciated you for your humor and wit, the way you read people’s emotions easily, how you can turn any bad situation into a good one from sheer mindset alone. You were more of a side character to the rest of the world who viewed him as the main one, but the two of you were best friends, and that was all you guys needed.

The summer before you and Theodore’s last year at Hogwarts changed everything. Theodore had spent his summer with family in Italy, as he always did. But you were in for a change. Instead of heading to London like you did every summer, you and your girlfriends took a trip to visit the beaches of France. London was always awfully dreary and bleak, so imagine everyone’s surprise when you came back to Hogwarts looking tanner and… different. Very different.

Your personality remained the same, your carefree spirit still shining through. Your laugh, your friends, your brain, all worked the same. But everything about you, physically was different. You knew something was different immediately when Mattheo, Theodore’s best mate, actually asked you how your summer went when you met up with them in the train car on the way to Hogwarts. You almost choked on your water when he acknowledged your existence seemingly for the first time in the 3 years you had known him.

It was just a few weeks into the school year, and you were already receiving a bountiful amount of attention from boys. Boys, who in previous years had either ignored you or avoided you. Suddenly, everyone wanted to be your Potions partner. Everyone wanted to talk to you during meals in the Great Hall. Even girls were trying to recruit you into their social circles, acting like they were close with you or like they had been friends with you since forever. You didn’t mind the attention, no, but Theodore did. He hated it.

He knew it was selfish, but he had always thought of you as his best friend, and his best friend only. Even though he had a line of people waiting to be his friend (or more), he couldn’t stand the thought of you replacing him with someone funnier, more interesting, more deserving to be your best friend. He hated himself for every punch he felt in his gut when you smiled at another girl or waved at another boy. He hated himself even more for how weak he felt, and how he had no power to stop it.

But most of all, he hated himself for falling victim to this new charm of yours. He hated himself for noticing when your smile would linger on him, when your crinkled eyes would shine as they looked at him. He hated himself for watching you from across the room, just like every other bloke was now doing. He hated himself for not being able to control the blush that lingered on his cheeks every time your hand grazed his forearm or your foot touched his under a table. Theodore felt like he was losing his mind.

He knew he was bound to break, at one point or another. This tipping point just happened to be after the opening quidditch match of the season. Slytherin lost to Hufflepuff, out of all houses, which had only rubbed salt in the wound for Theodore. He had spent almost every second of the game focusing more on making sure his facial expressions didn’t look weird to you instead of catching the actual snitch. Of course, everything that he wanted to go right went wrong, and he ended up almost face-planting into the grass a multitude of times. After the match, he was absolutely pissed, mud stains everywhere and a clear look of frustration painted across his face. All he wanted was to see you and talk to you. So when he found you casually chatting with a Hufflepuff who’s face looked way too smug in Theodore’s opinion, he swore he could’ve exploded with anger. He wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk off of the Hufflepuff’s face. That would teach him a lesson.

“Hey,” Theodore murmurs from behind you right beside your ear, his glare fixed on the Hufflepuff as a sort of silent threat. You touch her, you’re dead.

“Theo!” you jump, startled as you turn your head around to look at him. “Where the hell did you come from?” “We need to talk,” Theodore says simply, paying no regard to your question at all, turning all of his attention towards you. The Hufflepuff opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, Theodore’s hand is on your arm, dragging you away firmly, your steps stumbling before eventually falling into rhythm next to his.

Theodore eventually drags you into the locker room, and you immediately shut your eyes, afraid of seeing something you shouldn’t. “Theo- I can’t be in here-”

“Who was that?” Theodore interrupts sharply, disrupting your train of thought. “And open your eyes. There’s no one here. The match ended ages ago,” he says bitterly, as if all of the time he had spent looking for you was somehow your fault.

You follow his command, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Ow- Theo!” you exclaim after yanking your arm out of his grasp. “Merlin, he’s just some guy I met in Potions. What has gotten into you?” As soon as the words fall from your lips, you start to notice his weariness, how taught his body stance is, and the dirt stains all over his uniform. Your heart starts to feel heavy with sympathy, but the moment is quickly broken.

“Just some guy?” Theodore repeats your words dryly, his voice laced with sarcasm. “He was looking at you like you were some piece of meat.” He rakes a hand through his damp hair, messy from flying, and exhales sharply. An Italian curse slips out from under his breath: “Stronzo.”

“Look,” he mutters, suddenly avoiding your eyes. “I don’t care who talks to you or whatever, but don’t just stand there smiling at them like that.”

Your eyes narrow, and you start to get defensive. “Since when do you dictate my choices?” you shoot back, feeling utterly confused by his difference in behavior. Theodore stiffens at your words, his dark eyes flashing with some emotion that you can’t quite name—hurt? Frustration? You can tell he doesn't like the tone in your voice. Not one bit.

“I’m not dictating anything,” he snaps, but it lacks its usual edge. “I just… fuck, bambina…” His tone makes you feel weak in the knees, your hand subconsciously grabbing his wrist to support him. He drags a hand down his face, exhaling hard through gritted teeth. Seemingly for once, Theodore, the guy who always has a snarky comeback or cold dismissal ready, is struggling to find words. “Since when do you let random people talk to you like that?” It comes out more vulnerable than intended, possessive without him meaning it to be.

“People just come up to me,” you answer defensively, crossing your arms over your chest as if ready to start a fight with him. “I don’t know. You’re the one who’s the expert on this kind of stuff.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Theodore mutters, his voice tighter than he intended. He forces himself to breathe, to catch his breath, to chill the fuck out. The way you crossed your arms with a protective and guarded stance, because of him, made an ugly feeling twist in his stomach. “Merlin, everyone is noticing now.” He seems to finally look at you properly, his dark eyes looking into yours. He has new freckles on his face now, probably from summer days in Italy that you hadn’t been a part of. It mildly irritates you, that even just standing there, pissed off, he looks unfairly good. Your throat goes dry.

“It’s just… weird,” is all Theodore can manage to say. This isn’t even about the Hufflepuff anymore.

“I think it’s weird too,” you say slowly, not really seeing where Theodore was trying to go with this. “But, it’s not like it changes anything between us. Right?”

It hits him then, as he looks at your clueless expression, that you haven’t changed at all, even with the new attention. It hits him like a bludger to the chest: you have no idea. No idea that he’d been watching. Noticing. Wanting.

“No,” he says a little too quickly, a little too stiff. “Of course not.” Yet, his eyes betray him. Dark and stormy with something unspoken as they flick over your face one more time before darting away again to the wall behind you. You awkwardly shift from one foot to the other, not really knowing what to say. This is uncharted territory for you—it had never been awkward with Theodore before. Even though you had both literally just agreed that nothing had changed, it feels like something has. You can tell that Theodore noticed the shift to awkwardness and hesitation as well, and that just made you feel even worse. This quiet tension between you two is completely foreign. You’ve never felt uncomfortable or cautious around him before, or second-guessed words or silences.

Theodore clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Wanna smoke?” he blurts out suddenly, jerking his chin toward the exit. You stifle a laugh, nodding a yes, and a tiny, relieved smirk tugs at his mouth. Typical Theodore, breaking the silence by asking for a smoke break. Although it did make the moment feel less gauche and more natural. “Let me get out of my uniform real quick.”

Once Theodore is wearing his robes, the two of you walk to your usual nook—a dimly lit alcove half-hidden by a stone arch. Theodore leans against the wall, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering you one first. You hold the cigarette between your fingers and between your lips, leaning slightly forward so Theodore can light you up. The small flame that emits from his silver lighter casts shadows across his sharp features, and you can’t help but notice the haunting sort of beauty that he possesses. The routine feels familiar, safe. Something the two of you have done countless times before. You haven’t told a soul, but these memories of smoking with Theodore in the oddest places are some of your most cherished ones.

After Theodore lights his own cigarette, he takes a deep drag before exhaling smoke through slightly parted lips. For a second, the two of you just stand there, silent but comfortable again, the tension from earlier easing with each shared breath.

“So, do you want to talk about the shit show of the match you just had, or no?” you ask calmly, watching and waiting for his reaction through the smoke. He only scoffs, rolling his eyes, but it lacks real annoyance. It’s akin to exhausted resignation.

“Fuck no,” he mutters, tapping ash onto the stone floor. “I swear, my broom was possessed by some spiteful pixie or something.” He takes another drag before adding dryly, “Draco cheered so hard when I almost ate shit in mid-air.” The mental image of Draco laughing at Theodore makes you giggle. Or maybe it was just the nicotine in your bloodstream now. “Bloody stupid move, too. I should’ve just stuck to basic formations.”

You shrug. “Taking risks is fine. I’m sure you’ll do great next time. Malfoy’s a bitch, anyway.” Theodore snorts at that, smoke curling around the two of you as he smirks at your bluntness. Merlin, have you missed this. Talking to Theodore about everything and nothing, feeling completely at ease with him.

“Sì, absolutely,” he agrees, taking another lazy drag. “Draco’s got the personality of a moldy sock.” His insult makes you chuckle, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you start to concentrate on blowing rings with the smoke of your cigarette. Theodore watches you, mesmerized, as your rings curl and float between the two of you like ghostly hoops. It’s stupid. So stupid. But there’s something oddly comforting about this situation—the quiet shared smoke, the way your fingers hold the cigarette so gracefully and with practiced ease. It all makes his stomach do a traitorous little flip.

He quickly looks away before his thoughts can take root any further. “Show off,” he mutters instead of grabbing your body closer to his to kiss you senseless, which is what he really wants to do.

“You’re the one who taught me that, idiot,” you murmur, smiling up at him through your hooded eyes. Theodore’s breath hitches as he realizes how close the two of you really are, almost touching, and suddenly, the small space between the two of you feels charged.

“Oh, did I now?” Theodore plays dumb, but his voice comes out lower than intended. Rough around the edges. His words along with the teasing lilt in his voice make you subconsciously press your thighs together. He shifts slightly, accidentally-on-purpose closing that last inch so that his chest presses lightly against yours. You can feel his warmth through his robes. Merlin, this is dangerous. How can something as simple as leaning on each other feel like foreplay?

“You did,” you retort, swatting his shoulder gently with your free hand. “Don’t play dumb.” Theodore lets out a quiet huff of laughter, caught, yet he doesn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he just stays there, close to you, smoke curling into the air between you two like lazy whispers. It’s nice. Maybe even too nice. The kind of peace that makes your chest ache because it feels different now, the familiarity tangled up with something new and terrifyingly fragile.

Theodore takes one last drag before discarding the butt of his cigarette, his dark eyes fixed on your lips as you take another puff. “Wanna ditch dinner?” he murmurs, one hand moving to tuck a stray curl of hair behind your ear. His touch is so soft it makes your heart stutter. “I’ve got firewhisky in my dorm.”

You chuckle, shaking your head at his antics. “You’re just trying to avoid your friends so they can’t make fun of how badly you played today,” you tease softly.

“Maybe,” he admits shamelessly, nudging you softly. “Mattheo wouldn’t shut up about it. Called me ‘Disastro Nott’ twice already.” He plucks your finished cigarette from your fingertips, discarding it the same way he did his own. He has this habit of always finishing what you started, which you honestly find endearing. “Plus, I’d rather be with you anyway,” he adds, quieter now.

A cheeky smile adorns your face, his small confession making your heart swell. Despite all of the attention you’re getting from others lately, you still only glow under Theodore’s recognition and no one else's. “Let’s go then?” you say softly, interlocking your pinky with his, a habit you can’t seem to break since forming it sometime during 4th year when Theodore had to drag you away from a stray Puffskein that you wanted to smuggle back into Hogwarts and keep as a pet.

“Let’s go,” he responds, already turning to lead the way. The two of you walk close together, no rush or pretenses, your arm brushing against his with every step toward the dungeons. Just the usual flowy chatter that you will never tire of.

Once you step inside his dorm room, Theodore kicks the door shut behind you. His area of the room is typically messy, with clothes strewn over his chair, a half-empty bottle of cologne sitting on his desk, posters for Italian football teams peeling at the corners off the wall. Stepping into his space is like seeing all the layers of him, unfiltered and laid out. You always feel honored every time you’re let in to see something so personal.

He beelines straight for the small trunk under his bed where he kept most of his prohibited items, pulling out a bottle of amber firewhisky for the two of you to share. “Come here,” he mutters, and of course you follow without hesitation, sitting down next to him on his bed. You watch him twist off the cork with practiced ease, your gaze intense as he takes a swig straight from the bottle. “No glasses. We’ll have to drink like this.”

“Fine with me.” You take the bottle from him, taking a sip and wincing as the liquor slides down and burns your throat. “So, do you sneak girls into your dorm to do this often, or what?” You hand the bottle back to him, taking off your outer robe and throwing it somewhere across the room, the alcohol and your vicinity to Theodore making you feel warm. His gaze flickers to your legs, your skirt hiding close to nothing, and he quickly looks away, his throat bobbing with a controlled restraint.

Theodore scoffs at your words, as if they’re the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. Though, it’s not even a weird question to ask. Everyone knows that Theodore is nothing short of a ladies man. He has women fawning at his feet, waiting at his beck and call at any hour of the day. But he’s never paid attention to them before. He only pays attention to you. “This shit is for me and Mattheo. Occasionally Pansy if she needs a pick-me-up.”

Pansy. Her name makes your heart twist uncomfortably in your chest, yet you avoid dwelling on it. You hate the thought that Theodore might prefer other girls over you. But that’s just because he’s your best friend. Right?

You take the bottle as he hands it back to you, taking a larger swig this time. Swallowing is a challenge. Theodore moves to lean against the headboard of his bed, his long legs stretching out behind you as you sit on the edge of the bed. He watches you drink, and notices everything. The way your throat bobs as you swallow, how your nose scrunches slightly at the burn.

“You alright?” He asks quietly, not about Pansy, but about this. About sitting so close on his bed like it was normal when everything felt anything but. You bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something you’ll regret later.

“I just… I mean, maybe it’s just me. But don’t we feel, like, disconnected lately?” Theodore watches you turn your gaze around to him, and the thought of him being so wrapped up in his own stupid jealousy, noticing everyone else looking at you, that he hasn’t even considered how you might feel, makes him sick. He grabs the bottle from your hands, placing it down on the nightstand next to his bed, before he gestures you over. He contracts a leg so that you can move to sit in between them, setting it down again once you’re in the middle.

“Yeah,” he admits roughly. “We do.” One of his hands grabs your wrist gently to rub his thumb over your pulse point, as a soothing gesture. Your heart is beating fast.

“Do you– I mean, do you not…” you hesitate, not sure how to articulate your words properly without sounding like an insecure girlfriend. “Do you not like me anymore? Do you not want to be as close?”

Theodore’s facial expression twists, as if he can’t even fathom your words ever being true. “No,” he says fiercely, a bit too loud and immediate. Then, quieter, with his jaw clenched, “Merlin, it’s the opposite. I’m…” he trails off, fingers flexing uselessly against the bed sheets, his grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if he never wants to let go. How can he put this into words? That he’s been losing his mind over how hot you’ve gotten? That every guy looking at you made him want to punch something? Instead of explaining, he speaks simply. Truly. “I miss us.”

You look down at where his hand is holding your wrist so tenderly, and you get the sudden urge to throw yourself onto him. It was definitely a bad decision on your part to mix your substances. Your thoughts are running wild, and you feel like you can’t control them. “I do too,” you whisper, feeling shy all of a sudden as you start to pick at the sheets under you with your free hand.

Theodore reaches out without thinking, calloused fingers under your chin, gently tilting your face up to meet his eyes. “Look at me,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over your bottom lip. It lingers there for half a second too long to be considered casual, before dropping his hand like you burned him.

You tilt your head to the side, a clear look of confusion painted on your face. “Are you drunk or something?” Theodore lets out a short, breathless laugh.

“After a few sips? No, tesoro. I’m just… fuck.” He rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “I just missed this. Missed you. All summer.”

You can’t help yourself as you lean into him, settling into the familiar warmth of his body, his arm instinctually wrapping around your figure as you lean your head on his shoulder. You want to blame your behavior on the alcohol, on the nicotine, but deep down you know that this is your desire, your choice. “I missed you all summer too. I wanted to be in Italy with you.”

“Should’ve brought you,” he mutters into your hair, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.”

“I would’ve loved that,” you whisper, fully committing to your act as he helps you settle on his lap by putting your side onto his chest, the firewhisky burning a pit in your stomach and definitely giving you more confidence than usual. It feels painfully natural, the physical closeness between the two of you.

“Sei così bella,” Theodore whispers into your hair, his other hand tracing slow circles on your hip, his touches igniting a fire across your body, pooling low in your stomach.

“Translation, per favore,” you mumble, utilizing a phrase that Theodore had taught you years ago when you asked to learn parts of his native language. Your request made Theodore feel like the happiest man on the planet, but it also surprised him that it was possible for someone to care about him and understand him so deeply to the point of trying to learn something that he held close to his heart. He adores the fact that you remember.

You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his natural scent making you feel woozy. “You’re drunk,” he says in a stupidly fond voice, your closeness completely short-circuiting his brain. “You’re so cute when you speak Italian.” His fingers trail up to tangle gently in your hair, just playing with the strands. This whole scene is so fucking domestic it makes his chest ache.

“Shut up.” A warm blush climbs up the back of your neck, and you hide your face in his shirt. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m trying.” You can feel the rumble of Theodore’s chest as he laughs, deep and warm.

“Never,” he murmurs, stroking your head softly, caressing you as if you were some sort of pet. He isn’t making fun of you; if anything, it’s the opposite. The way you’re trying so hard for him sends a dose of pure joy straight through his heart.

“So what did you do all summer?” You ask, lifting your head off of his shoulder to be able to look at him, your hands on either side of him to prop yourself up. “Forget about me?” You can’t help but lean in subconsciously, your desire to be closer to him only heightened by the liquid courage coursing through your body.

You can feel Theodore’s entire body locking up the second your eyes met his, an almost pained look painted on his face. “Of course not,” he says softly, and you can feel yourself drowning in his eyes, in his presence, almost losing yourself in the process. “I thought about you every day, amorina, you know that.” You and Theodore had written to each other all summer, as the two of you always did every year. His letters detailed his adventures with his family, to what kind of snack he had on a random hike. But he never failed to mention how badly he missed you. It was your favorite part of each letter he’d write.

“Then why didn’t you tell me to come?” you huff, rubbing your eye with one of your hands, fighting the urge to yawn all of a sudden. Being with Theodore always made you feel safe, and therefore, sleepy. “France got boring after a while.”

“I didn’t think you were missing me like that,” he admits, his own hand brushing your cheek reverently. His tone has an air of vulnerability to it, as if he’s unsure of your affections. The tension is palpable; you can practically feel its presence physically straining between the two of you, your bodies pulling each other in like magnets. It feels impossible to stop yourself from wanting to be close to him, from wanting him to pay attention to you. At the end of the day, even with all of the new affections you’ve been receiving from others, you’d give it all up in a second just for Theodore to stay your best friend.

“So you’re admitting in person that you missed me, then?” You can’t help but tease him, feeling the weight of his words physically manifesting on your face in the form of a blush. Theodore’s eyes glint in the light, his smile deepening into a smirk as he grabs your hips, his thumbs tracing the skin under your shirt, giving you goosebumps on your arms.

“Of course. I missed you a lot. Every day. I’ll never be ashamed to admit that.” His voice is low, the look in his eyes scarily real and unguarded, as if he’s baring his heart out for you to do whatever you want with it. The atmosphere turns even more tense, even more charged, and you can feel your heart about to beat out of your chest. This closeness isn’t exactly new—the two of you had cuddled before, shared tiny spaces together, teased each other for years. But this energy was unlike anything you have experienced before, with him and in your life in general.

You whisper Theodore’s name softly, heart pounding as you watch him watch you with wide eyes. “Are you okay?” You can feel his chest quickly rising and falling, a sharp exhale through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.

“No,” he confesses, voice gravelly. He lowers his head slightly, chest pressing against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. “I’m not okay.” His nose nudges your cheek, his hot breath trailing down your neck sending shivers down your spine. “I want you.”

“You have me,” you reply innocently, your mind not able to catch up to the pace in which Theodore was now setting for your relationship. “You always have. Since fourth year.”

Theodore’s breath catches, because until now, he hadn’t realized that “having you” could mean this. That “having you” could involve his hips grinding softly against yours, his lips grazing your jawline, his eyes drinking in this vulnerable side of you that no one else was ever able to see, that your shared history didn’t need to stop at the occasional smoking rendezvous, or studying in the library, or you cheering him on at quidditch matches.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the spot behind your ear, inhaling your vanilla scent that was seemingly always stuck in your hair, feeling absolutely drunk off the high your presence is providing. “It’s making me crazy.”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” you whisper breathlessly, boldly, your eyes fluttering shut as his lips touch your skin, your hands helplessly gripping his forearms. You’re not sure if you should push him away. You don’t want to.

“So, you’re admitting you’re mine, then?” He moves to be eye-level with you, and you can feel his long lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, his nose nudging against yours. The golden specks in his eyes shimmer in the warm lighting, and you swear you can melt right then and there, the endless abyss of his irises pulling you into the point of no escape.

Before you can even come up with a response that isn’t I love you so much it hurts, Theodore gingerly, hesitantly, presses his lips to the corner of your mouth. His eyes are open, watching your reaction, a silent question of if this is okay, if this is crossing any boundaries, and you have to stay calm, pretending like this isn’t what you’ve been praying for since you were 14.

But his lips also bring you back to Earth. What was this? Theodore Nott? Your best friend? Kissing you? You’re stuck in this state of shock where you’re unable to kiss him back but also unable to shove him away. Theodore can feel your hesitation the second his lips half-meet yours, and he breaks the almost-kiss just as fast as he initiates it, his forehead moving to rest against yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Too much?” Theodore’s whole body is tense with restraint now, giving you every chance to push him away. But Merlin is he hoping that you don’t. He’d dreamt about this.

Your eyebrows furrow with anxiety, your teeth chewing on your bottom lip to try and calm yourself. You look deep in thought. “Are you just, like, taking advantage of this situation? Because I’m here?” Your voice cracks. You can’t help it. This onslaught of emotions has taken you more off guard than you were prepared for. “Is this all I mean to you? Just an easy hookup? And then we can just forget about it or something?”

Theodore recoils from you like you’ve slapped him. “No,” he replies immediately, his voice sharp with offense. “Fuck no.” He removes his body from yours entirely, sitting up on the edge of the bed with his back towards you, as if he can’t even bear to look at you after what you just said, running both hands down his face. “Amore… Dio, I’ve liked you. For months. This isn’t–” a frustrated growl escapes him. “This isn’t some random shit.”

You immediately follow him, sitting up on the bed next to him, propping yourself up with your hands behind your back. “I… I don’t understand, Theo. I thought that we’re… best friends.” He turns to look at you, his expression wrecked, equal parts frustration and exposed.

“We are. Fuck, that’s the whole problem.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I want to stay your best friend, but I also want to kiss you with everything I have in me. I don’t–” another rough pause. “I don’t know how to do both.”

You slowly crawl towards him, your hands eventually making their way into his lap, your body propped up on your knees. “Let’s just try,” you whisper almost helplessly. You’re going through the same dilemma as him; it’s not like you want to change your dynamic, exactly, but the physical pull you feel towards him is undeniable, your need and desire for him overcoming any rational thought. You’ve always felt this pull towards Theodore, loving his attention and loving his touch. What would the harm be in seeing where things go, if things would turn into something more?

Theodore’s hands hover uncertainly at your hips, wanting to touch but needing permission first. “Yes,” he whispers back with no hesitation, leaning in slowly. “We can… try.” Then, his lips meet yours again—softer now, more exploratory. A test run of something that could either ruin or change everything.

You sigh softly into the kiss, tilting your head to deepen it. You shudder when Theodore’s hands land on your waist, steadying you by pulling you into his lap again, your legs straddling him. You can hear your heartbeat loudly in your ears, and you feel almost lightheaded because of how giddy you are that this is finally happening. This is definitely uncharted territory for you; you’ve only ever kissed one other boy before, back in 5th year, and it was a total shit show. But kissing your best friend? It feels so good, and so right.

Theodore groans into your mouth as you deepen the kiss, his grip on you tightening and pulling you flush against him as he drinks in everyone one of your shaky breaths, all of your tiny shudders. It all goes straight to his already hard cock, the one you can feel under your skirt between your legs. You feel absolutely not in control of yourself, your body taking the lead as you helplessly grind onto him.

“You taste sweet,” he mutters in between kisses, sliding one hand to cradle the back of your neck and angling for better access like this was something the two of you had been doing forever, something familiar and normal. You can only whine as he kisses you, his nimble hands gracefully undoing your tie, throwing it somewhere before slowly unbuttoning your shirt, exposing your pink bra. “Matches the color of your cheeks,” he teases, eyes darkening as he drinks in the sight of a part of you he’s never seen before. “You’re so beautiful.” His hands slide up your bare stomach, calloused thumbs brushing over the lace—teasing, but not rushing, every touch of his extremely deliberate.

“Theo,” you whimper, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth to ease the tension you were feeling, your hips subconsciously jumping slightly. “Don’t tease.”

“Can’t help it. You’re too pretty to not be toyed with,” he mutters, palming your right breast through the lace. His thumb circles your nipple, teasing the hard peak as his other hand slips under the fabric to pinch it directly. You can feel his cock strained against his sweats beneath you, and you can’t help but moan at all of the sensations mixing together, your hands squeezing on the area between his shoulders and neck.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmurs, eyes blown wide in admiration, drinking in every sound you make and every tiny twitch. Theodore can feel your tension, the way you jump at every touch, the tight clench of your body. “You’ve never been touched like this before, have you?” The question makes you blush with embarrassment, but the feeling quickly subsides as he kisses you gently, reassuringly. “Tell me what feels good,” he whispers against your lips. “Please, bambina? Let me make you feel good. Let me make you feel things you’ll never be able to feel with any other man.”

Fuck. Your pussy clenches around nothing, your head in the clouds as you nod helplessly, because if he didn’t touch you more and now you feel like you might die. “It feels so good,” is the only response you can give, whining every time his fingers flick your nipple or massage your breast in his hand. Theodore’s chest swells with pride and the dangerous urge to ruin you so fucking good.

“Brava, my good girl,” he praises softly, before dipping his head to replace his fingers with his mouth. His tongue swipes over your nipple, his hand pulling the lace to the side before sucking hard, one hand still working your other breast. You gasp at the new sensation, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding even harder onto him, desperate for friction, the pleasure filling your senses. Every moan and movement that he elicits from you goes straight to his aching cock, so hard it’s physically hurting him. You didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this. To feel so good you could pass out.

Every rut of your hips against his throbbing cock makes him groan, the feeling of your wet heat through fabric almost too much to bear. “Dio, you feel that?” he rasps, lifting his head to watch you unravel. Your skin is damp from his mouth, glistening in the light, your nipples peaked and pretty. He slides a hand under your skirt, palming the soaked gusset of your panties. “You want more?” he asks almost mockingly, as if you aren’t completely wrecked and pliant on top of him.

You can’t say anything but his name, over and over again, as your head falls onto his shoulder. Theodore flips your skirt up for better access, not even bothering to take it fully off. “I-I feel weird,” you say powerlessly, the arousal growing in you with every passing second. You can feel Theodore’s breath coming faster and faster as he revels in the way you fall apart for him.

“Weird good, hm?” he assures you, nipping at your shoulder before his fingers slip under your panties, two of his fingers sliding through your folds. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, circling your clit slowly with his thumb. “You’ve soaked me already, principessa.”

“Oh, Theo!” you exclaim, moaning softly as he toys with your clit. You’ve never felt any sensation like this before, and your toes curl as you buck your hips closer to his hand. “Fuck,” you whimper, legs shaking with purse desire. Theodore clearly loves the sounds you’re making, biting down harshly onto your collarbone or neck every time a desperate whimper leaves your lips.

He presses two fingers inside your cunt without warning, curling them just right as his thumb keeps working your clit. “Just like that, baby,” he coaxes, watching your face contort in pleasure. “Squeeze my fingers, tesoro. You’re doing so well.”

You whimper his name, biting your lip as your pussy clenches around his fingers. “Feels– ngh, feels tight.”

“I know,” Theodore murmurs, kissing your jaw as he pumps his fingers, stretching you just right, touching a part of you that you yourself hadn’t ever reached. Your virgin cunt is clenching around him like a vise, and it takes every ounce of his self-control to not flip you onto the bed and fuck you properly. “Relax, amorina,” he murmurs, slowly adding a third finger. You moan loudly at the intrusion, the sting of pain only adding to your pleasure.

The coil in your stomach becomes tighter with every passing second, your hips wildly chasing the pleasure that only Theodore can provide. “I-I feel weird, Theo. Please.” You don’t even know what exactly you’re begging for, only that you feel so dangerously close to something, only that you might float away if not for your hands digging into his shoulders, grounding you.

Theodore, on the other hand, knows exactly what you’re begging for. “I’ve got you, baby. You can cum, I know you can.” He curls his fingers against your g-spot, his thumb still rubbing circles onto your clit. Your back arches, your head tilted back as the coil in your stomach snaps. A borderline scream tears from your throat as you orgasm violently, for the first time, on his hand. Theodore holds you through it, fingers still working your pulsing walls gently as you cum. As he watches you, he vaguely thinks to himself that he’ll never be able to forget the way your cunt milks his hand, the way your skin shines with sweat, the way your mouth parts to form a perfect ‘O’ shape as you cum with his name on your lips.

“Good job, bella,” he praises, kissing your chest as you calm down from your high, holding you through the aftershocks as he pulls his fingers out with a slick pop. “You did amazing,” he whispers into your ear before kissing you softly. And then, simply because he can’t help himself, he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Theo,” you hiss, grabbing his wrist to try and stop him, but feeling too tired to use any of your strength. “That’s revolting.”

Theodore responds only with a smirk. “No, you’re delicious. I love how messy you are for me,” he teases as he licks the last of your arousal off. You shove his shoulder gently, your face red with embarrassment.

“Will you shut up?” you grumble, letting your body collapse against his. You feel limp, boneless, spent. Theodore’s lips find yours again, and he kisses you slow and lazy, different from the hungry ones earlier. You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you should find it disgusting, but you don’t. If anything, you find it hot.

Theodore breaks away just enough to murmur, “you okay?” His free hand strokes your back soothingly. You can tell he sees how wrecked you feel, your eyes heavy with drowsiness, your mind clouded with the aftermath of pleasure.

“Mhm,” is the only reply you can manage, your body completely reliant on Theodore’s to be able to sit upright. You know you should probably be thinking more about the implications of this event on your relationship, but the only thing you can think about is how good it feels to be able to touch Theodore in this intimate way and have him touch you as well. You feel fucking estatic.

“That was good, no? And with just my fingers.” You scoff, burrowing your face into the crook of Theodore’s neck, letting him pick you up and set you down onto his bed.

“You’re so cocky.” But as soon as your head hits the pillows, all of your sassy remarks escape you, the feeling of tiredness quickly overcoming you. Theodore laughs unguardedly and brushes the hair out of your face, hovering over you as he watches your eyes flutter shut.

“You should focus more on resting than insulting me, you know?” Theodore murmurs, laying down on his side next to you, admiring the blissed out look on your face, the flush of your body, your exposed skin.

You turn your head towards him, opening your eyes to make eye-contact. “But what about you?” You gesture to his painfully hard cock, still straining under his sweats.

“It’s not for you to worry about, amore,” Theodore says kindly, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ll let you take care of me next time, hm?”

Your heart swells. “Next time?” you whisper breathlessly, wide eyes looking up at him. Theodore has always loved this about you—that your emotions are always painted so clearly on your face. You’re the definition of an open book.

“What, are you not interested?” he murmurs seductively, his dead eyes searching yours yet again, a devilish smirk painted onto his face.

You huff, cheeks puffing out as you shake your head. “Why do you always have to tease me?” Theodore chuckles at that, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he breathes in your scent again, now mixed with the distinct smell of sex. You cannot wait for the next time Theodore ruins you.

“Sorry, bambina. You’re so sweet, I just can’t help it.”

word count: 9,293

summary: theodore nott is an enigma to you. he walks around like he has no cares in the world, and he makes it his life mission to publicly harass you each time you cross paths with him. you and him are rivals in every way, but there are times when you feel like he always has the upper hand… so what happens when unwarranted feelings start to develop?

author's note: i'm so excited to be posting my works on tumblr!! i post from a multitude of different fandoms on my ao3 (same username) but i think imma keep this account just for hp/theo because... i'm obsessed. this was my first time writing theo so i hope it's not horrendous!!! much more in the works too so stay tuned ;)

🌷 masterlist

You never considered yourself a calm or chill person. Your friends describe you as the opposite of nonchalant. If anything, you care too much. You're incredibly high strung, taking everything seriously and never taking any short cuts even where everyone else does. It's why your quiet, alone time walking the halls of Hogwarts in the middle of the night are your most sacred hours. You're always freezing, walking around in your pajamas, but you can never bring yourself to care about the cold or the possibility of getting caught. It brings you a peace like none other, a peace you can't find anywhere else.

You've never been interrupted before, so when you round the corner down a random hallway and bump straight into Theodore fucking Nott, you're so shocked to see him that your mouth gapes open, and you're unable to force it shut. You simply stare at him with a bewildered look in your eyes, as if seeing him tonight was the worst possible thing that could've happened to you.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asks you in that annoyingly deep voice he assumes whenever he’s talking to you, a devilish smirk on his face that you want nothing more than to punch off of him.

Instead of reacting the way you know he wants you to, the way he expects, you laugh dryly and step aside, intending to continue on your way without having to talk to him for a single extra second; but, he stops you. Grabbing your waist, he pulls you closer to his side with ease, as if you weren't struggling against him at all.

“No, no… you’re not getting away that easily.”

You scoff at the sheer audacity of this man. “Let go of me,” you say sternly, trying your best to pull his hand off of you.

His response is to tighten his grip slightly, that fucking smirk never leaving his face as he leans in closer. “Try and make me.” He challenges you, his voice low and teasing. The corridor feels suddenly smaller with him crowding your space like this—the faint scent of cigarettes and something woodsy clinging to him from whatever earlier rendezvous he engaged in. “Or is this you finally admitting I always win our little games?” He continues on, which just makes you want to punch him even harder.

“Of course not,” you scoff yet again, glaring up at him with defiance. “I just don't need you to ruin anything else for me by standing within 20 feet of me.”

Theodore simply chuckles in response, one of his hands coming up to brush a stray hair behind your ear with mocking gentleness. “Oh? There's something you have to do that's important than this?”

"And what if I do?" You retort, taking a step back for every step he takes towards you. Eventually, your back hits the cold stone wall behind you, and you curse under your breath. He has that infuriating confidence radiating off him as always, that arrogant demeanor where he acts like nothing could ever hurt him. You want to fucking hurt him.

The torchlight flickers across his sharp features, his eyes boring into yours. “You’re a liar.” He accuses softly, his nose nearly brushing yours now.

“What the hell are you doing?” You push him away harshly, your back and then your hands pressing up against the wall behind you. Theodore stands a few feet away from you now, not breaking eye contact with you. He’s acting… weird. Different. You can’t explain it, and it’s making you nervous.

For a second, Theodore actually looks flustered. His usual arrogance flickers in his expression as he rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Fuck if I know,” he mutters, more to himself than you. Then louder, “maybe I’m tired of pretending we hate each other when–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, jaw clenching like it’s physically painful to stop the words from coming out. His cocky mask slips back into place almost instantly. “Never mind. Forget it.”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused at his hot and cold behavior. “What?” you ask, genuinely clueless. “What do you mean pretending to hate? I’m not pretending.” But, as soon as the words slip out, you know they aren’t exactly true. Sure, you hate his arrogance, how he always has to be effortlessly better than you at everything, how he annoys the shit out of you, but you don’t hate him.

Theodore’s eyes look you up and down with a sudden intensity, his playful smirk completely gone now. “Really?” he asks quietly, taking a single step closer again. There’s another pause as he studies your face—and damn it all, you seemingly can never lie to him for long. “Because I’ve seen the way you look at me during Quidditch matches,” he says slowly. “Or when I brew a better potion than you.” A faint blush creeps up his neck despite his bravado. “It’s not hate.”

“Oh, trust me. It’s hate,” you seethe, already feeling the familiar warmth bloom through your body whenever he’s around you. He knows how to push your buttons, and you hate it. Hate it all. Hate how well he knows you without even trying.

You notice Theodore’s lip twitch with something like mild annoyance. “The heat in your cheeks says otherwise,” he murmurs, reaching out to trace your flushed skin with his thumb. His touch feels so gentle, and almost reverent. It throws you completely off guard.

Before you can swat his hand away, he cages you against the wall effortlessly, his forearm resting on the space above your head, his body mere centimeters away from yours. You did kind of set yourself up to be put in this position, but it still turns you on irritates you nonetheless. “Admit it,” he breathes almost against your lips now. “We’ve been dancing around this for months.” His heartbeat is hard and fast where his chest now presses against yours. When did he get even closer? You have no idea what to think.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you try to say firmly, yet your weak tone betrays your inner turmoil, and your hands clenched into fists beside your body instead of pushing him away also speaks volumes. You want him closer, yet you want him far fucking away from you at the exact same time. His scent has filled your lungs, and you almost are dizzy off of it with the way it surrounds you, fueling that fire you can now feel all the way in your fingertips.

Theodore simply stares at you. He looks at you like he wants to do something more, to maybe even lean in and close the gap. You’re waiting for him to. You might even want him to.

But he doesn’t.

He very suddenly pushes off from the wall behind you, his face stone cold yet again, the mask he easily wears falling back into place. His eyes look like dark, bottomless pits, an apathetic look on his face. The difference between him now and literally five seconds ago gives you whiplash.

He starts to speak, his voice low and gravelly, like he's holding back emotion. “It’s low even for you to follow me around the castle late at night. Are you that desperate to discover one of my secrets, hm?”

You stare at him incredulously, your raised heart beat beating even quicker now for a different reason. Pure, unadulterated, rage. You're so angry at his sudden insult that anything you might've been feeling towards him that wasn't some form of hatred immediately disappears.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re the one who ran into me. And you’re also the one who fucking pushed me against a wall and decided to act bipolar.” You snap quickly, glaring straight daggers into him.

Theodore’s jaw ticks, his cold expression wavering for just a second at your outburst. “I didn’t push you against anything.” He lies straight through clenched teeth—the absolute audacity of this man.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes several steps back, putting an actual proper distance between you two, like he hadn’t been practically eye-fucking you seconds ago. “Forget it ever happened.” The dismissal in his tone is glacial.

You scoff in literal disbelief. “Merlin, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You are so pissed you feel lightheaded, your breath falling short as you try and calm yourself down. “You might actually be bipolar.”

Theodore doesn't even respond to your jabs, which is extremely out of character for him. He doesn’t say anything. He just gives you this look. Like he pities you or something, like he thinks you’re pathetic. Like he hates you. And something in you snaps.

His silence enrages you. How could he just not care? “You are full of shit, Nott, and I swear to Merlin I will hate you for every single second of the rest of my life.”

Theodore doesn’t even flinch at your outburst. He simply nods curtly and turns on his heel with that same icy expression, striding down the hallway where he came from like you were nothing but a mildly annoying ghost.

But, something you don’t know. His hands are shaking slightly in his pockets—the only tell that maybe, maybe he’s not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

He disappears around a corner without looking back, and just like that, whatever fragile thing that was building between the two of you shatters completely.

During the next few weeks, the rivalry between the two of you only gets more intense. Theodore continues to tease you relentlessly with his annoying remarks and ridiculous smirk of his, and his flirtatious yet completely audacious remarks send you into a rage induced frenzy. That night has stayed on your mind, even through you tried your best to just forget about it, exactly as Theodore asked. He had acted so out of character… but why?

Theodore seems determined to make your life hell—showing up wherever you are just to mock you, stealing your notes and leaving them covered in messy annotations, even 'accidentally' bumping you in the halls, causing you to stumble and even almost trip down the stairs. His teasing had just turned plain mean. Before, it was simply annoying as hell, but you could still interpret his actions as simply moves to win your rivalry. But now, Merlin, he was your enemy. Sabotaging your potions just before Snape walked over to assess you. Messing with your test papers so you earned a low score even when you stayed up studying all night. And the worst part about it? He doesn’t even care. He just watches you coldly, glaring like he wishes he could kill you.

When you glare at him back, he doesn’t smirk. He just meets your eyes with a chilling emptiness that makes your stomach twist. Even Mattheo notices that something’s off and pulls Theodore aside one day after a particularly vicious comment he threw at you in Charms. But whatever Mattheo says? Theodore shrugs it off and keeps treating you like shit the next morning.

But there’s also something… off. The usual smugness of his feels performative now. His jokes land too hard sometimes, like he’s overcompensating for something. And when he thinks no one is looking, he stares at you with this unbearably complicated expression: frustration mixed with longing that makes no sense to you after how coldly he walked away that night.

One night during dinner in the Great Hall, you decide that you’ve had enough. Your pride has been wounded into hell, and you were done being pushed around. You had been glaring daggers into Theodore’s form for the past 20 minutes, just like you did during every meal, your eye twitching every time he had the audacity to laugh at something his friends said. It made you want to strangle him.

"Fuck this," you mumble, standing up abruptly. Your friends all stop their conversation to give you weird looks.

"What the hell are you– hey!" You ignore Hermione who's calling after you, your only thought being Theodore's name on repeat. You storm over to the Slytherin table, acutely aware of people's wandering eyes on you. You weren't one to shy away from dragging attention to yourself, so no one thought anything was extremely out of the ordinary or intriguing. Except Theodore.

He catches your eye and stares at you almost disdainfully as you walk towards him. Once you get there, you slam your hands down on the table right in front of him. The cutlery shakes dramatically, and you ignore the crazy looks you get from his friends. The laughter at the Slytherin tables dies instantly. "She's got to be mental, hasn't she?" Draco whispers to Theodore, the two of them sitting next to each other, expressions mocking and almost cruel.

"Do you ever shut your ferret mouth up, Malfoy? Or are you too busy riding Nott's dick?" Your retort elicits a snort from Blaise, who quickly mutters a sorry when Draco glares at him so hard his eyeballs look like they might bulge out of his head.

You return your focus to the task at hand. “Nott. We need to talk. Now,” you say with a false sense of calm, schooling your expression into one of calmness, even though that's the last emotion you're feeling right now. For a long moment, Theodore just stares at you—that same icy mask in place from the other night. Then, he leans back slightly with deliberate slowness, arms crossing over his chest.

“Don’t recall agreeing to anything,” he says coolly, loud enough for everyone to hear. A direct fucking insult. His friends exchange glances; they honestly just look thrilled to be witnessing this drama in real time. It only fuels your anger.

“And I don’t recall signing up to be your fucking lab rat for different ways to humiliate someone, but here we are.” You snap completely, your expression shifting into something even more murderous. It sends chills down Theodore’s spine. “Either you come with me or I swear to Merlin I will tell Dumbledore everything you’ve been doing and get you sent straight back to your Daddy’s house.” Your tone is low, and angry. It’s a thinly-veiled threat, and you mean it with every bone in you.

Theodore’s expression darkens at the mention of his father. Anything to do with his family… was a no. His jaw ticks as he slowly pushes back from the table. “Five minutes,” he grits out, already standing. Draco and Blaise share a look—no one threatens Theodore like that and gets away with it unscathed. It's an unspoken fact.

Theodore stalks towards an exit that leads to the Viaduct Bridge without checking if you’re following, his shoulders tense. When he opens the door, you immediately feel the cold air from outside whipping against your face. He practically runs to the bridge, gripping onto the railing seemingly for dear life. The wind is so fucking loud it makes it hard to hear anything at all, and you become acutely aware of your heart beating like you just ran a marathon.

The air feels different when it’s just the two of you. It doesn’t seem like Theodore is ‘performing’, for whatever reason, if it even makes any sense. “Look at me,” you call out to him over the howling of the wind. Snowflakes sting your eyes as you try and keep them open against the wind. He was facing away from you, and he didn’t turn around.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, I said look at me–” You grab his shoulder and forcefully turn him around to face you. His body whirls on you the second your hand makes contact, faster than you expected. For a beat, he just stands there, breathing hard with the wind tousling his hair wildly. Then, his expression does something complicated, something you never expected. His cold mask slips just enough to show… pain? Regret?

“Happy now?” he shouts over the wind, voice rough. He doesn’t pull away from you though. If anything, it feels like an unspoken plea for you to not let go.

“What the fuck has been your problem lately?” You shout, but you’re not even sure if Theodore can hear you. The icy cold snow that’s falling settles on your lashes, your cheekbones, your lips. You are freezing fucking cold, your arms hugging yourself, desperately trying to preserve as much warmth as you can. “You were never mean, Nott. Just annoying. But now you’re mean.” You wish you could help it, but you can’t. Your voice cracks on the last word, and you immediately feel your nose start to prickle with the onslaught of tears that will come if you’re not careful.

Theodore’s face crumbles at your words. You’ve never seen him have a reaction like that before. Snow melts against his flushed skin as he finally meets your eyes without malice for the first time in weeks. “Maybe I wanted to be mean,” he shouts back, but there’s no real bite to it. Just frustration. “Maybe I–”

He cuts himself off with a sharp exhale, looking away toward the dark lake below. “This isn’t working.” His admission is quiet beneath the wind.

“What isn’t working?” You’re still so confused, and it’s only making you even more mad. “You’re talking in riddles, Nott. I seriously don’t understand you at all.” Shouting over the wind like this makes you feel ridiculous, but it’s also freeing in a way. It feels good to get everything off your chest, to be able to shout at the top of your lungs and have a real reason for it.

Theodore drags a hand down his face, snow clinging to his lashes. When he speaks up again, his words feel heavy, like he’s finally letting go of something. “Us. This– whatever the fuck we’ve been doing.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “I can’t–”

A gust of wind howls between you as he struggles for words. “I thought pushing you away would be easier than admitting I liked that night.” It sounds almost painful for him to admit, his confession ripped from him like an arrow shot straight through the chest. His body is turned towards you now, his body leaning against the railing of the bridge, his dark eyes searching yours for an answer that maybe would reciprocate his.

But no. You simply furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “All you did that night was tease me like you always do. What was so different?” You feel like an idiot missing some key piece of information, some key source that Theodore was refusing to tell you.

Theodore actually laughs—a harsh, bitter sound. “Merlin, you’re dense.” He steps closer despite the tension building, close enough that you can faintly feel his breath warming your cold cheeks. He seems to have an obsession with cornering you when you're most unable to decipher your thoughts or calm your heart. “Before I almost kissed you,” he says bluntly with no detectable hint of teasing anywhere, only raw honesty cutting through the wind. “That’s what was different.” His eyes search yours desperately like he’s begging you to finally understand, that he’s trying to get his point across but too fucking scared to lay it all down.

You look up at him hesitantly, the same warmth that you always get from being around him roaring in your chest once again. You can feel every nerve in your body tingling from him being so close. His presence envelops every single one of your senses, and you feel almost high off of him just standing in front of you. Why do you feel like this? You've never understood in the past, and you still don't now.

“I don’t understand,” you say quietly, your eyes darting around his face as if you’re searching for an answer. Theodore can barely hear you over the howl of the wind. “Why would you want to kiss me when you hate me? I mean, Nott, you are so fucking mean to me every single day. Why would you do that to someone you–”

Your breath catches in your throat. What are you even supposed to call this? This dynamic that the two of you share? “To someone you what, like? Fancy? Or is this all just a cruel fucking game to you, huh? Playing with my feelings?” You get louder and louder with each word, all of the pain that he inflicted onto you coming back into this moment, squeezing and crushing your heart all at once.

“You think this is a game to me?” Theodore’s voice cracks slightly, his face morphing into a painful expression at your accusations. He suddenly reaches out to grab your icy hands, pressing them against his chest so you can feel his frantic heartbeat beneath the fabric of his robes. His touch on your wrists feel like fire. You can hardly breathe.

“At least when I'm mean to you, you notice me. You talk to me, even if it's just insults. You look at me, even though you're only glaring at me like you wish I'd roll over and die. You hating me is better than nothing at all. Every fucking day I’ve been treating you like shit because it was easier,” he admits, eyes blazing as he stares deep into your soul. “Easier than admitting I’m obsessed with you. And the one stupid almost-kiss only made me want you even more.” The snow falls in swirls around the two of you, and he stares at you with such vulnerability in his eyes for the first time ever that it terrifies you.

“Then why would you be mean to me?” you cry out, the hurt in your tone easily noticeable. It makes Theodore wince. He exhales shakily, his grip on your wrists only tightening, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“Because I panicked,” he confesses, voice rough. “After that night, when I realized how much I wanted you, I freaked out.” He ducks his head slightly, snow dusting his dark hair, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “I became an asshole to pretend it never happened.” A bitter chuckle escapes him. “Great strategy.”

You’re silent for a long time before you can find your words again. Your heart is beating so fast and loud you’re sure the whole world can hear it, your hands clenched uselessly against his chest. Your breathing is frantic as you look up at him, his expression unlike anything you've seen, so weak and open it makes you feel like you’re being kicked in the chest. The wind whips your hair around your face, and Theodore wordlessly lets go of your hands to hold your hair back against your head so that it doesn't cloud your vision. It’s the first nice thing he’s ever done for you since you’ve known him, and you feel your heart start to melt despite how freezing your body feels. That familiar warmth that Theodore Nott had always given you returns, and nothing you could do will be able to stop the fire raging inside you.

“Why… would you want me?” you whisper after a long period of silence, your voice broken as if someone liking you would be the stupidest decision ever made. Theodore’s breath hitches at your words, and for a second, he just looks at you. He looks at you like he’s memorizing every freckle, every lash dusted with snow, every speck in your eyes.

“Because you’re the only person who has ever made me feel anything so strongly,” he admits quietly, his thumb brushing your cheekbone gently—a stark contrast to how rough he’d been acting for weeks. “You’re smart and stubborn and fucking beautiful, even when you’re yelling at me. Especially when you’re yelling at me.” A small, genuine smile tugs at his lips. The first sincere one since that night in the hallway. He cradles your jaw tenderly as he leans closer, closer enough that his nose nearly brushes yours with every word. “And I’ve been fucking miserable trying not to kiss you again. It's all I dream about. It's all I think about in class, walking to class, when I'm with my friends, when I can't sleep. I think about your lips on mine, if they'll taste like the cherry lip-balm you reapply constantly, if they'll be as soft as I've imagined, if you'll moan and whimper and be so pliant under my gentle hands.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and your eyes widen slightly with every word he speaks. Your vision blurs. You're not sure if it's from tears or the snow or from how overwhelmed you feel. “Theo...” His name falls from your lips softly and with ease, like you’ve practiced it, even though you’ve never said it before in your life.

"I wish I could listen to you say my name over and over again until I died," Theodore murmurs, his adoring eyes looking into yours, his thumb wiping the snow from your cheek. "You are so beautiful, principessa, and I've fallen so deeply for you that I live only for your attention."

You actually feel like you might die. You're experiencing emotional whiplash all over again, but this time, for a completely different reason. You almost can't believe the words your hearing. The fire in your heart burns hotter than ever before, your entire body lit up by his confession. The thought that you might be dreaming vaguely crosses your mind, but you can't even hold onto a single thought for more than a second because of the way you feel, like you're standing on the edge of a cliff. It would be so easy to let yourself fall, just fall into his waiting, open arms...

But wouldn’t that be too easy?

“I’m still hurt,” you manage to choke the words out, blinking repeatedly to get the snow off your lashes. “You made my life hell for weeks, and now you’re telling me you feel something for me?” You shake your head, lip quivering as you try to keep your shit together. “I’m confused. I need… time.”

Theodore immediately stills, his hand freezing where it had been gently cradling your face. His hopeful expression shatters instantly. “Right,” he says stiffly, pulling back like he’s been physically burned by your words. He takes a full step away from you, jaw clenched tight against whatever emotion is threatening to spill out. The wind suddenly seems to get louder, the cold distance between the two of you returning in an instant.

“Of course.” His voice is flat now, using the same detached tone he used when pretending nothing happened weeks ago. He very suddenly turns to leave without another word, and the thought of him leaving you behind again gives you an odd sense of déjà vu and foreboding at the same time.

“Don’t pretend like this didn’t happen,” you shout after him, your hands clutching your body for stability. Theodore doesn’t turn around, but he does stop in his tracks. “Please–” Your voice cracks with emotion. “If you’ve ever truly cared about me, you won’t pretend like this didn’t happen. Don’t run away again,” you yell hoarsely, feeling the fire in your chest flicker.

You watch his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he slowly turns around to look at you. There’s no smirk this time. Just raw, unfiltered emotion in his eyes. Snow sticks to his lashes, but he doesn’t blink it away. "I won't pretend like this didn't happen," he says slowly, his tone giving away nothing. "But I can't be around you. Not–" he takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. "Not when I like you so much."

You can barely even hear him over the roar of the wind, your eyes barely being able to see the way he mouthed the words. He doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t move towards you or walk away. He just stands there, ten feet apart from you, staring. The snow makes it hard to see his facial expression, and the warmth you had felt previously being close to him vanishes in an instance. You can’t explain why you feel… disappointed.

"Alright. I understand that. I just… I need time. To think about everything. And to be able to forgive you,” you say slowly, gauging his reaction. He gives away nothing.

Theodore nods stiffly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Take all the time you need." He takes a step back towards the castle, a clear sign of retreat. For once, he’s not being cocky or smug or cruel about anything. He just is… accepting your terms quietly. “See you around,” he mutters before turning to leave properly this time, his shoulders hunched against both the cold and whatever emotions are eating him alive right now.

The wind seems to get impossibly colder as you watch Theodore walk away, his silhouette blurring in the swirling snow. Your chest feels tight, but not with anger this time. Instead, it burns with something heavy.

He doesn’t look back.

You stand there for another minute, frozen. What just happened? One moment he was confessing his feelings, a sheer centimeter between the two of you, and the next? The cold shoulder again. The whiplash is dizzying. But at least you have some clarity now as to why he’d been acting like an asshole for weeks.

You take a deep breath before forcing yourself to head back to the castle, feeling an odd chill and emptiness in your heart.

The next month passes uneventfully. Theodore doesn’t outright ignore you, but he also doesn’t speak to you. It’s an extremely exaggerated change from before. He’ll get the potion ingredients off the high shelf for you, but he won’t react when you mumble a soft ‘thank you’. He’ll wordlessly hold the door open for you, but refuses to meet your eyes when you pass him by. You couldn’t get a mild jab out of him, or even a mild insult. Nothing. Radio silence. He had turned into a stranger, which was somehow even worse than being your tormentor.

It should've been nice, but it's not. He had been annoying you for all of 7th year, so shouldn’t this be relieving to you? To finally get some peace and quiet? So why does it constantly feel like your heart is being squeezed and twisted in an iron grip? Even your friends had clocked your odd behavior almost instantly. Ginny was always asking why you looked so depressed all of the time, and Hermione was curious if you had broken up with some sort of secret boyfriend. Like you could ever keep that a secret or even get one in the first place. How can you tell people that you’re sad because your bully won’t bully you anymore? It makes no sense, even to you.

Yule Ball season arrives quickly. You were actually looking forward to it, thinking it would be a welcome distraction from all of your problems, until you found out that Theodore was taking Pansy fucking Parkinson. Just the thought of seeing them together, Theodore making Pansy laugh at something stupid, made you want to fucking throw up. But why?

You had begged Ginny and Hermione to not force you to go, but they didn’t hear any of your pathetic excuses of your stomach or head hurting. “It’s our last Ball, for Merlin’s sake.” Hermione had scolded you. “You have to go, no matter what.”

And that’s how you got here, the Yule fucking Ball, watching Theodore spin Pansy around on the dance floor. Why does it feel like fucking torture to see them dancing together, having fun without a care in the world when you’re sitting to the side angrily sipping your drink and wishing you could just disappear? You originally had loved the green satin dress you picked, revealing just enough to be sexy but not enough to be considered whoreish. But now, you feel like a fucking kid trying to play dress up. Pansy, of course, happened to be wearing essentially the same exact dress as you. That didn’t even matter though, because she looks fucking radiant. Every pair of eyes in the room can't help but be drawn to her because she looks gorgeous. And of course, to make matters worse, Theodore was all over her, looking so fucking hot ridiculous in his suit. You genuinely want to gouge your fucking eyes out and stop looking at them, but you physically can’t. It makes you sick. They make you sick.

Your night drags on in a haze of bitter jealousy and alcohol. Every time you glance towards the dance floor, Theodore has Pansy spun in some elaborate waltz move, her laughing as he dips her dramatically. Of course he’s a good dancer. Of course she looks perfect on his arm. You have half a mind to walk over there and stab her. She did nothing wrong; you just felt like it, an unsettling feeling of rage brewing in your stomach.

Instead of committing first degree murder, you slump further into your chair, throwing back another shot of firewhisky. Across the hall, Theodore catches your eye for half a second, his expression unreadable before Pansy tugs him back into their whirlwind of movement. The eye-contact makes your heart stop. What does it mean…?

Hermione nudges you. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on with Nott? You keep staring.” Your throat tightens. You have nothing to say. You can't even think of an excuse.

“Nope,” you manage to choke out. Not one damn thing except apparently an excruciating case of heartbreak that you were not expecting over someone who was actively making your life hell four weeks ago.

“Can we leave for a second, Mione?” you grumble, sinking into your seat even further when you hear Pansy’s laugh over the music thumping in your ears. “I feel like I’m going to fucking throw up.”

Hermione frowns, her demeanor immediately switching to a protective one. “Yeah, of course.” She stands and helps pull you up by the elbow. The alcohol has made you sway slightly, your senses only a slight bit clouded.

The walk through the Great Hall feels like a walk of shame, and it seems to stretch on for fucking miles. Theodore and Pansy are still dancing, and the moment you pass them, you swear you can hear your heartbeat in your own ears, loud and painful.

Your heart genuinely shatters as Pansy suddenly grabs Theodore’s face and kisses him, right in front of everyone. Your stomach drops like a stone. That had to be intentional, right? You watch the whole scene unfold and it’s like a stab in your gut. The worst part is, you have no fucking idea why you feel like this. You hated Theodore, and you still do, right? Don’t you? Then why do you feel physically ill watching them lock lips?

Hermione has to drag you away from the scene. It’s like a scene from hell designed just for you. You can see the worried look on her face, and it only makes you feel even shittier. You hate making your friends feel like they need to pity you. Once the two of you exit the Ball, the only emotion you can feel is whichever one that validates throwing yourself off the Astronomy Tower.

Hermione practically drags you into the Transfiguration Courtyard, her grip firm but gentle. “Okay, breathe,” she urges as soon as the cold night air hits your face, and you hate how easily she can understand the frantic emotions so vividly painted on your face. You double over slightly, hands braced on your knees. Whether from alcohol or emotional devastation is unclear.

“Merlin,” Hermione mutters under her breath before pulling you into a tight hug. She doesn’t need explanations yet. She simply holds you together while your world spins violently sideways. You find it hilariously ironic that Theodore Nott is still having a great time inside, completely oblivious to the way he has wrecked your heart without even meaning to.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you mumble, accepting her embrace gratefully. You’re tipsy and upset at the same time, which was never a great combination of feelings. “I can’t talk about it right now,” you tell Hermione, and she responds with a comforting squeeze. It’s one of the things you loved most about her; she never pushed your boundaries, and always respected your wishes.

After a few minutes of silent hugging, you pull away, sniffling. “You should get back, Mione. You haven’t even had a proper dance with Ron yet. I think I’m going to call it a night.”

She shakes her head stubbornly. “I’m not leaving you out here alone when you’re like this,” she insists, brushing your tears away gently so as to not completely ruin your makeup.

But then Ron appears at one of the courtyard archways, looking slightly frantic. “Hermione! Everyone’s wondering where– oh.” His eyes dart between your tear streaked face and Hermione’s protective stance. Without being asked, he wordlessly walks over to the two of you, shrugging off his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders. “You okay?” he tries to say comfortingly.

“Thanks, Ron,” you mumble, hugging the jacket close to your chest, suddenly feeling cold. Looking at the two of them gave you a warm feeling in your chest. They're so fucking cute together, and it genuinely makes you happy just seeing one of your best friends so happy. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I was literally just telling Mione to go back inside with you,” you say to Ron.

Ron exchanges a glance with Hermione, the kind that says neither-of-us-believe-you, but they won’t push. “Alright,” Ron says slowly before nudging his girlfriend gently. “C’mon love, let’s dance at least one song before Fred and George start placing bets on who trips first.”

Hermione hesitates for half a second longer before squeezing your hand. “Text me if you need anything, alright?” And just like that, they’re gone, leaving you alone in the quiet courtyard with nothing but your thoughts and the stupid kiss replaying on a constant loop.

You tug Ron’s jacket closer around you. Fuck, it's really cold. You sit down on the edge of the fountain in the center of the courtyard, looking dejectedly up towards the sky. Why is it bothering you who Theodore Nott is spending his time with? You were the one who rejected him. You were the one who told him you needed time. You were the one who hated him when he… wanted you.

But he clearly doesn't anymore. As soon as you had figured out your own pathetic feelings for a guy like him, he had moved on without a care in the world.

“Of course this is my fucking life,” you mumble dejectedly to yourself as it starts to drizzle. You don’t even bother to get under any sort of shelter. You just sit there, letting your knock-off-Pansy-Parkinson dress get soaked and your makeup that you spent hours doing be ruined.

The drizzle soon turns into a proper downpour, soaking through Ron’s jacket and your dress within minutes. Your hair clings to your face in damp strands, mascara running slightly from the wetness.

You don’t move.

You can hear thunder rumbling somewhere in the background, matching perfectly with how fucking stupid you feel right now. Theodore had been yours to figure out first, and you blew it by overthinking for weeks while he apparently bounced straight into Pansy’s arms like nothing happened. How could he practically confess his undying love for you and then move on in a month? It makes no sense. You know that you have no right to feel the way that you do, considering Theodore did nothing wrong, but for some reason it still irks you.

Because now Pansy gets to wear his suit jacket if she’s cold. Now she gets all those little moments with him that could’ve been yours if only–

A loud splash makes you glance toward the courtyard entrance, where Theodore himself now stands, looking equally as drenched in his suit. You literally can’t breathe as you see him from 20 feet away, your hands clenching in your lap. You feel absolutely breathless just by being in the same vicinity as him, butterflies erupting in your chest as you watch him watch you.

You quickly return to reality, turning away from him so he can’t see your face. Merlin, you probably look a mess right now with your makeup and hair running wild. You can hear footsteps getting closer and closer to you before stopping a few feet away. You don’t dare to look behind you. You feel like you’re going to puke at the same time you feel like you’re going to float away from the sheer happiness you feel from him paying attention to you.

“Pansy’s still inside, if you’re looking for her,” you say snarkily. You can’t help it; your jealousy is apparent to even yourself. You’re honestly not even sure if Theodore can hear you due to the loud pour of rain. You tell yourself to just keep your emotions under control for a little while longer. Just a bit longer before you can go back to your dorm and cry your heart out with no one around to judge.

Theodore doesn’t move towards the castle, even after your monotonic comment. He just stands there, water sluicing down his face and body as he stares at you. “I know where Pansy is,” he says quietly, no trace of his usual arrogance left. A beat passes where neither of you speaks over the sound of rain hitting stone and fountain water. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks makes you want to cry tears of pure joy. You’re infuriated with yourself for feeling this way.

“Then why are you here?” you ask in a deadpan tone, trying to hastily wipe the mascara and makeup off your face so you don’t look like you just crawled out from your grave. Theodore takes slow steps toward you, as if afraid to accidentally scare you off with one wrong move.

“I saw you leave,” he admits, as if that explains everything. Rain drips from his hair as he stops next to you, close enough to talk properly but not crowding your space either. “You looked…” he trails off, jaw working like the right word won’t come.

“Ugly? Hideous? Fucking disgusting? Yes, I know,” you scoff almost angrily even though he didn’t even say anything wrong. You still don’t need him to pity you, especially since this was your first time talking to him in a whole month.

“No,” he says sharply, as if that never even occurred to him and would be impossible to occur to him in any circumstance. “You looked upset.” Another step closer. You can start to smell him, smell his cologne mixed with the scent of rainwater on grass. A small fire starts to burn in your chest. “Look at me.” Not a demand from him, but more like a plea for you.

“No,” you say stubbornly, mocking his earlier words. You know you’re acting childish, but you can’t find it in yourself to admit or stop it. “Just leave me alone.”

You hear Theodore exhale hard, frustrated but not angry. “Please.” There it is again. That quiet, vulnerable version of him that only ever comes out when it’s just the two of you with no other distractions. He reaches out slowly, fingertips barely grazing your chin to turn your face towards his. Rain streaks down both of your cheeks like false tears.

You can’t even look at him, even when he turns your face towards his. It will hurt you too much. It could genuinely destroy you. You don’t even want to imagine how insane you look, with your hair plastered over your face, your mascara streaking down. Theodore’s thumb brushes gently under your eyes, wiping away the smudges. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it over the rain. There’s no smirk or teasing glint in his eyes when he says it. He says it like it’s the most obvious, easy thing in the world. He studies your face like he’s memorizing every detail. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, pulling away like you had just been touched by a hot iron. And in a way, you had. Every single damn time you were around this man there was a fire lit in you. This uncontrollable fire lights in every single corner and deep crevice of your body. There was never a single inch of you that didn’t physically feel and even crave Theodore’s presence. “I feel fucking insane around you,” you practically shout, your heartbeat thundering louder and louder in your ears. “Just leave me alone. Please.”

Theodore drops his hand like he’s been burned by your words. For a second, he just stares, the rain making his hair plaster to his forehead. “Okay,” he says simply. But he doesn’t leave. He sinks down onto the fountain edge next to you, keeping space between the two of you but refusing to walk away. Neither of you speak for a long moment, two figures sitting in the pouring rain with nothing but tension and unspoken words crackling between them.

You sniffle repeatedly, hugging Ron’s soaked jacket even closer to you, even though at this point it wasn’t doing anything to keep you warm. You could feel Theodore’s side eye, his gaze raking over your form quickly. “Who’s jacket?” he asks roughly. If you were delusional, you would almost believe he sounded jealous.

“Ron’s,” you murmur with no explanation, his piercing gaze wearing your defenses down. “He came outside to find Hermione when I was with her.” Theodore’s jaw ticks angrily, his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you. He says nothing, even though it looks like he wants to. It’s quiet for a long time before either of you speak again.

“I ended things with Pansy.” Theodore speaks completely out of the blue. You whip your head around faster than you ever have in your life to stare at him—what? He’s looking straight ahead at nothing, jaw tense like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Five minutes after dancing,” he adds lamely as if that explains anything. An incredulous look paints your face.

“Are you a fucking idiot?” you exclaim, so incredibly confused and hopelessly infatuated by this man. You’re furious at yourself for the sheer fucking joy you feel after hearing those words leave his mouth.

Theodore actually laughs at your outburst, but it was a short and humorless sound. “Probably,” he states, turning his head to face you properly. Rain drips from his long lashes as he holds your gaze. “I couldn’t do it with her when I was–” He cuts himself off again, clearly struggling to articulate whatever the hell is going on in that messy head of his.

“When what?” You try and egg him on, your heart beating faster and faster with anticipation. You see him swallow hard.

“When I was thinking about you,” he admits, his voice rough from the cold. “The whole fucking time.” His hands flex uselessly at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but knows better after your rejection. “It didn’t feel right with her.” A simple explanation that you guess explains everything. But it doesn’t. It literally explains nothing.

It doesn’t even matter though, because you can almost physically feel the weight of a million bricks lift off your shoulders. It’s like you can breathe again. “Why would you ask her out in the first place then?” You ask. Theodore responds with a shrug, and you watch the rain droplets fall from his suit collar. Your eyes trail from there to his neck, and you suddenly have the urge to run your tongue against it, tracing the lines left by the droplets of rain.

“I tried to move on,” he mutters. “Stupid fucking idea.” He finally risks another glance at you, eyes dark with something strangely vulnerable, a look you haven’t seen on him for more than a fleeting second or two in the past. “It just didn’t work.” Four words that somehow carry weeks of pining and frustration.

You stare at him silently, and he stares back. Your hands shake with nervousness, knowing what you’re about to say. “Well, it didn’t work for me either,” you whisper, barely audible over the pouring rain.

You can see Theo’s entire body freeze, his demeanor changing in a second. “What?” he asks lowly, like he didn’t quite catch what you said. Rain continues to hammer down between the two of you as the weight of your admission hangs in the air. For someone usually so sharp, Theodore looks genuinely dazed right now.

You gaze down at your hands, all of a sudden too embarrassed to look at him in the face. “I thought that I had hated you ever since the beginning of 7th year when we met. I thought the fire I felt burning through my whole body every time you were around was hatred. But when you stopped talking–” You interrupt yourself to laugh at how pathetic you sound. “When you stopped talking to me, I genuinely wished for you to just fucking bully me again like how you used to, just so you would look at me. Do you understand that, Nott? Can you really understand that? You didn’t even have to talk to me, but as long as you looked at me I felt like I could’ve been okay with just that.”

You can faintly hear thunder in the distance, the rain falling so heavily you can barely see a few feet in front of you. But you’re not done. “And then– you and Pansy started going out or whatever, and it was like– I mean, she’s the complete opposite of me. And I got so in my head about everything, because I didn't understand how you could move on so quickly. And then I started to wonder if I was just making it all up in my head, and that maybe it was never that serious in the first place. It all confused me because I was still convincing myself that I hated you. I mean, for Merlin’s sake.” You laugh dejectedly. “I literally wore Slytherin green to the Yule Ball just so you would maybe look at me for one second. I’m in fucking Gryffindor for fucks sake.”

Theodore listens intently. He never interrupts, just absorbs every word you say like it’s the gospel, his soft gaze trained onto you, unblinking. “And I just feel so fucking pathetic every single fucking day because I was, and I still sort of am, in denial that I don’t actually hate you. That the fire I feel around you is fucking attraction and that I’m losing my mind seeing you with Pansy because if I weren’t such a fucking idiot before, then that could’ve been me. It could’ve been me and you. But it’s not. It’s her.” Your voice finally cracks on your last word. Your heart is swelling with so much passion and emotion and fire that you feel like you could actually self-combust. You don’t dare watch Theodore for his reaction.

By the time you finish, Theodore’s expression has shifted from feigned nonchalance to something painfully hopeful. “Merda,” he breathes in a language you assume is Italian and that you can't understand, surging forward towards you with no warning to grab your face towards his. You can barely take a second to breathe and inspect his expression before he cups your jaw and kisses you.

It’s not anything like a typical first kiss that you would share with someone. A normal first kiss would be considered shy, exploratory, a light nervousness and pit of butterflies in your stomach. This kiss is nothing like that at all. It’s messy, rain and your tears that you haven’t even realized slipped out mixing as Theodore kisses you with months’ worth of pent up frustration. One of his hands slides into your wet hair while the other pushes you closer by your back, forcing you to lean into him. The sensation of his lips on yours, his hands roughly on your body, and his soaking wet clothes on yours made you feel like you were literally on fire.

You can’t even move for a solid few seconds, your brain short-circuiting from the sudden contact. But soon enough, you melt into him, fully succumbing to your deepest most hidden desires. Your hands fly up to grip his suit jacket as you kiss him back desperately, like this is your last chance to ever kiss him for the rest of your life. And maybe it is, since you don’t know any better. He tastes like firewhisky and rainwater and Theo– Merlin, he’s such a good kisser.

You whimper as he slips his tongue into your mouth, his hand on your back moving to grip your throat while the other tugs harshly on your hair, moving you into the exact position he desires. The fire inside you burns so fucking hot you feel like you could die, the rainwater almost sizzling as it touches your skin. You should feel cold, but you feel like you’re in a fucking desert, parched for his touch, and you need him, Merlin do you need him so fucking bad. Theodore hums low in his throat at the way you kiss him back, hungry and desperate, like you’ve been starving for this. And God knows you have been.

His grip on your throat tightens just enough to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss obscenely, tongue sliding against yours in filthy tandem with each other. The rain only pours harder onto the two of you, but you couldn't care less, too euphoric on the feeling of doing the thing you had been fantasizing about nonstop for weeks.

When you finally pull back for air, his lips follows yours, his eyes darkening with obsessive need when he realizes that you need a break. His tousled collar and swollen lips make your stomach coil. “Why’d you stop?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and so fucking sexy you have half a mind to strip his pants off right then and there and suck his dick until he cried.

He leans his forehead against yours, the two of your chests rising and falling quickly as you catch your breath. “We can’t do this outside,” you breathe against his lips, your eyes fluttering shut, your mind in complete overdrive. Theodore groans but reluctantly obeys, sneaking one more kiss onto your lips, chest heaving as he pulls away slightly to look at you.

“Where, then?” he demands immediately, voice so strongly tainted with the same need you also feel. Your lips brush against his as his hands move to hold your face, his thumb trailing over your bottom lip sensually, as if trying his hardest to seduce you into making a bad decision.

“My dorm’s closer,” you whisper, feeling the heat everywhere as you watch his devilish smirk that you’ve grown to love so much spread across his face.

"Very brave of you. You're living up to the Gryffindor name quite well, amorina."

“Shut up.”

“But you’re so hot when you’re mad at me.”

You scoff in mock annoyance, one of your hands trailing to the back of his neck before shoving his lips into yours, kissing into him every single bit of frustration, pain, attraction, and love you feel for him. And for the first time since you’ve met Theodore, it doesn’t feel like a fight you’re trying to win.

masterlist ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

🌷 theodore nott

DON'T LET ME GO | theodore nott is an enigma to you. he walks around like he has no cares in the world, and he makes it his life mission to publicly harass you each time you cross paths with him. you and him are rivals in every way, but there are times when you feel like he always has the upper hand… so what happens when unwarranted feelings start to develop?

SWEET | (includes smut) you and theodore have been friends since 4th year, and are like peas in a pod. there's nothing that can separate the two of you. so when theodore becomes increasingly jealous at the attention you're receiving after your glow-up the summer before 7th year, he decides he needs to take matters into his own hands.

TRULY | (includes smut) a jealous theodore is not one you want to mess with. or maybe, for you, he's exactly what you need.