BF! Theodore Nott x Gryffindor!Reader
I hated double Defence Against the Dark Arts on Fridays.
The classroom felt colder than any other room in the castle, even though the torches along the stone walls burned as brightly as always. Shadows pooled in the corners, flickering over shelves of pickled creatures and jars of something dark and tar-like that I didnât really want to identify. The smell of old parchment, dust, and faint potions residue clung to the air, so thick it almost made me cough.
Snapeâs presence never helped.
âSilence,â Snape breathed as he swept into the classroom, though no one had been foolish enough to be talking. His black robes billowed behind him, and the hush in the room seemed to harden, tight and brittle, under his cold, assessing gaze.
I straightened up in my seat, my quill already in my hand. Snapeâs black eyes drifted over us, assessing, lingering on anyone who looked even remotely relaxed. My stomach clenched when his gaze passed over me, then moved on.
The seating chart was still as cruel as it had been at the beginning of the term. Theo was across the aisle, one row ahead, trapped between Parkinson and Zabini, quill spinning slowly between his fingers. From this angle, I could only see his profile and the dark mess of his hair, but I knew that if he turned, his eyes would find mine like they always did.
He didnât, not yet. Probably because Snape was still walking between the rows like a bat surveying its cavern.
Snape reached the front and flicked his wand at the blackboard. Chalk leapt up and scraped across it, scribbling out a neat, cramped title.
DEFENCE AGAINST PRACTICAL DARK ARTS: NON-VERBAL COUNTER-CURSES
âToday,â said Snape, his silky voice cutting icily across the room, âwe shall see whether any of you have managed to grasp even the simplest point of the assigned reading. Textbooks. Page two hundred and nineteen.â
Students rustled, flipping pages, quills scratching as a few overachievers took notes already. I opened my copy of Defensive Magical Theory and tried to ignore how the pages felt almost greasy from overuse. The text was dense and theoretical and about as exciting as watching ink dry.
Beside me, Seamus sighed loudly. âMerlin, this bloke could make a dragon fall asleep,â he muttered under his breath.
Snapeâs head turned, very slightly. âMr Finnigan,â he said in his soft, dangerous drawl, âperhaps you would care to enlighten the class as to the fundamental difference between a successful non-verbal counter-curse and a merely silent spellcasting attempt⊠that fails.â
Seamus went scarlet. âErâŠâ
I kept my eyes firmly on the textbook, even as I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. It wasnât funny, not really, not when anyone could be next.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Theoâs shoulders shift. He leaned back just slightly, enough that I could see his hand move, casual and precise. A corner of parchment appeared under his fingers as if heâd had it ready for this exact moment.
âNon-verbal magic,â Snape began silkily, having clearly decided he would rather hear himself than listen to Finnigan blunder through an answer, ârequires rather more than waving your wand about like a muggle and hoping for the best. It demands focus, intent, and most inconveniently for some of you... A functioning brain. Qualities which, it would appear, are in lamentably short supply in this room.âA few nervous laughs died as soon as they appeared.
My eyes flicked up, unable to help it. Theoâs head was bent like he was taking notes. His hand moved with easy, loose confidence across the parchment, his quill a faint blur. I watched the way his fingers held it, how he paused twice, the tip hovering like he was choosing a word carefully.
He didnât look at me, which was exactly why I knew he was writing to me.
âMiss Y/L/N,â Snapeâs voice sliced cleanly through my thoughts. My stomach lurched.
I snapped my gaze to him. âYes, sir?â
His lips curled, not quite a smile. âPerhaps,â he murmured, âyou can explain why so many soâcalled wizards fail at non-verbal defensive magic, despite managing the simplest of spells.â
I swallowed. The answer was on the page. My fingers tightened around my quill. âThey, um⊠they lose focus on the intent when theyâre under pressure, sir,â I said, forcing the words to come out steady. âEspecially with defensive spells. Fear interferes with the clarity of the spellâs purpose, so the magic doesnât obey as precisely.â
Snape regarded me for a moment longer than was necessary, as though dissecting the answer rather than hearing it.
âAcceptable,â he said at last, making the word sound very much like an insult. âIt appears at least one of you has troubled to open the book.â
I let out a slow breath through my nose as he moved on.
When I glanced sideways again, there it was.
A folded scrap of parchment had appeared by my ink bottle, nestled between my hand and the edge of my textbook. I hadnât seen it travel. No one had reached over. Still, it sat there innocently, not even a tremor from the faint draft that always seemed to whisper through the room.
Theo still hadnât turned around. His shoulders were set in that deceptively lazy slouch he used when he wanted to look like he didnât care about anything. I knew better. His quill was upright in the ink bottle now, untouched.
My heart kicked up, just a little.
I shifted in my seat, letting my left arm fall in front of the parchment. With my right hand, I slid it toward me, fingers brushing the slightly rough edge.
Not hot, not in any alarming way, but warmer than it shouldâve been, like it had just been near a cup of tea or in someoneâs pocket for ages. Or like it had been touched by a spell that hadnât fully faded. The sensation sent a tiny thrill up my arm.
Snapeâs voice droned on at the front of the class. âYou will now spend the remainder of this lesson practising the wand movement and concentration exercise on page two hundred and twenty. If any of you manages to produce something even vaguely resembling a real counter-curseâŠâ His black eyes swept over us again. âI shall be⊠astonished.â
Chairs scraped back as people reached for their wands. I took the distraction and unfolded the parchment carefully under the desk.
The ink appeared as if summoned by my eyes, dark lines blooming across the blank surface like someone was writing at that very moment.
You know you just impressed him, right?
I bit back a smile. The letters were unmistakably Theoâs: sharp, a little slanted, like they were holding in laughter.
I dipped my quill into the ink, my hand shielding the parchment from anyone nearby. The text faded slightly, not disappearing, but going faint enough that it looked like old notes.
Youâre delusional, I wrote.Â
He hates all of us equally.
The moment my quill lifted, the words sank into the parchment, absorbed. A second later, my response brightened, readable. Then Theoâs letters shimmered into existence below mine.
I almost snorted. Across the room, Harry, oblivious, was trying to copy the precise wand movement from the diagram in the book.
Focus on your own wand work, Nott. Â Or are you planning to charm your way out of the exam too?
There was the tiniest pause this time, like the parchment itself was thinking. Then the ink crawled back across it.
Depends. Are you offering to tutor me, amore?Â
My face warmed. Ridiculous. Weâd been together long enough that heâd seen me in way worse states than âslightly flustered in DADAâ, but there was still something about flirting under Snapeâs nose that made my pulse trip.
I nudged my own wand out of the way and spared a half second to wave it in the precise pattern from the book, muttering the counter curse in my head. Nothing happened, which was probably for the best. I didnât trust myself to focus with the parchment glowing faintly against my knee.
Maybe, I wrote. But I charge in chocolate frogs.
His reply came quicker this time, like heâd been waiting.
Done. Entire crate. Iâm very bad at nonverbal magic, you see. Tragic, really.
I rolled my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips refused to leave.
âPair up,â Snape snapped suddenly. âIf you canât manage a counter curse alone, perhaps another idiot waving their wand about will help.â
The room shifted into motion. Books closed, chairs scraped, and wands were drawn fully now.
Seamus turned to me. âWannaâŠ?â
âIâll work with Dean,â I said quickly, nodding toward the next desk where Dean was already getting up. It was a harmless lie, and Seamus shrugged and turned to Neville instead.
We rearranged a little, enough to satisfy Snapeâs demand for pairs, but not enough that the seating actually changed. I angled my body so that my left shoulder blocked most of Snapeâs view of my desk.
Dean practised the wand movement across from me, muttering under his breath. I raised my wand half-heartedly, but my focus slid back down to the parchment, which had warmed a touch more, like it approved of the cover the chaos gave us.
Is this really the best time to be doing this?Â
Thatâs exactly why it is the best time. Adrenaline improves recall. Itâs scientific.
I stared at the words and giggled under my breath. You literally failed that Charms quiz on magical theory last week.
Cold. I thought you were supposed to be nice to your boyfriend.
I shouldnât have let the word make my chest feel lighter, but it did. Boyfriend. It still felt new enough to savour.
Theo finally looked over his shoulder.
For a second, the rest of the room faded: Deanâs quiet cursing over a failed flick, Hermioneâs focused whisper from three rows ahead, Snapeâs robes sweeping ominously near the front. Theoâs eyes were a deep, steady green, expression calm in a way that didnât match the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He raised one eyebrow the smallest fraction, like a question and a dare wrapped into one.
I looked back down abruptly before Snape could notice and pretended to fix my grip on my wand.
Fine, I wrote. Consider this your first lesson: stop distracting me or Iâll let Snape feed you to a Grindylow.
A line appeared almost instantly beneath my words.
âŠIs that a threat or a promise?
âMiss Y/L/N,â Snapeâs voice cut through the hum of whispers and wand swishes again. âIf you are quite finished daydreaming, perhaps you would care to attempt the exercise with your partner.â
My spine snapped straight. âYes, sir.â
His gaze lingered, suspicious, then shifted to Dean. âTry not to let her hex you into the hospital wing.â
A few people tittered. I hoped my face wasnât as hot as it felt.
Snape moved on, terrorising the next pair. I exhaled slowly.
Dean gave me an apologetic shrug. âDâyou want to try once? I promise I wonât hold it against you if you accidentally curse my eyebrows off.â
We raised our wands, muttered the incantation in our heads, and tried to imagine a hex dissolving harmlessly in front of us. My spell fizzled like static, more a tingle in my palm than anything visible.
âBetter than mine,â Dean said dryly, lowering his wand.
I managed a weak smile and glanced down.
The parchment had grown impatient.
I saw that Theo had written. Not bad. But youâre a lot better when youâre yelling at me for leaving my tie on the floor.
I felt the laugh rise before I could stop it. I pressed my lips together.
Youâre infuriating. Also, youâre the one who keeps leaving your tie everywhere.
A new line of ink formed, and this time, little decorative loops appeared at the ends of the letters, almost like the parchment itself was amused.
You donât seem to mind when itâs on your bed.
I glared at the parchment as if that would make it behave. It didnât.
Theoâs handwriting kept forming.
For scholarly purposes, of course. Studying the properties of pure blood Slytherin silk. Very serious academic work.
I could almost hear his voice in my head, that lazy, teasing drawl that sounded bored to anyone who didnât know him, but always softened when he was talking to me.
Youâre going to get us killed, I scrawled, shaking my head before writing again.Â
The word âusâ glowed a fraction brighter before settling like normal ink.
Sounds like a worthy cause...
Around us, spells misfired. A faint pop sounded from somewhere to my left, followed by a squeak and someone swearing. The air tasted faintly of ozone and something burnt.
Snapeâs patience was wearing thinner by the second. âIf any of you explode your wands,â he said icily from the front, âdo not expect me to feel sorry for you.â
I swallowed, looking up briefly. His back was turned, cloak falling in straight, heavy lines, but I knew better than to trust that he wasnât watching.
My hand itched to write again.
Fine, I gave in. If weâre doing this properly, lesson two: donât be obvious when youâre cheating.
Not like you, then. More of his writing appeared.
You practically glow when youâre lying.
I could feel his eyes on me even without looking up.
You do, he replied. Anyway, itâs cute.
I ducked my head, pretending to check the textbook for something. Your idea of flirting is very flawed, I wrote.
Then:Â You donât like it?
The shift in tone was tiny, just a fraction less joking, but I felt it.
I hesitated the briefest moment, fingers hovering. Around us, the noise of exasperated students and half hearted spellwork went on.
The word darkened again in a way that had nothing to do with ink.
My chest tightened pleasantly. I risked a tiny glance up, but Theoâs head was turned forward again, jaw set in a controlled line, expression neutral. I knew that if I could see his eyes from here, theyâd be laughing.
âAll of you, wands down,â Snape snapped suddenly. The room fell silent. âSince none of you can manage even the simplest aspect of nonverbal defence, you will instead spend the last ten minutes writing an essay paragraph describing why you are so incompetent.â His lip curled. âPerhaps the act of putting quill to parchment will remind your brains how to function.â
Around me, people sighed, but quills came out obediently.
I exhaled, half annoyed, half relieved. Essays I could handle.
I shifted the enchanted parchment slightly under my textbook so that only the top edge peeked out. On the blank piece in front of me, I started writing.
The difficulty in non-verbal defensive magic lies primarily in the casterâs mental disciplineâŠ
Words flowed easily enough. I barely had to think about it. My hand moved on its own while my attention drifted downwards again.
Essay time, I wrote in the margin of the enchanted parchment. Snapeâs favourite.
If you write mine, Iâll give you half the crate of chocolate frogs.Â
Greedy, came the answer. Thatâs my job.
You can be greedy about other things, I wrote before I could overthink it.
Ink spread, then paused like it had stumbled over its own step.
You, I thought. My time, my attention, the way you hold my hand under the table in the library when no oneâs looking, the way you smirk when youâre trying not to smile.
I didnât write any of that.
Instead I delayed, scribbling another neat sentence about fear interfering with precise spellwork. A faint ache had started in my fingers from writing so quickly.
Youâre supposed to be working, I deflected finally.
His response came again, words appearing lower this time, like heâd shifted the parchment on his own desk and the magic was compensating:
Fine. Weâll call this a study break. What are you doing after dinner?
No plans, I wrote before I really thought about it.
Because Iâm stealing you.
I pressed the tip of my quill down a little harder than necessary, leaving a tiny dark blot. Thatâs not helpful.
Itâs not supposed to be. Itâs supposed to be intriguing.
Youâre so stupid, Nott.
And, youâre still reading this instead of finishing your essay.
I frowned, glancing at my actual work. I was, annoyingly, nearly done. The paragraph looked solid enough, neat lines of ink marching steadily across the page.
Almost finished, I wrote.
Good girl, appeared before the ink had even fully dried.
Heat shot through me so fast I almost dropped my quill. I dug my nails into the underside of the desk instead.
I forced my hand to form letters that didnât look shaken.
Youâre going to get hexed.
I stared at the parchment for a beat too long, feeling my pulse in my throat, in my wrists, everywhere.
âTime,â Snape announced. âQuills down.â
The room obeyed reluctantly.
âPass your work to the front,â he said. âI will read these when I have nothing better to do and need entertainment.â
Chairs scraped again. I slid my actual essay page to the front as requested, then turned my attention to the enchanted parchment to fold it up and hide it properly before anyone noticed.
A flicker of shadow crossed my desk, and a pale hand, long fingered and precise, descended on the parchment.
Snapeâs fingers closed around it before I could react. He drew it out from under my textbook with infuriating ease, the enchanted paper fluttering lightly between his grip.
Across the room, I felt rather than saw Theo tense, like the air between us had gone tight.
Snapeâs eyes, dark and glittering with something that was not kindness, dropped to the parchment.
âMiss Y/L/N,â he said quietly. The quiet was worse than any shout. âI was unaware that instructions to write an essay left space for⊠personal correspondence.â
Blood roared in my ears. My mouth went dry.
I opened it, but no sound came out.
He looked down at the parchment. I donât know what he saw. The letters sat innocently there, dark and mocking.
I wanted the floor to open and swallow me.
His lip curled. âHow touching.â
The words cut across the silence, sharp and immediate.
He hadnât raised his hand. He didnât look nervous. He looked⊠steady. His chin lifted just a fraction, Slytherin tie perfectly knotted, expression blank in a way that wasnât empty at all.
Snapeâs head turned toward him, very slowly. âMr Nott,â he said. âYou are under the impression that believing the entire class wishes to hear you is not, in fact, a delusion?â
Theo didnât flinch. âThe note,â he said. âItâs mine.â
I stared at him, throat tight.
âIs it.â Snapeâs voice couldâve sliced stone. âSo you are admitting to disrupting my lesson and wasting time that should have been spent compensating for your classmatesâ lack of talent?â
âYes, sir.â Theoâs voice didnât waver.
Snape stepped away from my desk, the parchment crumpling faintly between his fingers. He regarded Theo like something under glass.
âAnd Miss Y/L/N?â Snape asked. âShe was merely a bystander in this⊠literary endeavor?â
Theo didnât look at me. He kept his eyes on Snape, shoulders back. âYes, sir.â
I wanted to say something. The words lodged behind my teeth. If I argued, Iâd only make it worse. Snape would relish the chance to punish both of us.
âAnd is there a particular reason,â Snape continued, âthat I should not assign you enough detentions to occupy what remains of your miserable school year?â
Theoâs jaw tightened once, a brief tick. âNo, sir.â
For a heartbeat, something flickered across Snapeâs face. Recognition, maybe. Or annoyance that Theo wasnât giving him anything more to tear apart.
Then his expression smoothed into cool disdain.
âDetention, Mr Nott,â he said. âTonight. My office. You will assist me in sorting and labelling certain⊠ingredients. I imagine their company will be preferable to that of your friends.â
A few Slytherins shifted uncomfortably.
âYes, sir,â Theo said quietly.
Snape let the parchment fall.
It drifted down, weightless, landing on the stone floor between the rows. For a second, I swore the ink bled at the edges, like the spell tying it together had frayed under Snapeâs touch.
He didnât bother to pick it up.
âClass dismissed,â he said curtly. âGet out of my sight.â
The spell on the room broke at once. Chairs scraped, bags rustled, voices rose in relieved, nervous chatter. No one lingered near Snape. They knew better.
I stayed seated a second longer, my legs not quite ready to work.
Dean shot me a sympathetic look. âRough luck,â he murmured, then hurried off after Seamus.
I stood finally, my hands shaking more than I liked, and bent quickly to pick up the parchment before anyone could notice it.
The ink on the last line swam for a second, then settled.
Still worth it, it now read.
I swallowed, glancing up.
Theo was moving down the aisle toward the door, his bag slung over one shoulder. A small gap had formed around him, like the other students had unconsciously given him space. He looked unfazed.
I slipped the parchment into my pocket, grabbed my bag, and followed.
Outside the classroom, the corridor was cooler. The chatter of students bounced off the stone walls, fading as people peeled off toward different staircases. Torches flickered, painting the floor in stripes of gold and shadow.
Theo leaned against the wall a few steps from the classroom door, like heâd been waiting. His posture was loose again, that familiar, lazy slouch back in place, but his eyes sharpened when he saw me.
âYouâre insane,â I said quietly as I walked up to him.
His mouth curved. âAccurate.â
âYou didnât have to do that.â My fingers curled in my pocket around the parchment.
âDidnât I?â His gaze dropped briefly to my hand, then back to my face. âHe already had your name on his tongue.â
âHe has everyoneâs name on his tongue,â I muttered. âItâs Snape.â
âExactly,â Theo said. âHe doesnât need encouragement.â
I huffed out a breath, somewhere between exasperated and fond. âYou got detention.â
He shrugged one shoulder, like it was nothing. âItâs not my first.â
âThatâs not reassuring.â
He watched me for a moment, his expression softening just enough for me to see it. âYou alright?â he asked.
The honest concern in his voice untied something tight in my chest.
âYeah,â I said, and this time, it was mostly true. âJust⊠didnât fancy Snape reading my private conversations aloud to the entire room.â
Theoâs lips quirked. âCanât blame you. Though Iâm sure heâd deliver your lines with great⊠feeling.â
I groaned. âShut up.â
He took a half step closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne under the faint lingering scent of potions, something clean and sharp and familiar. His hand brushed mine, a soft, deliberate touch that sent a warm jolt up my arm.
âLet me see,â he said.
I hesitated, then pulled the parchment from my pocket and unfolded it. The writing had settled completely now, all our teasing preserved in gleaming black strokes.
Theo looked down at it, reading quickly, lips twitching at certain lines.
âVery incriminating,â he murmured. âHighly academic. Ten points from Gryffindor for corrupting a poor Slytherin.â
I snorted. âI did nothing. You started it.â
He tilted his head. âI seem to recall you negotiating chocolate frog rates.â
âBecause you offered first,â I said. âIâm not turning down free chocolate.â
âSmart girl,â he said softly.
The words settled warm between us.
I swallowed. âYou really didnât have to take the blame,â I said again, quieter. âHe couldâve given you a month of detentions.â
âHe still might,â Theo said lightly. âBut Iâd rather spend my evenings sorting flobberworms than watch him humiliate you over a bloody piece of parchment.â
âThatâs not exactly a grand romantic gesture,â I muttered.
He smiled, a small, genuine thing that didnât quite reach his eyes but came close. âYou set the bar too high if you think Iâm capable of grand.â He paused. âI can, however, manage moderately idiotic.â
âSuccessfully,â I said.
âThank you,â he replied gravely. âI work hard at it.â
I shook my head, but I couldnât stop the smile that finally broke through fully.
He watched it appear, and something eased in his shoulders.
âSo,â I said, slipping the parchment back into my pocket like something precious. âDetention tonight?â
âApparently,â he said. âSnapeâs office, after dinner. Iâm thrilled.â
I wrinkled my nose. âThat place smells like pickled nightmares.â
He huffed a laugh. âYouâve been in there?â
âOnce,â I said. âWrong place, wrong time. Donât ask.â
His eyes gleamed, curiosity obvious, but he didnât push. âIâll survive,â he said instead. âHe canât murder me. Too much paperwork.â
âLow bar for comfort,â I said.
Theo shifted, the corridorâs dim torchlight catching on the silver serpent pin on his tie. He looked at me for a heartbeat, then leaned in, voice dropping just a fraction.
âWalk you to the common room?â he asked.
âYouâre not allowed in my tower,â I pointed out. âRemember the last time you tried?â
âI recall certain portraits having very strong opinions about Slytherins,â he said dryly. âTraumatic experience. Iâm still in therapy.â
I laughed, the sound bouncing softly off the stone.
He nudged my shoulder with his. âThen Iâll walk you until the stairs go traitorous,â he amended. âThen you can abandon me to my tragic fate alone in the corridor.â
âVery dramatic,â I said.
âIâve been told,â he replied.
We fell into step together, heading toward the staircase. Our hands brushed once, twice, then finally tangled, his fingers lacing through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The enchanted parchment sat warm in my pocket, pressing lightly against my hip with each step, a quiet reminder of the way heâd said, Itâs mine.
âYou know,â I said, glancing sideways at him, âif youâre going to keep getting detentions for me, Iâm going to actually have to tutor you so you donât fail everything.â
His mouth curved. âSo you admit youâre offering tutoring now.â
I groaned. âThatâs what you took from that?â
âItâs the most important part,â he said.
âAnd the chocolate frogs?â
âObviously,â he replied. âIâm not suffering Snapeâs company without snacks.â
I shook my head, but my hand didnât leave his.
âFine,â I said. âIâll tutor you.â
He looked satisfied in that infuriating, endearing way of his.
âGood,â he said. âThen after detention, Iâll come find you. Weâll start with non verbal counter curses.â
âIn the common room?â I asked, amused. âI donât think McGonagall wants spells misfiring near the armchairs.â
He hesitated, then that secretive glint slipped back into his eyes.
âNot the common room,â he said. âSomewhere else.â
I raised an eyebrow. âMysterious.â
âStill not helpful?â he asked.
He squeezed my hand back.
âGood,â he murmured. âItâs not supposed to be.â
And despite the detention, despite the lingering echo of Snapeâs cold voice in my head, the warmth of his fingers in mine and the soft weight of the enchanted parchment at my side made the castle feel a little less cold as we climbed the stairs together.
