#pansy

Most Saturdays were spent lying in bed, trying to read books—despite your wandering mind—, staring up at the ceiling, or your friends trying to drag you out of the dormitory and into the commons. Luna often sat beside your bed, knees pulled up to her chest as she begged you to do something other than rot, and Hermione—she was less nice—she dragged you out, and practically threw you over her shoulder.

She went as far as to dress and style your hair, but as she tugged you towards the door, she'd give up entirely, especially when she saw the heavy frown and teary eyes.

Theodore was a constant on your mind, even when you despised him. You could see his pale eyes and cocky smirk, the silkiness of his hair and his fingers, on you. Your dreams were full of him—his hands down your pants or his body against yours in bed, or something as simple as a date in Hogsmeade, much like the one months ago.

You missed him. And it was a terrible longing that your heart wanted to act on, but your mind refused to do anything of the sort.

Theodore didn't approach you, but he did watch. He stared at you from across Transfig. eyes longing and sorrowful. He stared in the Great Hall, sneering when you didn't eat, and in the library—you ran into him a lot there. The interactions were usually awkward and tensely silent—like today.

You decided to leave the dormitory, so you dressed in something simple, your bag hanging on your shoulder, while your books were in your other arm. As soon as you pushed inside the library—at the top of the stairs in the small alcove of the entrance—there he was, preparing to step up, and you immediately smelt him—woodsy and smoky.

Both of you froze and stared at each other, you with a particularly uncomfortable expression on your face. Theodore's eyes were rimmed red, almost like he'd been crying, and his lips—usually pink—were pale and dry. He lolled his tongue out to lick them, hand reaching for you, but you recoiled entirely, stepping back through the door and speeding off quickly, but Theodore kept following you.

He'd kept his distance for two months now, and nothing was better.

At first, Theodore thought he'd get over you—you were just a girl, just a girl he'd spent multiple months underneath, on dates, in the library, in the Great Hall. He laughed with you, bickered with you, and in the best of times, it was comfortable silence between you two. Parallel interactions were the most common, where you and Theodore sat in eachothers presence, him solving cubes while you read.

But now, you felt vile being in his presence.

"Just—sweetheart, wait—" he grabbed your arm, stopping you completely, and you wrenched it from his grip, "don't you fucking touch me, Theodore! Matter of fact, stop following me, stop thinking about, stop worrying about me!"

You shoved him in the chest, forcing him a few steps back, and Theodore grunted heavily, eyebrows pinched as he watched you.

"You think I don't see you watching me? Think I don't see you reeling every time I don't eat at dinner? You have this weird facade that you think I believe, but I don't. You never liked me, so don't pretend to—the bet is over, and I'm sure you have your money so—" he shook his head, bag dropping to his feet as he moved closer, hands raised in warning.

You didn't step back as he approached, your breathing erratic as you followed his movements closely. Theodore reached up slowly and placed his hand on your shoulder, thumb caressing your neck, "it wasn't about that. I love you, and you know it. Look in my fucking eyes!" He spat, arm suddenly tucking around your neck and pulling you close, his nose inches from yours.

Tears gathered in his eyes, and he blinked them away, pupils blown, lips apart as he let out a shaky breath, "think I'd try this fucking hard to get you back if I didn't love you?" His voice cracked as he said it, but you didn't pull away—maybe it was the deep emotion in his eyes, or maybe it was the sheer heartache that wanted to be placated.

Placing your hand on his chest, you felt the hard thump of his heart beneath your palm, but you just shook your head, the heat of his body radiating against you.

"This is another bet isn't it? Get her back within a few months and you get—what? A thousand this time?" Theodore's face squeezed into one of distress and he shook his head, shoulders deflating when you pushed away one final time and walked away, body trembling with cries.

Theodore couldn't fathom the person you were now—the person he'd made you into. Not once did he see you struggling and breaking beneath the weight of your emotions, but here you were, crying because of him.

"Fuck!" Theodore spat heavily, running his hand through his hair, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard he could feel pain spark. He'd spent the last few months thinking about you, and it was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. Bad because he didn't have you—he couldn't send a letter and drag you out to the depths of the Forbidden Forest. He couldn't kiss you or hold you, or laugh with you about nonsensical things.

But it was also good because he knew he loved you deeply. He dreamt about you, smelt you on his pillows and throughout his clothes, multiple things throughout the day reminded him of you, even as simple as a crumbled piece of paper.

His time in your presence, but not exactly, was the worst. When he sat in the Great Hall, breaking beneath the rift in his friend group, all he could do was watch you. You didn't laugh with your friends these days, and your face was often downcast, and recently you didn't eat much either.

"Stop looking at her!" Pansy spat, sitting across from Theodore, Mattheo at her side. Pansy was wafting a spoon within a bowl of soup, face downcast, eyes full of guilt. Mattheo was talking to Draco about something random, and Blaise—fucking Blaise—pretended like nothing was wrong.

He'd been in the best mood out of everyone, despite the constant bickering. Everyone knew it, too—that the events had broken the group, but there was nothing else to be done. Theodore and Mattheo refused to speak to Blaise unless absolutely necessary, Pansy spoke to him only when it was an insult, and Draco wholeheartedly didn't care anymore.

The negativity had tainted everything, and no one could find a reasonable blame. Blaise acted out of jealousy, but the bet should've never been a thing in the first place, and that was the real reason no one broke off from each other.

"And why shouldn't I?" Theodore muttered, glancing at Pansy, and she scoffed, "because it does no good. Staring only causes pain, so instead, talk to her—no matter how many times she shoves you away, don't stop."

Theodore inhaled deeply, placing his forehead against the table, voice muffled as he said, "that doesn't work either! All that happens is one-sided arguments and me trying to prove that I actually—"

"Let me help then. Maybe if I tell her too, she'll believe it." Pansy said, glancing back at the Gryffindor table, and Theodore shrugged, "she hates you as much as she hates me."

Pansy smirked sarcastically, nodding, "definitely not true. I'd say she dislikes me for knowing in the first place, but honestly, we weren't exactly friends."

"And what will you say?" Mattheo asked, poking Pansy in the arm, but she just hummed, "I have no clue."

꩜ .ᐟ

Pansy Parkinson had never been a friend of yours, mostly because of your status as a Gryffindor and hers as a Slytherin, and those Houses didn't tend to mix—unless in special cases where you were being betted on. You had done a few assignments with her during the early years, but those were often filled with generic discussions.

But it was different now. She looked at you with a certain tenderness that exposed all of her thoughts. Pansy approached you in the courtyard weeks after the incident with Theodore. You were sitting by yourself, the sun high in the sky, but snow glittered around you, sticking in your hair and chilling your hands as you were making little beaded bracelets for your friends.

She approached silently at first and sat beside you, hand tucked between her thighs as she stared ahead, but a few minutes later, when it was clear you weren't going to say anything, she turned your way and cleared her throat.

"Are you...busy?" Her voice was light and a bit shy, but when you glanced at her, she seemed sort of surprised at your attention, so she continued, "I wanted to talk about—"

You shook your head stiffly, tying off a bracelet, "if it's about Theodore, you can leave." Pansy pursed her lips, crossing her legs underneath her, "it's more so about the situation rather than him."

Chuckling humorlessly, you glared at her, "are you trying to convince me he actually does care about me? Or are you about to apologize for being involved? Because neither would do me any favors, Pansy." She let out a quiet sigh, nodding, "can I just say something though?"

She watched you hopefully, pitch black hair stark against her pale skin, but you nodded nonetheless, deciding to give in.

"If you were my friend, I would've never let them bet on you, but after helping Theodore plan the dates—I got to know you through him, and I sincerely promise that he really does love you—" she raised her eyebrow when you began to interrupt, and you just deflated, rolling your eyes.

"—if he didn't love you, he wouldn't have been asking me how to please you. If he didn't love you, he wouldn't have spent every waking moment obsessing over you, and if he didn't love you, he would have never fought Blaise—one of his best mates."

Pansy stood after, eyes locked on yours, even when contradictory tears welled in your eyes while you glared. She squeezed your shoulder lightly, then walked away, head tilted to the ground.

You pressed a shaky hand to your forehead, reaching into your bag and retrieving a Polaroid picture of you and Theodore. You and he took it on the second date—the pottery date. His hands were caked in clay, but wrapped around your neck loosely, while you were bright and in the middle of a laugh, your eyes squinted while you leaned back against him, two clay hand prints on your cheeks.

Not having the courage to get rid of the picture, you kept it in your bag, and despite everything going on, your heart swelled with warmth, remembering that day perfectly.

You loved Theodore, and nothing would change that but time. It definitely didn't help when Pansy reminded you of his so-called love. So you decided it was time to avoid her, too.

But that was hard when most of your classes, she sat directly behind you, and she had a pretty impressive skill for weaving through the crowds to catch up with you. It was after Astronomy when you spoke to her next. You were walking with Ron back to commons when she tapped your shoulder and called your name.

Ron—not completely educated on what exactly happened—said he'd catch up with you later, and that was Pansy's perfect opportunity to pull you off to a small alcove near a pair of stairs.

"Are you doing okay?" She wondered, arms crossed as she rotated nervously back and forth on her feet.

You scoffed, "why are you pretending like you actually care—" she glared at you, Slytherin wrath breaking free, "—because I do! You think this is me pitying you, and yes, some of it is, but the majority is because I care! Theodore Nott was a fucking cunt before you showed up, and now he actually understands what it is to respect women! You think he was easy to deal with when he went parading through the halls fucking girls for a hundred dollars? No, he wasn't. But now, I see him in love with you and only you. He doesn't look at other girls because he's too busy looking at you. If he could, he'd carve your name into his skin. So when I tell you that he loves you, I mean it."

You watched her quietly, both your glares battling for dominance, but eventually she glanced away, chest huffing, "what could prove what I'm saying?"

You bit your cheek in thought, turning to glance out of the window beside you, "I want to hear it from somebody else—Draco."

꩜ .ᐟ

Draco Malfoy didn't enjoy mixing in the drama that was you and Theodore Nott. He'd been smashed in the nose over it, and now, his friend group was in shambles. He'd coined himself as the leader of the group, but there was little he could do when Blaise was being a cunt, and Theodore—sharp as a tack—retaliated, because often, Blaise was in the wrong.

So when Pansy approached him in the Slytherin commons, you by her side, he sighed obnoxiously, head thrown back against the couch, the Gameboy in his grip forgotten as he tossed it aside lazily, "what now?" He spat, running a hand through his hair.

Pansy glared at him, "don't get all sassy before I even tell you what this is about."

He scoffed, "I already know what it's about! As soon as I saw her, I knew what it was about." You rolled your eyes at him, sitting begrudingly on the couch, arms crossed, and it was beyond you why you hadn't left yet.

Maybe it was because Pansy had a way with words, or perhaps you desperately wanted solid proof that Theodore's love was real and not fictitious. And Draco was the perfect person for that. He didn't care much for what was happening, and if he could, he'd solve everything. So if that meant telling you just how much Theodore loved you, then he'd do it.

"Merlin, this is insane." He muttered, sitting up, his elbows against his knees as he locked eyes with you. "He's fucking delusional about you. In the dormitory he has a fucking shawl dripping in your vanilla perfume and each night, he sleeps with it—is that enough?" He glanced at Pansy, eyes rolling delicatedly.

She looked at you, lips pursed at your blank face, then she shook her head, "more."

Draco sighed, but continued, "above his bed is about a dozen polaroids of you and him—one in Hogsmeade, one in the treehouse—you both are disgusting for fucking there by the way—one kissing—matter of fact—" Draco stood suddenly, and you and Pansy followed him into the dormitory.

Theodore's bed was straight across from the door, hanging with a dark green canopy, but Draco pointed at the wall behind it, where the polaroids hung, and just as he said, there were dozens—all of cute moments of him and you. One was right after the sex in the treehouse, slightly tucked behind the bedframe, and you blushed at it.

Your hair was a bit messy, tangled and disordered in places, your cheeks red, neck covered in love bites, and Theodore was behind you, chin against your shoulder as he pulled a funny face, tongue out, lips swollen from the kisses.

"Lewd cunts." Draco muttered, then he walked over to Theodore's wardrobe and pulled it open. A small section of the wardrobe was full of your clothes—a few other shawls, a skirt, a Gryffindor tie, and a few hoodies, all dripping with your scent.

Draco reached up to the top and grabbed a small bottle of perfume. It was half empty and the exact scent you wore each morning. Pansy smirked at it, snatching the bottle from Draco's grip, "ever wondered why he asked what you wore? Well, this is why." You rolled your eyes, refusing a smile as you ran your hand through his clothes, smelling the woodsy scent on them.

"Is this enough?" Pansy wondered, leaning against the wardrobe, eyebrows raised, and you nodded slowly, "I think it's obvious now." Draco raised his hands in mock celebration, face pinched with a grin, then he ushered you and Pansy out, "fuck, make out—anything, and do it quick."

꩜ .ᐟ

Blaise could see everything falling apart before his eyes. You hadn't approached Theodore after speaking to Pansy and Draco, but Blaise could see the longing in your eyes—even across the room in Transfig. You were attempting to do your work, but every so often, you'd glance up and stare at Theodore, mouth pulled into something of a frown, but your eyes were a different story: want—deep and never-ending.

It was sickening, really, trying to break apart a couple so deeply in love, but Blaise was still sour over everything that had happened. Most of all, he was embarrassed, because despite everything, he was no closer to Pansy—in fact, he was farther. Her eyes were full of disgust when she looked at him, and the sort of insecurity that instilled ran vast during the night.

Blaise knew Pansy would never be his, especially not after everything, but that didn't mean he couldn't cause more trouble. So he brought the almond bar to the Great Hall for dinner a few nights later. It was tucked in his pocket, hidden within its depths, and Blaise didn't pull it out until the end—when he knew for sure you'd be looking.

He wanted to see the expression on your face when Theodore suddenly dropped. He wanted to see the agony when Theodore started convulsing, face red, throat swollen.

And the thing about Theodore's allergy was that it was deadly. Something as small as a brush of an almond could affect him, so it was simple. Blaise stood, eyes across the room to make sure you were looking, but also not wanting to draw attention as he passed by Theodore, the almond bar tucked beyond his sleeve, brushing just over Theodore's neck.

It was a quick swipe, nothing noticeable, but Theodore turned and glared at Blaise before spinning back around. He started talking to Pansy about the conversation she had with you and Draco, but then he coughed. It was a simple cough, just enough to have him pause and reach for water, then he continued coughing.

But Theodore stopped again, letting out a dry heave as he coughed again, hand coming up to his throat as he scratched it. Pansy paused as she watched Theodore with furrowed eyebrows, then Mattheo stared too, while he slowly stood. Draco turned to Theodore, "chew your fucking food, Theo!" He slapped him in the back, assuming he was choking on something, but Theodore shook his head, eyes bulging as his face became red.

He scratched at his throat, knocking his glass of water to the floor, the cup shattering, eliciting attention. Pansy yelped as Theodore collapsed, back hitting the floor, all the while he was kicking his legs, spine curved, chest heaving while he tried to force air into his lungs.

"He's having an allergic reaction!" Draco spat, shooting towards his bag for the extra EPIPen he had stored, but the bag wasn't there, and neither was Blaise. Mattheo cursed, watching the boy in question run from the room, and he bolted after him.

You were by Theodore's side within a second, pushing his hair back, eyes wide as foam spewed from his mouth. Dumbledore ran over with Madam Pomfrey and Snape, wand raised, but magic wouldn't help as Theodore's face swelled and his throat closed.

"Madam Pomfrey, we need epinephrine now!" Dumblefore shouted, and the woman's face squeezed as she shot out of the Great Hall towards the infirmary, but she wouldn't be quick enough; everyone knew that.

Pansy kneeled by your side, face horrified, while tears slipped down her cheeks. "He's going to die if we don't do something!" You spat, Theodore's eyes glued to you even as he spasmed and convulsed.

But suddenly, Mattheo was by your side, hands struggling through Draco's bag. When he pulled the EPIPen out, he immediately stabbed it into Theodore's leg, letting out a deep sigh as he wrapped a comforting arm around you and Pansy, "he's going to be alright."

Air rushed into Theodore's lungs as he gasped heavily, body pausing, while sweat sheened against his skin. He reached for your hand and you smiled despite yourself, pulling his head into your lap as you pushed his hair from his eyes, "I'm not going anywhere, Theodore."

꩜ .ᐟ

"An almond bar against the neck." Madam Pomfrey muttered, shaking her head slowly, hovering beside Theodore's infirmary bed, charting in his file.

He chuckled humorlessly, scratching his neck, "crazy what your best mate will do out of jealousy." She rolled her eyes playfully, stepping away, while you sat at the foot of the bed, a Rubik's Cube in your grip. It'd been a few days since the incident, and most of it was full of the infirmary, the smell of antiseptic, and unsaid words.

You visited Theodore when you could, Pansy, Mattheo, Draco, and your friends by your side, but today was the first day you'd come along, bearing gifts in the form of missed assignments. Your bag was at your feet, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, while one of Theodore's legs was propped up, his head resting against the pillow.

"I got this cube from Fred And George's shop. Everytime you make the wrong move, it shocks you." Theodore smiled gently, "sounds horrible." You pushed up beside him, your shoulder against his while you solved the cube, a little tense as you expected a shock, but thankfully you were making the right moves.

"I missed you, a lot." Theodore muttered, turning onto his side, leg overcoming yours. You grinned, setting the cube aside and turning towards him, your arm thrown across his waist. "Haven't been able to say sorry for everything."

He shook his head, pulling you close, "you shouldn't be sorry. Everything was my fault, and you reacted accordingly." Scoffing, you tucked your face into his chest, "you almost died because of me."

Theodore ran a hand over your hair, gently tugging on your ponytail to angle your face towards his, "no, I almost died because Blaise is a fucking cunt. Not because of you." You nodded givingly, finger running over the length of Theodore's jaw, then up his cheek, catching on the angles of his cheekbones, then finally you ran your finger over his eyebrow, chuckling as he shivered from your touch.

"How much did you miss me, then?" You wondered, lips muffled against his chin, eyes gazing into his, and Theodore's mouth quirked with a smile, and he shrugged, "way more than you think—like think about you in the shower and cry sort of need." You snorted, arm tucking against his back as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"How else did you miss me?" He hummed to himself, blushing before he even said it, "hands on my dick, often. Definitely in the shower, sometimes in the restricted section of the library, mostly the treehouse though."

Your pride didn't want to admit the fact that you'd fucked yourself to the thought of him too, but Theodore knew. You could tell it in the way he smirked at you.

"Tell me." You sneered playfully, twisting away from him, your ass notched in the crook above his thighs. "I'll meet you in the treehouse this Friday."

A laugh vibrated against your shoulder blade, "you think you're so clever, don't you?"

꩜ .ᐟ

Theodore did, in fact, meet you in the treehouse. In every universe, he did. He walked inside, hands stuffed in his pockets, reeling from the biting cold outside, but when he saw you already sitting on the couch, he smiled, tugging off his jacket and scarf—the charm to warm the treehouse working dutifully.

"It's freezing outside," he muttered, plopping beside you, still trying to warm his hands, and you nodded in agreement, a book tucked against your lap, but you turned to him, eyes shining with arousal.

Theodore didn't comment on it, though, he just smiled, slipping off his boots, then his shirt—tense muscles on display, his skin littered with freckles and moles. "Want me to make the first move?" He wondered, standing to take off his pants, and you shrugged, "it is your turn."

You closed the book delicately and watched Theodore undress, your eyes glued to his waistband where his v-line was—light brown hair trailing down and disappearing into his drawers. He tucked his hair back with his fingers, then kneeled in front of you, hands against your knees.

"Don't want to take control this time?" He asked, spreading your legs slowly, mouth hovering above your cunt, but he didn't press until he heard your answer. You squinted at the shimmer of something foreign in his eyes, but ultimately it excited you, so you shook your head, "you go ahead."

Theodore smirked, hands gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it over your head. His smirk grew into a full-blown smile when he saw your bare boobs, nipples already hardened. He ran his fingers against them, rolling and twisting, lips magnetically attaching to yours, then Theodore moved from your breasts to your wrists.

He clutched them firmly and kept them glued to your side, even as he trailed wet kisses down your throat, "don't move unless I say." You let out a pleased sigh, head thrown back against the couch as Theodore sucked on your boob, biting ever so slightly, a moan seeping from your lips afterwards.

You could feel chills of pleasure sparking within your toes as Theodore pressed the heel of his hand against your cunt, wiggling it back and forth while he ravaged your nipples, flicking his tongue back and forth against them. He swapped between your boobs, then grabbed your thighs and tucked you down against the couch, giving himself the perfect angle as he ripped your pants down your legs and moved aside your panties.

"Any homework?" He muttered, lips muffled against your cunt, his chin already dripping with your arousal, and you shook your head, chest stuttering with a breath, your legs thrown over his shoulders. You kept your arms by your side, fisting the cushions on the couch, spine arching each time Theodore flicked against your clit.

"We should study after this." Theodore chuckled at your failure to answer, and the vibrations went right to your cunt. Your legs locked around his head, but Theodore delivered a sharp slap to your thigh. He licked a long strip from your cunt to your ass, nose stuffed against your clit, then his tongue delved inside you, thrusting in and out, sweat glistening against your body, while Theodore's knees ached from the wooden floor beneath him.

"Fuck—Theodore, I'm almost there!" You said, panting, neck tensing while you let out a deep, groveling grunt, teeth clenched. Theodore hummed against you, hands trailing down from your boobs as he grabbed your knees, forcing them against your chest. Then, he stuffed his thumb into your cunt, shifting it ever so slightly so it hit that spongy part inside you that made you see stars.

You stopped breathing entirely, toes clenching, eyes wide open, but you saw nothing but white as your mind burst with pleasure.

Theodore shoved his hand against your abdomen, adding pressure as you came, hot cum seeping out of you and straight into his mouth. Theodore moaned, eyes glittering closed, hands gripping your waist as you rode out your orgasm, thighs trembling.

He wiped his face clean, then pushed his fingers into your mouth, "I love you." He muttered, climbing onto the couch beside you, then grabbing your wrists and twisting you onto your stomach, hands restrained behind you.

"I know," you muttered, head turned as you glanced back at him, "you fuck me like you do." He chuckled, hand rounding your ass, then he cocked it back and slapped you hard, the sound echoing throughout the treehouse, while you flinched, a moan erupting from your lips.

Theodore ran his thumb over your clit, then he removed his dick from his drawers, rubbing the tip right against your entrance, completely soaked with your slick.

"Gentle or rough?" He questioned, already tugging you up to meet him, your spine curved against his chest. He grabbed your throat, not harshly, just enough to keep you in place while he entered you, stretching you out entirely, but you clenched around him, making him stutter.

"It's your turn, remember?" You muttered, head pushed back on his shoulder, and Theodore chuckled, nodding. Once he entered entirely, he pulled back, then slammed right back in, hips kissing the backs of your thighs sharply. Your throat bubbled with a moan as your eyes rolled closed, and Theodore slammed into you once more, kissing your G-spot with ease while he reached around to rub your clit.

He continued this way a few more times, your moans a rhapsody to his ears, then he pushed you back down, hand against the base of your spine, and he thrusted quick and fast, the couch squeaking from the weight of both of you.

It was impossible to stay quiet, moans slipping from your mouth with each thrust, and Theodore was a victim of your cunt, balls already clenched and ready to come, but he held on until you did, watching his shaft disappear then reappear each time he thrust.

You were mesmerizing to him in all ways—during sex, when you laughed, when you cried, when you were silent. But these were the best moments—the moments when he had you to himself. There was no judgment, no nervousness, no restraint, because you were his, and he was yours.

And forever would it be that way.

With one final, weak thrust, Theodore came, dick slipping out of you as his spend spilt over your back. You'd come multiple times, each more intense than the last, and you were huffing beneath him, dripping with sweat and smelling like vanilla and smokiness.

Theodore grabbed the base of his dick and shoved it back inside you, deciding to give you one last orgasm. His hips were lazy and uneven, but he reeled from your exhausted moans, eyes on your face.

As you came again, he pulled out, moving you forward on the couch so he could slip beside you.

"Was that good—or too rough?" He asked, out of breath, and you hummed lazily, eyes closed, your breathing getting softer and softer. "It was great, Theodore. You're good every time." He chuckled at your lethargic movements as you twisted towards him, forehead against his chest, hand clenched lazily around the waistband of his drawers.

"Sleepy?" Theodore questioned, arms wrapping around you, but you didn't answer, small little puffs coming from your lips as you let out a minuscule snore. Theodore laughed, kissing your forehead.

Nothing could pull him from you now, not even death.