Food

Theo flicked you a look, lips twitching. "Your commentary is absolute shit. But that doesn't stop you from opening that pretty mouth of yours."

You kicked him lightly in the thigh, socked foot bouncing off his lean muscle. "Ow," he deadpanned, and flicked one card at you like a weapon. It smacked your forehead before fluttering uselessly to the sheets.

You laughed, grabbing it. "Terrifying."

"You should be," he said with a nod, but he was already smirking. That was who Theo was — he always looked a little too unbothered, a little too pretty sitting there with his collar loose, hair falling in his eyes, like the world could collapse and he'd still be dryly amused.

The problem with having Theo Nott as your best friend was exactly this: he was utterly dangerous without trying.

Which is maybe why, when you both got bored of the cards and you scrolled absently on the tablet you gifted him on his birthday, you didn't think before pulling up the browser and saying, "So what's the weirdest shit you've watched on here?"

Theo arched a brow from where he was sprawled against the headboard. "Define weird."

"Don't act like you don't know what I mean," you shot back, grinning up at him. "Come on. Everyone's searched something at least once that they'd never admit."

He hummed thoughtfully, eyes narrowing like he was amused at your boldness. "You mean porn."

You shrugged, pretending not to care though your cheeks went warmer. "Yeah. Porn. Unless you're about to tell me you've never—"

His scoff cut off your teasing. "Obviously I have."

"Well?" you pushed curiously with an arched eyebrow.

Theo tilted his head, studying you for a moment. His voice dropped just a fraction, that playful teasing he reserved only for you. "What do I get if I tell you?"

You froze for half a second. You hated when he did that — turned a simple conversation into something that made your stomach twist warmly. "Bragging rights?"

Theo's mouth curved into a smirk. "Shit prize." But he took the tablet from your hands, long fingers brushing yours, and typed something into the search bar. He didn't show you right away, just smirked at the screen, then angled it toward you.

Your jaw dropped the second your eyes landed on the screen. "Oh my god."

Theo chuckled in amusement, low and warm. "Too much?"

You slapped his arm, laughing. "That's— what even is that position? Is he trying to break her spine?"

"Flexibility training," he deadpanned with a nonchalant shrug.

You snorted so hard you nearly dropped the tablet off the bed. "You're sick."

"Please. You asked yourself." He looked far too smug, lounging like a cat while you tried to recover from the scene. Then, without asking, he tapped the next video down the list. Something tamer, but still porn.

You should have told him to shut it off. Instead, you found yourself watching curiously.

At first, it was funny. The over-exaggerated moans, the cheesy dirty talk. You mocked the way the guy kept saying "yeah baby" and "fuck" like he'd been programmed with only two phrases. Theo snorted every time the camera zoomed in unnecessarily close to the girl's face. It was the kind of thing best friends could laugh at without thinking twice.

Except... you were thinking twice.

Because you noticed how close you'd ended up sitting, your knees almost brushing his. How his shoulder shifted against yours when he leaned back at the headboard. How he absentmindedly spun the ring on his finger while watching, and how his expression wasn't as detached as you expected. Relaxed sure, but now with more intent.

When the girl on-screen gasped, Theo's tongue darted briefly over his lower lip, and your stomach flipped, dangerous and warm.

Nope. Absolutely not. This was Theo. Your Theo. You were just imagining it.

But then he glanced sideways and caught you watching him instead of the screen, he smirked.

"What?" you demanded, arching your brow in a defensive gesture.

"You're quiet," he pinpointed lightly with a slight hum. "Unusual."

"I'm just... processing."

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly, but didn't push. "Sure." His eyes flicked back to the tablet, then to you again. "And you're blushing."

"I am not."

"You are," he said with a smirk, far too pleased with himself. "Cute."

Your heart jumped. Cute? Theo called you a million names — idiot, menace, brat — but cute? That was reserved only for special occasions. And worse, he looked like he meant it.

The video kept playing. You tried to laugh at it again, but your voice came out thin. Theo leaned just a little closer, close enough that you caught the faint cologne at his collar. Close enough that when the man on screen groaned, you felt heat curl in your stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the actor.

It was all about Theo.

And suddenly you realized: best friends didn't actually sit this close watching porn together. Not without meaning something else.

Your pulse hammered. You glanced at him again, and this time, you swore his gaze dipped to your mouth before he caught himself and looked away.

Shit.

The room felt smaller by the second, the air warmer and thicker.

Theo hadn't moved much, but it was the awareness that had changed. His thigh brushed yours like it always did, only this time it wasn't casual. His arm rested behind you on the headboard, his fingers grazing your shoulder, and you felt every nerve in your body trip over itself because suddenly, it mattered.

The video kept playing, but neither of you was really watching it anymore.

"You can turn it off," Theo said finally, voice lower than usual. "If it's too much."

You forced a laugh, though your throat was dry. "It's not. Don't worry."

He looked at you, sharp eyes steady, like he was testing that. Then his mouth curved slowly, that teasing edge softening into something heavier. "Alright, then. Don't get shy on me now."

Shy? You wanted to smack him as usual when he teased you. But your body betrayed you — pulse raced, legs shifted subconsciously, and you couldn't meet his gaze for long without feeling like you'd combust.

The silence stretched, broken only by the obscene wet sounds from the tablet. And then, like the universe couldn't handle the tension between you two anymore — you both reached for it at once, fingers colliding.

You startled, jerking your hand back quickly, but Theo caught your wrist before you could move away. His grip was firm, warm, familiar but all new in a strange intimate way. "Jumpier than usual," he murmured.

Your breath hitched. "Well, it's because you're being—"

"What?" He tilted his head, studying you, thumb dragging lazily against the inside of your wrist. "Honest?"

The word sank into you, heavy and dangerous. Because yeah, that was exactly what this all was. Too honest. Terrifying in its novelty, but exhilarating all at once. Unavoidable.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn't hesitant, wasn't careful. Theo kissed like he'd thought a lot about it before, like he already knew the shape of your mouth, like your lips were destined to end up against his. His hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face to his, while your fingers bunched in his shirt. He tasted faintly of menthol cigarettes and something darker, and when you gasped, he swallowed the sound like he owned it. His tongue slid against yours, slow and deliberate, making you shudder at the sheer heat of it.

The tablet slipped forgotten onto the sheets.

"Fuck," you breathed out against his mouth.

Theo smirked, breath warm on your skin as he pressed his forehead to yours. "That's the idea."

You laughed shakily, but it broke into a gasp when his hand skimmed down your side, slipping under your shirt to trace warm and bare skin. Your whole body shivered at the contact, heat sparking everywhere his fingers touched.

"Theo—"

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice strained now, though his mouth was still curved. "And you know I will."

But you didn't. Couldn't. Didn't want to. Instead, you dragged him closer, kissing him again, more desperate this time.

The shift was immediate. Theo groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you as he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Inevitable. Blissful. Amazing. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as you rocked instinctively against him. The friction made your head spin, and his breath hitched against your throat.

"Still just friends?" he tried to tease, but his voice was a bit too breathless.

"Do friends get hard like this?" you shot back, grinding just enough to feel him under you. The twitch of his cock against you made you both hiss.

"Point taken," he muttered, before kissing you again, rougher, more intentional this time.

Clothes blurred after that. Tugging, pulling, laughter breaking through between kisses when your shirt got stuck over your head, his muttered "bloody hell" as your fingers fumbled with his belt. The kind of chaos only two people too comfortable with each other could create.

But when you finally got his trousers shoved down and felt him, hot and hard against you, everything stilled.

Theo's forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm and shaky against your skin. "We should— fuck, we should slow down."

"Do you want to?" you asked as you looked at him, voice barely more than a whisper.

His eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark. "No."

Your body reacted before your mind did. You ground against him again, and Theo groaned, head dropping to your shoulder. His hands dug into your hips like he was fighting himself.

"Just the tip," he rasped suddenly, voice breaking on the words. "Let me, fuck— I want to feel you. Just the tip."

You shuddered, heat pooling low and heavy in your stomach. The way he said it — pleading, wrecked — undid you more than his hot and solid body against you. "Theo..."

"Please," he whispered, lips brushing your ear. "I just need to feel you."

Your chest heaved, words spilling out of your mouth before you think twice. "Just the tip."

It was a lie, and you both knew it.

Theo lined himself up, slow and careful, and pressed forward until the head of his cock slid into your soaked entrance.

The world tilted.

You gasped. The stretch was sharp, overwhelming, delicious, your walls clenching around him instinctively. Theo swore under his breath, clutching your waist like a lifeline. "Fuck. Fuck, so tight—"

Your nails dug into his shoulders. Every nerve ending in your body lit up, the feel of him, even just like this, was dizzying, stunning. "Theo, oh my—"

"I know," he whispered, voice shaking. He kissed your throat, your jaw, your cheek, everywhere he could reach. "I know, love. Just a little... just—"

He tried to stay still, but your hips shifted on instinct, sucking him deeper inch by inch until he was halfway inside. Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the delicious burn, the feeling of fullness.

"Not just the tip," you whimpered softly.

His laugh was broken, wrecked and warm against your skin. "Yeah, no chance of stopping now."

And then he rocked the rest of the way in, slow but steady until he was seated fully, your walls stretching around every inch of him. You moaned at the delicious sensations, thighs trembling, body shivering on top of his.

Theo's forehead dropped to yours, sweat beading at his temple. "You feel, fuck, you feel unreal."

He gave you a second to adjust, his thumbs stroking your hip soothingly. But when you clenched around him so amazingly, he groaned and pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in. The movement sent sparkles of pleasure down your back, dragging another helpless sound from your throat.

Every tiny movement made you jolt, your body alive and burning with shivers. You could feel every vein, every throb of him. Theo fucked you slow but deep, savoring each sound you made, each tremor of your body on his. Every time your walls fluttered around him, his rhythm faltered, breath catching, like he couldn't believe it either.

Each time he bottomed out, you moaned without thinking, legs tightening around him to pull him even closer. Your nails dug crescents into his back, cries growing louder with every deliberate and delicious push. Theo's usual composure was completely gone now, his groans raw in your ear, his restraint unraveling with every twitch of your pussy.

"Taking me so good," he panted hoarsly, his pace picking up. "My perfect girl. My best fucking friend." His lips found your ear, hot breath making you shiver. "Never gonna look at you the same after this."

You shattered around him then, the orgasm crashing through you so hard that your vision blurred. Your body convulsed, walls clamping down around him. Theo cursed loudly, hips stuttering at the sensations.

He fucked you through it, every thrust dragging out the pleasure until you were sobbing his name in his shoulder. The twitch of his cock, the hitch in his breath, told you he was close too.

"Where?" he gasped.

"Inside," you begged without thinking. "Please, want to feel it all."

His groan was guttural, broken, as he slammed deep one last time, spilling inside you with a shudder that shook his whole frame. You felt the warmth flood you, felt the twitch of him as he pulsed, and that feeling dragged another aftershock from your already wrecked body.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound your ragged breathing and the faint, forgotten moans still coming from the tablet on the floor.

Finally, Theo shifted slightly. He looked at you, hair damp, lips curved into a lazy and sated smile.

"You're fucked," he murmured warmly, eyes still dark. "We're fucked."

You laughed weakly, tugging him closer for another kiss. "Best friends, huh?" you managed breathlessly.

There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.

She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.

That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.

The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.

First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.

What do I do?

In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.

Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.

For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?

It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.

You scoffed.

They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?

And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.

You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.

“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.

“Watch it—!”

Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.

You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.

And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.

Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.

A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.

Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.

All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.

Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.

The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.

Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.

When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.

Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.

“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.

You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"

Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.

You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.

But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.

“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."

You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.

Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”

The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”

You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.

If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.

They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.

“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”

Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."

Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.

When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.

"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.

It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.

You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."

“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."

Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”

Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”

You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.

He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."

Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."

You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.

Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”

Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.

This was a bad idea.

But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.

So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.

When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.

Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.

You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”

He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.

The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.

Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”

You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”

You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”

Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.

The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.

They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.

Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.

They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?

Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.

“Can I have one?” You asked.

"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”

You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”

There was another beat of silence.

“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”

“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”

“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”

You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”

Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”

You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”

“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”

Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.

"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"

Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.

“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”

You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”

Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."

You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.

Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.

All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.

Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.

Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.

She was there.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.

Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?

Her head snapped up.

“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”

You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.

Your heart almost opened the door. Your mind slammed it shut.

“No.”

She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”

“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”

“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”

Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”

Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”

She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”

Heat surged under your skin.

“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”

“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”

You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.

“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”

With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.

She didn’t back down.

“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”

Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.

You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”

One more shove.

Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.

“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”

The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.

“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”

You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”

His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.

“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.

His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”

You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”

And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.

Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”

The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.

Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.

You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.

“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”

Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”

Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.

The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?

Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.

“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.

You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.

Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”

The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.

Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.

You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.

Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.

And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.

Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.

How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.

You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.

She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.

And then froze.

Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.

The room erupted.

Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.

You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.

Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.

With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.

“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.

You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.

“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.

You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.

Oh, poor girl.

That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.

The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.

You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.

“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.

Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.

You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.

A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”

The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.

Especially the power it held over you.

You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

It was baffling.

Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”

You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”

He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”

And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.

They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.

It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.

But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.

Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.

With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.

Theodore’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh? You’re evil, bellissima.”

“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.

What happened next was beautiful chaos.

A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”

You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.

The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.

For now.

The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.

“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”

You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.

You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”

“Anytime, bella.”

“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.

Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.

Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.

When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.

Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.

“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.

A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.

A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.

Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.

But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.

Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”

You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.

“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.

“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”

The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.

Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.

You couldn't argue with that.

But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.

Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.

You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.

You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.

“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.

Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”

“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”

The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.

You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”

“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.

“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”

Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”

The problem was you weren't really his girl.

So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?

When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.

Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.

When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.

So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.

“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.

“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.

You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”

“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.

“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.

Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”

He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”

Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.

You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”

You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”

Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"

You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.

You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.

The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.

His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.

His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric, "Che bella, carissima."

"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.

"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.

If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.

Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.

But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.

You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.

"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.

When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.

"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."

His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.

"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."

Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.

"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.

He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."

Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music. "If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"

You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.

“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”

“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.

You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."

Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”

Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.

“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”

Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.

“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”

You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.

“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"

You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.

And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.

The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.

“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”

You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."

"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”

With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.

“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"

Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.

You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.

When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."

"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.

You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.

You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.

“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.

“Hi. You alright?”

You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”

“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.

“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”

Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?

"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."

You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.

"Are—Are you being serious?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.

You frowned, “What’s this?”

“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.

You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”

His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”

You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:

I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.

Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”

“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”

He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.

“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.

Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”

Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”

He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”

Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”

His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.

The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.

Bonus:

Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.

You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.

And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.

How had you missed all the signs before?

Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.

“Everyone!”

The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.

Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.

“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.

The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.

“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”

His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.

Your hand tightened around Theo's.

“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”

The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.

Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.

A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.

A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?

"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.

Your ex’s confident smile faltered.

Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”

Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”

You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."

Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)

The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.

Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.

“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”

He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”

You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”

The air went still.

Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.

He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”

Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.

Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.

And then—

“HE’S HERE!”

Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.

“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.

The door swung wide.

Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.

“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.

“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.

Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”

“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.

Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.

Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.

"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."

“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”

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Then Theo appeared.

You noticed him first by the way the chair beside you shifted, though he didn't sit in it. Instead, he hovered there, quiet and tired-looking, his school tie loosened, dark hair falling messily over his forehead. His eyes, usually sharp with dry amusement, looked heavy today.

You softened immediately.

"Theo?" you asked gently.

He said nothing at first. He only stepped closer, leaned down, and wrapped his arms around your shoulders from behind. His face disappeared into the crook of your neck.

You froze for half a second in quiet surprise before your hand instinctively came up to rest over his arm.

"Bad day?" you murmured.

Theo hummed against your skin. It was a low, unhappy sound.

"That bad?"

He just nodded slightly, his nose brushing your neck, and tightened his hold around you. His body curved over yours like he had been holding himself together all day and had finally found somewhere safe enough to fall apart a little.

You let your quill drop onto the parchment, focusing on him fully. "What happened?"

"Don't want to talk about it," he mumbled quietly, voice muffled against your skin.

"Okay."

He seemed grateful for that. His shoulders loosened slightly, though he didn't let go.

For a while, you let him stay there. You could feel the warmth of him against your back, the soft rise and fall of his breathing against your skin. His thumbs moved absentmindedly over the sleeve of your jumper, slow and soothing, as if he were comforting himself with the texture of it.

You turned your head just enough to brush your cheek against his hair. "I do have to study, you know," you said softly.

Theo went still.

Then, with all the dignity of a wounded prince, he whined.

It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was so unlike his usual composed self that you had to bite back a chuckle.

"Theo."

"No."

You laughed under your breath. "No?"

"No," he repeated, voice low and petulant as if he were a 5-year-old. "You studied yesterday."

"That's not how exams work."

"They should."

You tried to turn back toward your notes, but Theo only buried his face deeper into your neck, his arms tightening around you as if he could physically prevent you from returning to your work.

"Theodore Nott," you warned, though there was no real bite in it.

He just made another miserable sound and nuzzled further. "Five more minutes," he muttered.

"You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"That was a different five minutes."

You smiled despite yourself.

Theo must have felt it, because he pressed a little closer, his lips brushing the side of your throat in something too soft to be a kiss and too tender to be accidental.

"Please," he whispered softly.

That made you pause.

Theo didn't beg often. He rarely asked for anything directly in general. Usually, he hovered at the edges of affection, pretending not to need it until you offered it first. But now his voice had gone quiet and rough, stripped of all sarcasm.

You reached back and touched his hair softly. His breath caught slightly in his throat.

"Really terrible day?" you asked quietly, voice laced with a gentle worry.

He nodded once, and it made your heart ached.

With a sigh, you pushed your books away and carefully turned in your chair. Theo loosened his grip just enough to let you move, but not enough to let you go. The moment you faced him, he stepped between your knees and leaned into you again.

You cupped his face. He looked so exhausted as if he'd been running around the Hogwarts since the last you saw him.

"Oh, Theo," you breathed out softly.

His eyes flickered over your face, guarded and vulnerable all at once. "I just wanted to see you."

"You did see me."

"No," he said, frowning slightly as if it was obvious. "I wanted this."

Before you could ask what he meant, he folded himself into you, arms sliding around your waist as he tucked his face back into your neck. You wrapped yourself around him instinctively, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting between his shoulder blades.

He exhaled like he had been waiting all day to breathe. "You're warm."

"And you're freezing."

"Mhm."

"You need to take better care of yourself."

"I have you."

"That is not a care plan."

"It's my favorite one."

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers kept moving gently through his hair. Theo melted under the touch. His entire posture changed, the tension draining from him bit by bit. He leaned more heavily into you, trusting you to hold him together, and you did.

The library around you faded into the background. There was only Theo, tired and clingy and soft in a way he showed almost no one else. Theo, who looked like winter to everyone else but felt like a quiet fire when he was this close. Theo, who hid his bruises behind clever remarks and cold eyes, but came to you when the day had been too much.

"You know," you said quietly, "Madam Pince is going to throw us out if you keep standing here like this."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Then you'll have to stop studying."

"You're impossible."

He gave a small, satisfied hum. You felt him smile against your skin.

"There he is," you murmured warmly.

Theo lifted his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours. "Who?"

"My Theo."

Something in his expression shifted. The teasing disappeared. For a second, he only looked at you, blinking slowly.

Then his face softened so completely that it nearly broke your heart.

"Yours?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. "If you want to be."

His hands tightened at your waist. "I do." No hesitation. No sarcasm. No clever deflection.

Just the truth.

Your thumb stroked his cheek. "Then yes. My Theo."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch like the words had settled somewhere deep inside him.

"You make everything quiet," he whispered.

You swallowed slightly and softly kissed his head. "Is that a good thing?"

His eyes opened again, darker now, gentler. "It's the best thing."

You didn't know what to say to that, so you simply pulled him closer. Theo followed easily, sinking into your arms until his forehead rested against your shoulder.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You held him while the torches burned low and your abandoned notes lay forgotten on the table. His breathing evened out slowly, his fingers no longer clutching at you quite so desperately. Every now and then, he shifted closer as if reminding himself you were still there.

Eventually, you murmured, "I really do have to study."

Theo groaned.

You just laughed softly. "Theo."

"Five more minutes."

"You are going to say that forever."

"Yes."

"Theo."

He lifted his head, just enough to look at you through his lashes. "Your scent and warmth make me feel at home."

He seemed embarrassed the second the words left him. His gaze dropped, a faint flush touched the tips of his ears. But you didn't tease him — you just can't when your heart was aching so terrifyingly beautiful in your chest at his words. You only pulled him back in and kissed the side of his head gently.

The books could wait.

The essay could wait.

The exam could even wait, at least for a little while.

Theo had spent the whole day being sharp-edged and silent for the rest of the world. But here, with you, he was soft. Here, he was safe. Here, he could bury his face into the crook of your neck and ask for five more minutes like it was the only thing keeping him together.

So you held him tighter.

"Okay," you whispered. "Five more minutes."

Theo sighed, warm and relieved against your skin.

You shook your head in a resounding ‘no’, just a wrong breath away from stomping your foot like a fussy toddler. You loved your friends, you really did, but sometimes they were… Fucking insufferable, that’s what they were. Ever since Theo had asked you out—mind you, it happened only two meagre weeks ago, which was virtually nothing in terms of romantic relationships—they’ve been pestering you on and on and on about everything. Does he snore at night? Does he spoil you absolutely rotten? Is he actually Italian or just pretending for attention? This one was exceptionally stupid, even Lavender had to admit it after your astounded ‘What the fuck???’. But one of these never ending questions was the most persistent and frankly, horribly irritating: is Theo actually hung?

Of course, you weren’t a stranger to the rumours circulating your newly acquired boyfriend—in fact, you had participated in them multiple times before the two of you got together. But you also knew that at least two thirds of them were just that—rumours—and Theo wasn’t half as promiscuous as the student folk liked to imagine him as. Maybe it was his mysterious (really, just introverted as hell) persona, maybe it was the ambiguous way he’d never truly denied nor confirmed them, but ever since the two of you went official, your friends were hellbent on bullying you into doing just that.

“I hate you.” Cho huffed, taking note of the fact that her tried and true tactic of being as annoying as possible until you gave up was failing spectacularly. “Just a crumb, maybe? We’re not asking much.”

“Yeah, love, just yes or no,” Lavender joined in again, resorting to her best puppy eyes to try to coax the information out of you at last.

But you were unrelenting.

“Merlin, I am not talking about my boyfriend’s dick!” you exclaimed, and maybe it was a little too loud, since a few people lingering in the corridor glanced—some amused, some bewildered, it was embarrassing all the same.

Before Cho or Lavender could react, and it was very likely that they wouldn’t stop their interrogation anyway, you felt a cool hand settle on your waist from behind. Thank you, thank you, thank you, you repeated endlessly in your head as you turned around to face none other than him—Theo, your lovely, grumpy boyfriend who was eyeing your group of three with a slightly raised eyebrow. Nonchalant, as usual, but at that moment it was an actual saving grace.

“You ready to go?”

His smooth voice filled your ears like honey-laced liquor, and you felt every little drop of your earlier irritation melt away into the pot of lovelorn stupidity. What a sickening effect Theo’s presence had on you, you thought briefly, but quickly forgot all about thinking as soon as his hand pressed gently on your lower back, guiding you away from Lavender and Cho. They didn’t really protest—probably because neither of them had learned how to directly interact with Theo yet. Good. At least for now.

———

“You want to tell me, tesoro?”

“Huh?”

Your mind felt blissfully empty before Theo asked the question, so you didn’t really catch the meaning of it at first. You lifted your heavy head from Theo’s chest, where you had almost dozed off, and looked up. His expression was rather neutral—maybe a little more relaxed than usual thanks to the cuddles you so eagerly provided—but you could see that little hint of concern in the crease between his eyebrows. It was deeper than usual; you were getting better at learning his visual cues already.

“What do you mean? Tell you what?”

“Why you were so upset. When I got you away from your girls,” Theo explained, his fingers lightly caressing your back in silent reassurance. The pleasant little shivers they sent through your body were pretty distracting, but then you remembered what he was even asking about, and—

“Ugh, nothing. It’s stupid.”

You tried to shake off Theo’s worries, but the pout on your lips gave you away completely. It wasn’t even conscious, as if your body was getting pissy about that god-awful conversation by itself all over again. Of course, he noticed, and of course, he couldn’t let you bullshit him. He gave you enough cool down time already—three hours of quiet cuddling, no less—and had to ask to ease his own anxiety about your well-being.

“I know it’s not. You know I know. So just tell me.”

You sighed, realizing he was right, that you couldn’t really hide it. But fuck, it was really stupid…

“Cho and Lav are being fucking ridiculous,” you muttered, avoiding Theo’s gaze while simultaneously sneaking glances to check his reaction. “They’re…”

A groan, because why on Earth was it so awkward to talk about?

“They were asking about your dick.”

Theo stayed silent for a long moment, and you almost started to think he was getting ready to just up and leave because you had such shameless friends… But then, he chuckled. He rarely ever laughed, even with you, and he chose this moment out of everything to chuckle. He looked really good doing it, too—the dimple on his left cheek stood out like a small ray of sunshine in the dim lights of the dorm, a stray curl fell on his forehead. Theo was infuriatingly attractive.

“What?” you bristled indignantly, though there was a worried edge in your voice too. Was this the line? You had only been together for two damn weeks, and this was what did it?

“Amore.” Theo tried to will the smile away, but it creeped onto his lips anyway. The cute sight of it made your face light up—he wasn’t leaving at the very least, for sure. “You were so upset about your friends taking about my dick?”

“Well, yeah,” you grumbled, trying to figure out what to make of his reaction. “You’d be thrilled if Matt or Enzo started pestering you about my tits, I’m guessing.”

“They did.” Theo shrugged, like it was no big deal; with a good dose of satisfaction you noticed the barely-there tension in his jaw. “Told them to fuck off a couple of times, and that was it, pretty much. They stopped.”

“Lucky you.” You sighed, shifting against his side to get more comfortable in the face of your turmoil. Your thigh brushed against Theo’s crotch, and you definitely felt something sticking out there. Didn’t pay much attention, since your mind was still somewhat preoccupied. “I know it’s dumb, okay? I just hate this… mindset. Like they’re entitled to know all about your dick just ‘cause I’m dating you.”

“I get it.”

Theo was definitely getting turned on, you could tell by the restless way his hips shifted under your thigh. Yet he dutifully kept his composure for the sake of letting you vent. Boyfriend material, your mind immediately supplied. Good thing he already was exactly that.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

Theo’s fingers continued slowly tracing circles on your back. The movements were deliberate, soothing, letting you relax further into his touch and honestly, turning you into a bit of a puddle—both figuratively and literally. Your own hips moved involuntarily against Theo’s thigh, the dampening spot between your legs rubbing against the fabric stuck between you—his sweats and your pyjama shorts. Theo’s exhale was rougher this time, and yet he kept to himself for now.

“I can talk to them,” he offered quietly. “If it bothers you so much, I’ll tell them to knock it off. Okay?”

You let out a breath, an invisible knot in your chest unraveling. It was a comforting thought, to know that your boyfriend took your concerns seriously and was on your side, not even thinking to blame you for the shit your friends were saying.

“I’m good, babe. But I’ll keep this in mind.”

You shifted up the bed to place a tiny kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks,” you murmured, and it finally sounded easy. Theo must’ve felt the shift in your body, your voice, your whole demeanor, because he mirrored it entirely. He turned to his side, your hips slotting against each other like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces, and it became painfully obvious just how aroused both of you were. You’d been suppressing the desire in favour of having the talk, but now that it was out of the way…

Love could run free.

Theo kissed you, your lips connecting softly at first, tentatively, as if he was feeling out the territory and the boundaries that he could potentially breach. Having met no resistance from your side, he deepened the kiss, one hand still resting lightly on your back as the other one cupped your jaw. It didn’t go lower yet, his thumb rubbing your skin to uncoil the last remaining traces of tension, but you knew he was barely holding back. You could feel his cock harden even more where it rested between your thighs, and you couldn’t help a slow roll against it.

“Cazzo,” he breathed into your mouth as he twitched in response, hips grinding leisurely into yours, though he was far from lazy. “You want that, yeah?”

Even though your damp shorts were enough of a proof, you still nodded, lips brushing his because you simply couldn’t pull away. “Yeah, I do. Really do.”

Theo didn’t need any more words. His hand left your face and skimmed over your side, your waist, then hip, and dipped into your shorts at last. His fingers found your folds, long slick with arousal, and circled your clit—something he never had trouble finding. Your breathless moan into his mouth made his cock twitch again, but it wasn’t his focus at the moment.

“I love how wet you get for me.” His voice was hoarse, raspy—it got like that whenever he was in the mood, and it made you that much hornier in return. “Means I’m doing it right, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed back, grinding against his hand. Your impatience was showing, and he didn’t make you wait any longer—two fingers easily slipped into your entrance at once, squelching sounds filling the quiet of the dorm as Theo started moving them inside you.

Your lips stayed sealed together as he fingered you open, curling and pressing all the right spots he had come to know over the still-short period of your relationship. He took his time preparing you even though he could tell you were already hungry for his cock—he’d never risk hurting you if he could prevent it. But eventually his own desire started taking over as well—of course it did when he had his girl dripping all over his hand and rubbing her thigh against his aching erection over and over again.

Placing one last kiss on your swollen lips, Theo turned you onto your back, straightening up on his knees between yours.

“You ready?” he asked a little raggedly, palming himself through his sweatpants as he looked down at the perfect picture—you spread out before him, panting with arousal, hands already tugging at your shorts to get rid of them as soon as possible.

“Always. For you, always.”

When he pulled his pants down just enough to free himself, you couldn’t help it—you stared it his cock as if it was the first time you’d seen it. He was big, you realized once again—not that you hadn’t before, but it felt like the thought hit you with renewed force. Long and thick, flushed red, as if Theo’s entire blood flow rushed straight down there; pulsing veins running up the shaft and ending at the glistening tip. He was already leaking generously, and each drop of precum dripping down to his taut balls made you want to lick them all up and slurp. But now wasn’t the time. Theo was set on pleasuring you tonight.

“You like it, huh?” he murmured, lowering onto his forearms to hover just above you. “Like when my cock’s hard just for you, amore?”

The answer could never be anything other than a ‘yes’ moaned against his lips when he finally sank into you—slowly, carefully at first, until he was fully sheathed inside your clenching pussy. His cock throbbed insistently as he tried to give you time to adjust, groaning quietly into your mouth when he felt your warm walls gripping him just the right way.

“You’re gonna milk me dry, love.” Theo chuckled tensely, at this point unsure if he was going to last as long as he’d want to. But when you whimpered, rolling your hips against his to urge him to move, his tight self-control snapped in half, like a thread thinned out by the burning flame of your need.

His thrusts weren’t fast, but they were deep—oh fuck, were they. Each one seemed to hit a new spot inside you, echoing intensely up your spine, in your belly, everywhere he could possibly reach. Theo couldn’t keep his eyes fixed on anything in particular—they drifted over your blissed out face, then down to where your bodies connected, watching his cock slide smoothly in and out of your cunt, sweat-slick skin slapping against each other again and again. But when he saw it—the bulge in your lower stomach that appeared and disappeared every time his felt his tip grind against your cervix—his vision nearly blurred. How come he’d never noticed it before?

It was the hottest sight he had ever had the honour to witness.

“You feel me? Right here,” he rasped out, one hand resting at that perfect spot where your belly rose and fell in time with his movements. You nodded, your shut eyes opening just enough to see exactly what he was talking about—his cock making your flesh shift, the act itself like a claim on you he hadn’t intended to lay.

“So fucking big,” you breathed out, nails scratching Theo’s back harder when his thrusts grew sloppier, faster.

“And all yours,” he whispered, his lips colliding with yours in a heated kiss once more. “This cock’s all yours, amore. Doesn’t fucking matter what people say, yeah? You know you own it all.”

And when you came shamelessly all over that cock a few intense, mind-numbing seconds later, a brief thought flickered through your fucked out mind—you owned Theodore Nott’s cock, and you’d lie if you weren’t awfully, terrifically jealous of yourself.

“Why would you say that?” You turned to face him, your lips downturned. 

“Why the fuck,” Draco stood, closing the distance between you, “do you need Potter to study for?” He pocketed the Snitch, then leaned sideways against the bookshelf.

You settled on Shadows of the Mind: A Study in Darker Enchantments, pulling it from the shelf. You cracked the cover open, scanning the dense text until Draco’s ringed hand slammed over the page. 

“Answer me.”

You roughly slammed the book shut, inches away from trapping his fingers between the heavy covers. He was too fast, sadly. “Maybe I need someone to study with,” you answered crossly, walking back toward the sofa. “And Harry is always there, so why not.”

“To study with, and you chose Potter?” He laughed harshly. “You really do have a penchant for charity cases.”

You ignored his question, giving him a flat, disapproving stare. “I thought we were doing late-night patrols?” You plopped down onto the cushions, opening the book across your lap. “Is this really what you’re going to do now? Use my classroom to lounge around as you like?”

Draco reached down, grabbed the top of your book, and snapped it shut.

“Hey!” you glared at him, standing to grab it back. He lifted the book high over his head—out of your reach—and leaned his face down, close to yours.

“You’re not answering my second question.”

“And you didn’t answer any of mine.” You tiptoed to reach again, but he was too tall. He elongated his arm higher. “What’s it to you, Draco?” you huffed in exasperation, crossing your arms tightly. 

"I think you're lying, and you're not really answering me about what you and Potter are doing." His grey eyes scanned your face, looking for any twitch or tell. 

Fuck, he's sharp, as always.

"UGH! What's so hard to believe? I want to study with Harry," you groaned, plopping back down in frustration. "He's actually good in certain subjects, too." 

Harry is terrible when it comes to his studies.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” You stared at him, unanswering. He worked his jaw, irritation flashing across his face. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

“You’re third ranked in our year—through some bizarre luck—and you’re choosing Potter as your study partner?” he scoffed, tossing the book carelessly onto the cushion next to you.

He pointed a finger right at your face. "Tell me exactly what subjects you're supposedly studying with him earlier."

"History," you mumbled, gulping the moment the word exited your mouth. 

You regretted it. 

Draco laughed louder this time, the sound dripping with mockery. "Now I know you're lying out of your fucking mouth."

You stood, looking up at him defiantly. "Really now? And how do you know that?"

"I know for a fact, you're horrible at History of Magic. You spend the first hour sleeping like Binns’ lullabying you—choosing Potter is like the blind leading the blind." He took a slow step backward, looking you up and down with a sneer. "You'd be a hell of a lot more convincing if you said you were studying with Know-It-All Granger."

And Draco was damn right, but there’s no backing down now. You pushed his chest back, and he staggered back a step. He looked at you as though he'd just witnessed the greatest act of insolence imaginable.

“Shut up, Draco.” You pointed a finger right at his face. Your voices rose, growing louder with each word. “What’s with you?!”

“Fucking brat,” Draco said, his voice chilling your spine. He caught your hand where it hovered inches from his face. “You pushed me?”

You yanked your hand free. “What’s it to you, anyway?” you shot back. Draco let out a dry laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “I should be able to study or spend time with Harry without you constantly interrupting us.”

“Spending time with Potter. Are you truly blindingly mental?” His grey eyes turned frore. “There are forces actively moving outside of the castle walls—and you choose Potter?”

“What… forces, Draco?” you questioned. His eyes widened, lip twitching before he straightened. His expression shuttered, cold and unreadable.

“I don’t want you to study or spend too much time with Potter. That’s final,” he dictated coldly, sinking his hands to his pockets. “Find someone else.”

You scoffed. “What? You mental?”

“Find. Someone. Else,” he repeated with restrained anger. A muscle flexed in his neck.

“You’re! Maddeningly! Insane!” you snapped, throwing your hands up in front of you, your fingers curling into frustrated fists. It’s taken everything in your nerve to not run magic through it and attack him. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I FUCKING SAID FIND SOMEONE ELSE” 

“WHO?” 

"CAN’T YOU SEE I’M HERE?!" His face flushing with fury as he blustered, slamming his thumb hard against his own heaving chest. "You gudgeon! I ranked higher than Potter—or anyone in your stupid study group. I’m better than any of them combined!"

He took a looming step forward, harangued with a snarl. “I have you through an Agreement signed by your Head of House, whether you like it or not. So listen to me very carefully—“ he then shouted the closing lines, “—when I say you stay with me, you stay with me!”

The words were stuck in your throat. Then, silence settled between you, save for your heavy breathing.

“So what you’re saying…” you began slowly, gritting your teeth as you rubbed your throbbing temple, “…is what…what exactly? I—I don’t get you.”

“What’s so difficult to understand?” he hissed. “I'd rather know where you are—right next to me.”

Your eyebrows lifted in disbelief, your fingers twitching with the urge to throttle him. “You tell me you’re sick of me, but you've bound me to you for the whole year. You tell me you’re sick of me, but you have dragged me to your morning and late-night patrols for weeks. Do you hate me—”

“You said you hate me,” Draco interrupted. “And you know what? Good. Hate me like you mean it. You make me half fucking insane too.” He repeatedly jabbed the side of his temple with his index finger. “I think you did something to hex my head. I can’t fucking think straight around you!” 

“I wouldn’t waste my bloody magic on you!” you screeched, close to tearing your hair out. “Why do you care so much about what I do?!”

Draco glared at you, his jaw clenched. “I don’t fucking care about you! Not now or ever!”

“Well, guess what?” Anger bubbling up your throat.  “So do I, you git!” You threw your arms wide. “And you know what? Fuck you, Draco. I feel nothing for you and, yes, I do hate you, you confusing git!”

“Really?” Draco shot back. “Fucking prove it to me, then.”

“I’ll fight you right here,” you fumed, pointing to the middle of the room. “Pull your wand Draco Malfoy and—”

“Kiss me.”

Your breath hitched as you recoiled a step. 

“You said you feel nothing for me—you hate me? Then kiss me.” He closed the distance between you. 

A breathy laugh escaped you, your stomach tickling at the absurdity of the moment. Though your heart thudded stupidly at the challenge. “Excuse me—”

You realized you haven’t touched lips with him since… When was it?!

“Show me.” His eyes never left yours. “Or are you a fucking a liar? You hate me, or you’re scared you’ll feel something for me?” He taunted mockingly.

You scoffed, sneering. “Don’t be bloody absurd. I would never have any feelings for you. Maybe you’re just talking about yourself.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll show you how far I can go,” he murmured. “What are you worried about then? If it means nothing to you—”

You grabbed Draco by the collar and yanked him down, crashing your lips hard against his. 

Your teeth clashed from the force of it. You felt his lips curved into a wide, triumphant grin against yours, which only irritated you more—spurring you to pull him closer and kiss him deeper, anything to erase that smug look off his face.

He hoisted you up by the waist, dropping you onto the soft cushions of the sofa without breaking the kiss. 

His hand traveled downward, zipping and unclasping your skirt and throwing it carelessly. Your tongues fought for dominance, growing feverish until you pulled away to gasp for air. 

You hated the cheeky, boyish grin stretching across his face. “How much do you hate me?” he whispered huskily.

“With all my heart,” you answered breathily. 

“That’s it—so do I.”

He kissed you again; softer, slower. Draco’s hand rested gently behind your head. He nipped at your lower lip, your pulse racing sweetly knowing he’s taking his time. He tugged on the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head.

Draco hastily pulled his own top off, tossing it onto the floor. You suppressed a sigh from how much you wanted to run your fingers through the firm ridges of his muscles.

He resumed kissing you, his hands slithering over your soft skin. You let out a soft moan directly into his mouth as he unclasped your bra, his palm moving to firmly squeeze your bare breast—rubbing over your nipple, tugging and twisting the sensitive peak. 

You shakily tugged the zipper of his trousers down. He grunted impatiently, sucking at your tongue. Draco kicked the discarded trousers away, leaving him in his boxers.

He pulled away, both of your gazes heavy with heat. You don’t know what the hell just happened, but your lips felt swollen and your mind was turning hazy with desire.

He bit his lower lip, grazing it teasingly against yours before lowering his voice to a commanding, raspy whisper, “Sit on my face.”

“I-I’m sorry?” You blinked. 

Draco kissed your neck, sucking along the skin. You made soft, little whimpers. He bit down the sensitive skin of your shoulders. 

You yelped, flinching as his canines left marks. 

He chuckled before sliding under you, and leaving trails of kisses along your thighs. Draco’s fingers hooked into the edge of your damp painties, tugging it to the side. 

“Fuck,” he groaned roughly, “you’re glistening down here.” He slid one long finger deep inside you, while his other hand came up to aggressively flick and play with your tight nipple.

“A-ah Draco…” Your back arched. 

“I said sit on my face.” He braced you down hard against his open mouth. You inhaled sharply as he took all of you in, his nose brushing against your sensitive clit. 

Draco took his time to savor and stroke his tongue over your folds. Your mouth parted ‘O’ from the stimulation. You could feel your orgasm building as all the pent-up denial burned through you.

“C-close—Draco,” you panted, grabbing a fistful of his hair and grinding yourself impatiently against his face. “Don’t s-st-top.” 

He growled, the deep vibration rattling through you. His hand spanked your thigh before he pulled you off his face. You were right on the edge of release. 

“So greedy,” he grinned up at you, his pupils swollen with lust. “Is this how you behave? Beg nicely.”

He looked deliciously disheveled, his hair messed up from your fingers and his lips wet with your fluids. You needed him on you again, but he held your thighs wide open, pinning you in place.

“Draco, don’t—don’t do this—” you whimpered, squirming to push yourself down. “I’ll behave, please, p-please just—not again, Draco,” you sobbed, shaking from the agonizing denial.

“If you want it so bad,” he whispered, ruthlessly sandwiching your swollen clit between his fingers. You bucked your hips against his hand, a cry tearing from your throat. “Be a good girl for me and fucking ride yourself on my face.”

It was so humiliating, but you nodded your head. You lowered back down and began to fuck his face. Losing yourself as you moved your hips against Draco’s eager mouth. 

A wet, repeating squelch, squelch, squelch caught your attention. You peered past your shoulders and saw Draco furiously jerking himself off. Your body shuddered at the sight of his hand moving rapidly up and down the length of his hard, curved cock. 

You couldn’t believe how erotic it looked—the thick, white precum spluttering and smearing over its swollen, dark red tip.

The sight sent you over the edge. You held on tightly to his hair, your other hand rested on his chest, nails digging his skin as the pleasure became too much.

Draco’s free hand reached up, rubbing your clit rapidly before giving it one final, sharp pinch and twist.

You shattered. Your thighs clenched around his head as the waves of the orgasm washed over you. You fell back, trembling uncontrollably. 

Draco sat up, looking perfectly blissed out. “How do you like my pretty nose on your cunt, brat?” he murmured, his half-lidded eyes burning into yours. You blushed, unable to look away from his stare.

He pinned your knees to the sides of your face. Then brought his palm down hard in a stinging smack right against your swollen, sensitive pussy. Your jaw dropped in silent gasp. A second heavy smack followed, leaving you screaming out his name and trembling harder as the arousal spiked. 

“Oh, you really enjoy this do you?” Draco said, plunging two fingers inside you. “You’re damn lewd, you know that? Maybe I should train your body to take more.”

He spat, saliva dripping down to coat your folds. Your clammy walls clenching against his fingers, pumping and curling inside. He added another finger and stretched you open, twisting three inside. 

You bowed your head, suddenly feeling mind-numbingly full. Your legs were shaking, Draco had added four fingers and you started babbling incoherently as he pushed deeper. 

“D-Draco—Ah, ah, ngh!” Another blinding orgasm tore through you, sending shockwaves that made your toes curl. 

Draco hunched and squeezed your throat, kissing you ravenously—fingers pumping through your orgasm. Your eyes rolled back into your head, moaning into him.

He shifted, stroking his leaking, rigid cock in front of your lying face. You were gasping for breath when he said, “I’m going to sink my cock into your throat, and you’re going to take it all in for me.” His other hand knotted your hair, waiting for your reply. “You understand?”

Your brain was too mushed to think of anything. He gripped your hair harder, you gasped from the sting. “I asked you a question.”

You glared at him, and his cock fucking jumped in anticipation. “Yes, Draco,” you gritted, breathing his musk in. He grinned ominously before slowly pressing into your mouth all the way down to your throat.

He watched as your eyes water from gagging on his thick cock that’s filling your throat. “Holy shit, ah… fuck, look at you,” Draco whispered, he looked feral, like he was about to snap. Somehow that turned you on even more. You’re doing this to him. 

You struggled to keep him deep inside you, but you didn’t pull away. Every time you closed your eyes, Draco patted your cheeks. Forcing you to look at him while he’s face fucking you.

“Choke on it.” He pushed himself deeper, and you let out a strangled cry that made his body shudder against you. 

Draco released you before slowly positioning himself directly against your dripping entrance. He hissed, fiercely tapping his heavy cock against your clit. 

“Mmf! Draco, wait,” you gasped. “Wait, I’ve… ah! Never done this before.” 

He torturously dragged the underside of his shaft up and down against your slick, parted pussy lips, coating himself in your fluids. “Don’t worry. Just,” he grunted, pulling the wet, thin fabric of your panties back over you, “the fucking tip.” 

He pressed the tip of his cock hard against the cloth, nearly plunging inside before pulling back. Wrapping his fingers tightly around the base of his glans, he guided his swollen, fat tip to repeatedly poke and stretch against your clothed entrance.

The view left you completely mesmerized—watching his warm, visibly twitching cock rub stubbornly against your drenched pussy lips.

He flipped you over, spanking you hard on the base of your ass. You hissed at the pain. He landed more stinging smacks and you squirmed as he pulled your hips higher. 

“Ass up,” he smacked the blooming red skin, his nails digging as he squeezed it. “Stretch it open,” he ordered. 

You bit your lip in shameful anticipation as you did as you’re told. He slipped his cock under your panties, squeezing your cheeks together and thrusting hard between them. You could feel his wet precum and your schlick mixing as it ran down your thighs.

“Oh, how good you’d look,” he whispered, “when I stuff both of your holes.”

Your lower stomach fluttered at the thought, and you unabashedly moan in response. “You like that idea, do you?” he murmured, chuckling darkly. 

His head would brush against your entrance or prod “accidentally.” It would stretch and leave you more needy. There’s a sudden, wet spuuurt—he came inside your panties, his hot cum dripping down your entrance. You could hear his rough grunts behind you.

“Fuck.” He turned you, leaning down to say, “Tongue out.” Your tongues lapped against each other heatedly as he rode his orgasm through. Draco shivered, thrusting his spent weight against your ruined, thinly covered entrance.

You stared at each other, chests heaving and neither looking away. “Merlin,” he whispered, his brows knitting with restraint. “The things I want to do to you.”

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips. “What I’d do for you,” he mumbled, almost to himself. 

He made your mind melt, even more so when he left a string of kisses all over your neck and arm before stopping gently at your knuckles, pressing his lips against the skin. 

Moments later, he picked up the scattered clothings on the floor. Draco dressed you before standing to dress himself. You found yourself staring wantonly at his rounded ass. You bit your lip, tilting your head to see the lines of his flexed back muscles and—

“Like what you see?” He drawled, an eyebrow raised at you. Draco was fully dressed now, he swept his hair back with both hands. “We can continue on, I don’t mind.”

Your mouth hung, stammering as you say, “N-no.”

He snorted softly.

Draco’s fingers laced tightly through yours as he walked you back to the Gryffindor Tower. You’re starting to enjoy the shape of his hands on yours. And once you reached the Fat Lady portrait, you oddly didn’t want to let his go.

“Well,” you muttered, releasing your grip on his hand. Draco’s fingers tightened around yours before, seemingly reluctantly, letting go too.

“Good night,” you said.

“Alright,” Draco murmured, leaning toward your lips.

“What—what are you doing?” You quickly covered his mouth with your palm. One of his eyebrows quirked. “Haven’t I proven enough?” 

Draco pulled your hand away from his face. “No, you haven’t. And I decide when you have,” he stated, the corner of his mouth curling. “Flustered are we? I thought you said you’d feel nothing.”

“I can do this a million times with you and I won’t feel a thing. Can you?” you challenged him.

“Of course. Easily in fact.” He shrugged, towering you before saying, “I’m only here for the fun of it. But I think you’re just too soft, and you’re—”

You yanked him down again, planting a sharp kiss on his lips. He laughed, a deep baritone against your mouth that left you feeling dizzy. His hand pushed against your back, pressing you flush against his body. 

He hunched over you, deepening the kiss and sliding his tongue in to taste you.

His hand slipped right under your skirt to squeeze your ass. You nearly moaned into his mouth but you pushed him away, glaring up at his twinkling grey eyes.

You turned to face the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“Good ni—” Draco started, a smirk in his voice.

“MIMBULUS MIMBLETONIA!” you shouted over him. The Fat Lady was fanning her face, grinning knowingly behind it as the portrait swung open. You could hear Draco’s mean deep, chesty laugh from behind you as you bolted through the hole and ran inside.

You passed the common room area, but skidded to a halt when someone called your name. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in front of the roaring fireplace.

“Where have you been?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “You missed a conversation with Padfoot.”

“Again?!” You groaned, sliding a hand over your face.

“Did Malfoy give you a hard time?” Ron demanded, his face twisting into a scowl as he sat up straight.

Your cheeks burned, and you flushed a deep crimson. “No, he—”

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked softly, standing up and walking toward you, her brown eyes scanning your face.

“I’m—I’m alright,” you stammered. Before they could ask any more questions, you spun around and ran upstairs to your dormitory.

That night, your skin still tingle-warm from his touch. You stared up at your bed canopy as you wondered what it would feel like to have his thick member pushed deep inside you.

You held on a piece of paper Harry had given you. “Seventh floor…” you mumbled, standing opposite of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls. You turned to a blank stretch of a wall with a man-sized vase on the other side. 

You screwed your eyes shut, concentrating on your thoughts. Take me to the place where they are learning to fight, the place where they can’t find us.

A door materialized out of the stone wall. 

As you entered, the trio was standing near the center, watching in exasperation as dozens of students threw shoddy spellwork, stumbled through messy stances, and shot stray sparks that singed the cushions scattered across the floor.

Harry was muttering under his breath, openly frustrated at the chaotic sight as he ran a hand through his messy black hair. Your eyes met across the room, and he marched straight toward you.

“Where have you been? You’re late,” he said, his eyes scanning over your face, “again.” He suddenly reached out, holding your face gently with his palm as he looked at you closely. “Is Malfoy giving you a bad time with these patrols?”

You clamped your mouth shut.

Because ever since that night, Draco Malfoy couldn’t keep his hands off of you. He’d find excuses to take you to any dark, empty corner of the castle to pin you against the stone wall, making out with you until your knees buckled and you were left entirely breathless. 

Even during cold morning patrols, he’d pull you down onto the damp grass right on top of him, letting his tongue languidly explore your mouth while your fingers bunched tightly into his white shirt. 

Then, he’d abruptly stop, planting one last kiss on your eye or nose to resume reading his book with a smug grin across his face.

You didn’t know why the hell he’s doing all this, but Draco couldn’t seem to stop leaving his mark on you whenever he pleased. Or leaving you in general!

Just earlier, he had left bruises and nips all over your neck—forcing you to pull on a turtleneck just to cover up the evidence before coming to the meeting. 

He almost wouldn’t let you go. “Where are you going this late?”

“Back to the Gryffindor Tower,” you said, clearing your throat. Your neck was throbbing, and lips swollen from his rough kisses. “You have a Prefect meeting with Parkinson, right?” You blushed deeply, looking away from his gaze. “I’ll get going then.”

“I’ll take you there,” Draco said, reaching out to grab your hand. You pulled back.

“N-No, Draco,” you answered quickly. “Really, I just… need to go back to the Tower. It’s fine, thank you.”

He sensed your restlessness. “Yeah, I know,” he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “And I can take you there.” He reached out again, and you leaped backward, putting a clear distance.

“What’s the matter with you?!” He asked incredulously.

You squeezed your eyes shut, before blurting, “You’re—you’re too clingy, Draco!” 

His eyes widened. Draco’s face turned pink before hardening into a furious scowl. “The fuck—?!” he growled. “Fuck are you saying?”

“You—you keep pinning me! And—I—” you said, feeling damned embarrassed to say it. “Just give—give me space!” 

You groaned internally, wishing no one was hearing this. 

“I am not—I do not—“ he gaped, his pale skin growing a harsher pink. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Your mouth is there for me." 

Draco winced the moment he said it. You stared at him in disbelief, taking a step back. 

“Wait, listen, that’s not what I—“ Draco reached out, but you jerked away. 

“Leave me alone, Malfoy!” You stomped your foot hard against the stone floor. “Just give me some space you—you mouth-sucking jerk!”

You hurried away. 

And that’s truly how you were able to escape him and reach the Room of Requirement, following the instructions written on the scrap of paper Harry had given you.

Back in the present, Harry’s hand trailed down from your cheek. He tilted his head slightly, his fingers hooking curiously into the edge of your turtleneck collar.

Panicking that he might see the dark marks Draco had left, you hastily grabbed his hand to stop him. “I’m here now, Harry,” you said, your heart thumping wildly against your ribs.

“Alright,” Harry said, keeping his hold on your hand to guide you into the center of the room. “Also, we agreed to call ourselves the Dumbledore Army.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it, I suppose, D.A.” you pointed out. 

He cleared his throat loudly, earning everyone’s attention. The murmuring crowd of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs went quiet, their eyes darting between the two of you. “She will begin our first practice session.”

“Thank you, Harry,” you said, stepping forward as the trio stepped back to form a supportive line behind you. “Evening, everyone. I trust Harry has told you our lesson plan?”

A collective, uncoordinated, “Nooo…,” echoed from the room.

You turned slowly to narrow your eyes at Harry. He gave you a lopsided, incredibly sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck. Next to him, Hermione was side-eyeing him in heavy disapproval, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

You sighed sharply, turning back to the waiting crowd.

“Alright, then.” You started pacing slowly around the room, feeling the eyes of the group tracking you. “We’d like to begin our lesson by understanding where you are in terms of your abilities.”

You paused, nodding to yourself before continuing, “Each of you are unique, with differences in your skill levels.”

Your eyes briefly locked onto Neville, who was nervously twisting his wand between his fingers next to Luna Lovegood. You gave him a smile before addressing the whole group again. “Before we truly start with the lessons, I think it’s best we start by testing exactly where your skills are right now.”

You glanced back over your shoulder to see the trio nodding in agreement.

“How are we going to do that?” Zacharias Smith asked from the back, his arms crossed and a skeptical, annoyed frown on his face.

“We’ve been doing Disarming Charms,” Cho Chang offered softly from the front, looking between you and Harry. “But… I guess half of us still can’t get the stance right, and the spells are just flying all over the place blindly.”

“Thanks for filling me in, Cho,” you said, giving her a warm smile.

“But no, I’d like to start from the very beginning,” you continued, your gaze steadying. “I want to try a different approach to understand where you are.”

“Okay, how?” Fred Weasley asked, leaning forward on his knees with a curious grin on his face. George Weasley was wearing a matching gleeful expression. 

“I want everyone to attack me,” you said, clamping your hands behind your back. “All at once.”

Loud murmurs and sharp gasps rippled through the crowd. Lavender Brown stared at you in dismay, clutching Parvati Patil’s arm, while Colin and Dennis Creevy looked around as if they thought they had misheard you.

A loud scoff broke through the noise. 

Zacharias Smith stepped forward, a mocking sneer on his face. “Are you mental? There’s twenty-five and more of us here,” he snorted derisively, tossing his head back. “You want all of us to attack you?”

“Yes.” You shrugged, unbothered by his attitude.

“You’re joking,” Susan Bones muttered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she gripped her wand. 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” You coolly roved from face to face, unwavering. “I don’t joke around for this.”

“Now, I’ll preface this by saying you should not hold back,” you said, your voice carrying clearly. “I’ll also start with an apology in advance.” You offered all of them a small, almost forbidding smile. “What I’m about to do might hurt a little.”

“Bring it on!” Terry Boot shouted, a competitive grin breaking across his face as he raised his wand into a proper dueling stance. Michael Corner patted his shoulder standing next to Ginny Weasley, their wands at the ready. 

Hannah Abbott nodded eagerly beside Justin Finch-Fletchly. The rest of the group seemed to catch the spark; the initial surprise faded, replaced by a surge of fervour. Ernie Macmillan stood taller, looking determined, while Seamus Finnigan muttered something to Dean Thomas with a rogue smirk. 

They were all ready to test you. 

Frankly, so were you. This was your domain, your element entirely, and the thrill of it was humming under your skin.

“That’s the spirit,” you said, your eyes glinting with anticipation of the challenge. “The rules are simple. You fall, unable to stand, you lose.”

You clapped your hands together, the sharp sound echoing like a starting gun. “On the count of three,” you said, turning your head slightly to face Ron, whose face morphed into pure excitement. “Countdown for us, Ronald.”

“ONE.”

Sneakers and boots scuffed against the floor as twenty-five wands rose in unison, surrounding you in a circle, each one pointed squarely at you.

The trio moved back to the safety of the sidelines, watching you eagerly with knowing smirks. Harry leaned against the wall, arms crossed, confident in what you were about to pull off.

“TWO.”

You prepared your stance, taking a deep breath and loosening your shoulders. The low buzz of adrenaline began to rush through your veins. You focused, calling for your magic as it thundered throughout your body.

You closed your eyes, tuning out the world, listening only to the steady beat of your heart against your ribs.

“THREE.”

You moved.

“Thanks,” Edward turned on his heel, leading Bella in the opposite direction. Mumbling a short goodbye, she followed the vampire down the corridor, past the staircase and a living space before stopping in front of a wooden door. 

Before he knocked, Edward put a comforting hand on Bella’s shoulder, “Calm down,” his teeth sparkled against the light, eyes teasing. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“Sorry,” she flushed again, cursing at herself. She didn’t understand why she was so nervous to meet Y/n. More so than the rest of his family. Maybe it was because Edward spoke so highly of her. Maybe it was because she saw the way Carlisle lit up at the mere mention of her name. Or how the townspeople praised Y/n, even if they only had one interaction. 

Edward went to knock, but this time was interrupted by a voice calling out from the other side, “Come in!” Smiling, he pushed open the door, revealing a large room in what only could be described as an organized disarray. 

Bella’s jaw slightly dropped, taking in the scene before her. Eyes first darting to the high ceilings with a drop-down chandelier. Though it wasn’t on, thanks to the natural light provided by the left side of the room with floor to ceiling windows where a wall should’ve been. A beautiful, perfect view of the forest surrounding the home. 

The walls were painted a rusted burnt red, the kind you see in art museums. Floors made of the finest dark wood, with one area covered by plastic reserved for protecting it by the paint cans laying on top, beside an easel holding a large canvas. A very large, vintage clock took the center of the wall connected to the window, surrounded by pieces ranging from old signs to shelves holding books and plants. 

On the main wall parallel to the windows, a map of the world hung, flanked by art pieces. Portraits, landscape. Various mediums of pencil, oils, and acrylic. A phone straight from the 1930s mounted above a small table covered by messy stacks of paper. Bella’s eyes drew to a woven basket that came probably to her waist, filled with pieces of rolled parchment. A few laid on the ground. A foot away from it was a cart holding art supplies. 

Finally, Bella’s gaze landed on the figure in the center of the room. Y/n sat on a wooden stool, her posture perfect, hand scribbling across a large piece of parchment placed on the wooden desk facing the windows. The desk was the type that propped up, a lamp attached to the corner, and side table. Something an artist or engineer invested in. 

“I thought I heard the raging pump of a heartbeat approaching.” Bella squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment, letting out a small groan. Opening them when she heard the skid of the stool against the floor. 

“Y/n,” Edward scolded, tone playful. 

“Apologies, I couldn’t help myself,” Y/n chuckled, approaching the two with a wide smile. Bella held her breath, admiring the woman before her. Alice may have been the fashion girlie of the family, but there was no denying who she must’ve gotten it from. 

Y/n made even the simplest of clothing look ethereal. White blouse tucked into beige trousers, brown belt with hints of gold, paired with stunning white heeled boots. The necklaces she wore were layered, the longest of which had several charms making them clink together, bracelets covering her wrists, three rings on each hand, and gold hoops. A multicolor scarf consisting of warm tones like red, orange, and yellow tied around her hair. Then of course, her eyes were melting gold. 

She was the picture of an artist. 

Upon closer inspection, Bella had to hold back a whistle at the ring reserved for her left ring finger. Carlisle sure had taste and made sure his lady got what she deserved. That was no ring. That was a rock.

“You must be the famous Bella,” Y/n’s hand shot out, Bella hesitating a moment before taking it. Y/n’s handshake was soft yet firm at the same time. Bringing a chill to Bella as their skin met. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you,” letting go of her hand, Y/n brought both of hers up to make a gesture. “I have been begging Edward to bring you around for weeks. I don’t know why it’s taken him so long,” a playful glare was directed at him. 

Edward rolled his eyes, then put an arm around Bella. “Bella, this is Y/n. My mother for all intents and purposes. Artist, architect, and occasional therapist to all of us emotionally stunted immortal teenagers.”

“You said it, not me,” Y/n smirked, hands raised again. 

Bella laughed, comforted by Edwards touch as she regarded Y/n. “It’s really nice to meet you, Y/n. Edward talks about you all the time.”

“Good things, correct?”

“Of course,” Bella assured, nudging Edward who had scoffed. “He mentioned you designed this house--it’s absolutely beautiful. And this--,” motioning to the space, Bella was again in awe of Y/n’s studio. It’s like she was walking through an exhibit in the Louvre. “Wow.”

“When I made the blueprints for this house, I wanted everyone to have a place--plus everyone was vocal about what they wanted,” she teases with a grin. “Carlisle has his study, Alice her closets, Rosalie wished for a garage, Jasper desired a library, Emmett a game room, Edward got his music room. And me,” a hand waves to the room with pride. “My studio.”

Bella raised an intrigued brow, aimed at Edward, “you have a music room?” 

Had he been human, Edward would have blushed. He brushed it off with a shrug, “Yeah, it’s just where I keep a few instruments. I’ll show you as we go through the house.”

“A few,” Y/n lightly scoffed, earning a small glare from the boy. 

“Carlisle said you’re working on a project,” he changed the subject, nudging his head toward the desk. Catching sight of the blueprints that were in the early draft stages. 

“The high school plans to renovate the library, so they’ve asked me to go over some plans and designs. They were pleased with my work for the gym last year.” 

Edward turns to Bella, “Y/n has the magic touch for designing and constructing. And because we’ve had the time to redo college over and over again….” They share a laugh, “she’s got degrees in art, engineering, design, and business on top of her architecture education.”

The woman simply shrugs, “I like to keep busy. Who wouldn't want to take advantage of obtaining all the world’s knowledge when you have eternity.” If she saw the pointed look Edward was giving her, Y/n ignored it. 

“Anyway,” He sighed, returning his attention to Bella, “The town comes to her for consultations. And, in most cases than often, she designs and oversees the build.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Bella awed, past Edward’s shoulder she spotted the white construction worker's hat. Propped beside a coat hanger possessing a pair of overalls, scarves, and painters' boots. “Did you-,” her finger pointed to the display of artwork, “paint all those?”

“Several, yes,” Y/n motioned them to follow her, moving closer to the wall. “This one you might have guessed is the view of the forest from this room. The first one I did when we moved here. But not all are recent, some I did in the 90s--,” she pointed to a canvas framed with gold trimming near the top. Depicting an image of inside a medical tent, “That one is from when I volunteered for the Army Nurses Corps.”

Bella’s eyes bulged, glancing between Y/n and Edward. “You--you served during the War?” 

Y/n nodded, expression now solemn, “First World War. We were living in Virginia at the time and therefore injured soldiers coming back from Europe docked at the bases there first. Carlisle was the trauma surgeon, and I was a nurse.” Her boots echoed against the wood as they strolled down. “We stayed there the duration of the war before settling in Chicago….”

“How long before he wakes up?”

“Not long,” Carlisle kept his eyes on the unconscious boy while his wife paced behind him. Had they been able to sweat they would’ve been drenched. “The venom transferred from his neck. The closest I could get to his heart--it should take less than a day.”

Y/n ran a hand through her neatly styled hair in distress. They’d only been in Chicago a few months. Arriving when the War ended and immediately joining the effort to combat the Spanish Influenza spreading through the population. With their current predicament, there was no way they could stay.  

Ripping the nurses cap off, she asked, “What’s our next move then? We can’t stay here. This city is an endless potluck of people, and we don’t know how strong his urges will be,” she stopped pacing, coming beside her husband with a pleading gaze. “I know you said his parents are dead, but that doesn't mean he may not have family who’ll come looking for him. What kind of people are we to rip him from the ones who love him?” Upon the look she received, Y/n dropped her head, “Unless you mean to fake his death.” 

Carlisle placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “The boy had the influenza. They saw his condition--it was deteriorating. They’ll believe it took him in the night and his body was sent to the incinerators. Just like the others.”

Y/n sniffed, eyes welling with unshed tears. “I know, but…” she trailed off, “He’s a kid, Carlisle. We agreed that when it came time for us to save someone from death, it would not mean robbing them of their life--.”

“He was dying, Y/n,” his tone was firm, yet gentle. “I promised his mother we’d look after him.” Eyes flicker to Edward, then back to Y/n. While Carlisle hated himself for what he’d done, there was no going back now. “He’s our responsibility now. We’ve to teach him the ways of this life and make sure he copes with it. Not succumb to the darkness like we did.” 

Another sound left her, Y/n taking a moment to process before nodding. “Okay,” she whispered, keeping her voice steady. “We take this day-by-day.”

“Day-by-day.” 

“That’s when Edward….” Bella trailed, biting her lip when she realized it wasn’t the best idea to bring it up. Yet, she was surprised both the vampires nodded, understanding her implication. Instead, she said, “He mentioned you’ve been with Carlisle the longest….”

Like earlier with the doctor, Y/n visibly brightened at each time his name was said. “Will be two hundred years this fall.”

“Two--two hundred??” The human spluttered. Edward had failed to tell her that information. Only saying the two had been together long before Carlisle saved him. 

Chuckling at Bella’s reaction, Y/n tucked a piece of stray hair back in its place. “The vampire who bit me didn’t stick around. Abandoning me. A few days later of endless wonder and unable to control my newfound appetite, Carlisle found me.” Her smile was so wide, bright white teeth bouncing off light. “It’s been quite a life ever since.” 

They spent the next few minutes learning about the history of each painting. From the oil masterpiece of the New York Skyline to the charcoal portrait of Joan of Arc. Bella took time to admire the watercolor image of Carlisle. Donned in his white coat, hair and posture perfect. 

“Ah yes,” Y/n hummed, beaming up at the canvas. “My personal favorite. Though I’m a little biased given the muse of this piece happens to be the muse of my soul.” 

“Stay still.”

“I am.” 

“No, you’re not,” Y/n berated, dipping the brush back into the golden color before continuing to paint Carlisle’s hair. “I know this is time consuming, darling, but it’s not like you haven’t done it before.” 

“In my defense,” his hand raised, quickly putting it back in his lap when she groaned, “I’ve never technically sat for a portrait. The ones from Volterra were done while I wasn’t aware they were being painted.” A grimace took his features, remembering his time with the Volturi. “Aro preferred moments to be captured as they were happening in real time.”

Y/n threw him a look, shaking her head in the process. “Yeah, he seems like the type.” 

“First and last time he got to play model,” she laughed at the memory. “Thanks to the creation of the camera I could develop a photograph and wallah!” her hands made a gesture, “A still image to use as reference. And now with cell phones….I don’t even have to put in the work to develop the photo. It’s right there!”

Initially Bella found her reaction to a camera phone a little odd. But then remembered Y/n was a 200+ year old vampire and literally witnessed the development and advancement of technology. 

“But I don’t always create,” Y/n winked, stopping in front of a stunning work of a lily pond. “Sometimes I collect.”

Stepping closer, Bella inspected the art, finger on her lip as her brows furrowed in concentration. She’d seen it before. The familiarity of it was driving her brain into overdrive. Then it hit her, breath hitching, “Is that…A Monet?” Her confirmation nod made Bella nearly choke on her saliva. “How--?”

“Being alive 226 years and getting the privilege of traveling anywhere means I’ve had the pleasure of meeting interesting people,” her smirk was the type a movie villain showed that made the audience fall in love with them and brush away the fact they were a villain. A captivating sight. “One of those people happened to be Claude Monet during our time in France. Our shared love for art and nature brought a great friendship. I was actually with him when he painted this,” she casually said, aware of Bella’s astonished reaction despite her eyes trained on the canvas. “Unfortunately, Carlisle and I left before I got to see him finish. After he died several of his paintings went to museums or auctioned off. I made sure to acquire this one--took me about three years to find.”

After a moment of gawking, Bella gathered herself and moved onto the next piece. It really felt like they were in an art museum. Soon they came to the end of the gallery. 

“You’re incredibly talented,” Bella praised, unable to take her attention off the marble sculpture enclosed in a glass case by the small bookshelf. 

“Thank you. It’s nice to finally have someone to show this all too. Instead of just me admiring it daily.” Y/n put her hands in pockets, “Now I hate to kick you out, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline to beat,” Y/n led them to the door, “and I’ll let you get back to your tour of the house. It was lovely to meet you, Bella, and please don’t be a stranger. Our door is always open for you.” 

“I really appreciate it,” Bella smiled, standing beside Edward in the doorway, “It was great meeting you too.” A wave of a goodbye and promise to visit again, Y/n watched Edward escort his girlfriend up the staircase to the second floor. Leaning against the side, Y/n touched a finger to her lips, not bothering to hide the giant grin surfacing. 

“I know that look.”

Despite speaking after Bella and Edward disappeared, Y/n felt Carlisle’s presence the second he breached the corridor. Not to mention the tingling sensation at the base of her spine. 

Slowly turning to face him, her smile widened, and Carlisle saw the way her golden hues sparkled when he approached. “And what exactly is that look?”

“The one where you’re overcome with happiness unable to be measured with how much it consumes you.” 

Hands took hold of her shoulders, gently brushing down until they reached her own, Y/n leaning into his touch, voice teasing, “What mother would I be to not be overjoyed for her son and the wonderful girlfriend he’s brought home?” 

Carlisle chuckled, tilting his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. The floral aroma of her Marc Jacobs perfume amplified her already sweet scent. Oh, how addicted he was to her scent. It was like walking through a garden of the most beautiful flowers on Earth. 

“You didn’t embarrass him, did you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes, tapping his chest to scold him, “Not much more than you lot. He was practically dragging Bella out of the kitchen.” Carlisle raised his hands in defense, making her raise a brow.

“That was all the kids. I’m innocent, my dear, you must believe me.” 

She tsked, “Well, at least you didn’t scare the poor girl like Rosalie and Jasper. And as much as I love Alice’s excitement, you might want to tell her to take it down a notch,” Y/n made a face, “I thought we all agreed last night not to bring up Bella’s scent.”

She was met with a sigh, her sculptured-God of a husband dropping his head onto her shoulder in defeat. “What was I supposed to do? You left me to fend for myself.” 

Laughing, Y/n reached her arms around his shoulders, encasing him in an embrace to which he greatly accepted. “I’m sorry, my love. Will you forgive me? I promise to find you the finest stag in all of Washington for you to feast upon.” Instantly his head shot up, moving it so their noses brushed against each other. 

“That’ll do.” Their lips met, igniting fireworks throughout their bodies as it always had for 200 years. Never once losing the feeling. 

They’d seen everything in the course of their century's long life. Several wars. Epidemics. The fall of countries and rise of new ones. Medicine advancing, technology overtaking man. The race to space and the rebirth of the Olympic Games. 

Met people who’d changed the world. Witnessed humanity evolve--and sometimes wondered how the hell it could be so stupid. But overall, they were the stagnant figures in their plane of existence. Time moving, they remained still.

And yet, somehow, they were able to find a family after all. 

When they pulled apart, their expressions of love remained. “God,” she hummed, “That never gets old.”

“Just like the first time?” He chafed, gold eyes glimmering.

Y/n pretending to think, lips pouting, “Less nervous,” a squeal escaped her at the feeling of his fingers tickling her ribcage. Shoving him away, the woman chided, “Get back to the hospital old man. There are patients to be seen, and I have a deadline to finish.” The gasp that left him made her grin.

“Old?! I’ll have you know that if I’m old then that means you are---.”

“Don’t you finish that sentence,” her finger pointed at his chest, “otherwise you’re sleeping on the couch.” Carlisle smirked, entering her personal space once again. 

“I can’t sleep. Neither can you.”

“Damn,” she exhaled, feigning defeat when really, she was becoming more invested with their little game. “You’re right.” Then her eyes turned dark, sinister. Face consorting to a look that made Carlisle shudder. 

A look he’d seen hundreds of times, and not once did not bring a chill to his already cold body. Enough to bring his heart back to life. Enough to send the frozen blood down to his spine. 

It would take an hour to get home on foot, likely two with how drunk you are and your lack of shoes, but the longer you sat the more you debated it until headlights cut through the trees, an all too familiar silver Volvo coming up the drive. “Oh,” you say aloud, making a mental note to curse Bella out for sending him of all people. 

Carlisle Cullen stepped out like he’d materialized from a dream you’d been avoiding. Black coat, dark sweater, jaw tighter than you'd ever seen it. It is the first time in three weeks that you have seen each other and he’s angry — ‘maybe if I just go back inside he’ll forget what he came here for,’ you think, drunk mind fighting logic. The wooden step creaks under you as you stand, the movement feeling awfully quick for how slow it must’ve looked. 

Unfortunately for you, Carlisle is much faster, already standing at the bottom of the steps, stopped in front of you. “Don’t,” he says, tone strict as if he knows your plan. “Get in the car.” you both stand in a tense silence, him waiting and you debating — you can’t outrun him, but you could deny him. As you go to speak, Carlisle shakes his head, features irritated. “No, get in the car, (y/n).”

You should’ve known it was a losing game to argue with him, he’s always been two steps ahead where you're concerned. “Okay,” you agree, taking an unsteady step towards him; his hands are ready to catch you, but thankfully you make it to the car unscathed with wet feet from the grass. He opens the door for you, helping you inside and buckling you in. 

When he slides into the driver’s seat, the car is silent. His hands are white knuckle gripping the wheel and his jaw is tense. You peek at him from the corner of your eye every few minutes, waiting — hoping he’ll say something. 

He won’t even look at you, but when he finally speaks its soft and gentle tone betrays his facial expression. “Three weeks,” he starts, voice quiet. “That’s how long I’ve gone without seeing you.” and you nod, biting back a sarcastic response. ‘No shit, captain obvious,’ you think, but you’d never verbalize that, especially now. “And this is what I come back to?” he adds, voice low and taking on a sharp edge. “You, drunk. Dressed like this. Sitting outside someone’s house like you don’t even know what could happen to you?”

You shrink back into the leather seat, not used to this side of him. “Bella called you. Not me. I asked her for a ride.” you say as if that makes the situation any better. “She wouldn’t have been mad if you said no.”

“She was drunk too,” he snapped, though his voice never rose. “I don’t care what Bella thinks either — your safety is my responsibility, how could I leave you, knowing you’re like this?” he asks, but it’s more of a statement than a real question. 

You swallowed, throat dry. “I didn’t know she would—”

“Of course you didn’t.” His tone was clipped as he cut you off and you flinch slightly. “You weren’t thinking.” His head tilts to the side as if he said the most obvious thing in the world. His jaw is still tense, but his fingers have relaxed their grip.

“You haven’t answered my texts,” you murmur, wanting to change the topic to take the spotlight off your drunken antics. “Left me on open even,” you add, a slight smile ghosting your lips. “That’s crazy, you know?” It’s moments like these when your young age slips through, vocabulary less sophisticated than his own. 

His head turned to you slowly. Eyes cold, golden, and unreadable. Your attempt to lighten the mood was lost on him. 

“No,” he says. “I haven’t.”

His face scrunches in deep thought as he weighs the pros and cons of his next move before ultimately caving — the car slows to a stop, pulling over on the side of the road. He looks at you again, pausing before he speaks. “Do you think it’s easy?” he asks, voice just above a whisper. “Staying away from you?”

You shiver at the sudden proximity, eyes darting to his lips for a split second before reaching his eyes. “Carlisle…” you mutter, suddenly shy as you look down to your lap. 

“Three weeks,” he repeats, cold hand grabbing your chin firmly, guiding your face back to him and forcing eye contact. “And this is how it goes? You in a dress that barely covers you and liquor on your breath?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

His hand releases your chin, finding its way to your bare thigh in a gentle touch. You freeze, not daring to look away or move, focusing on his scent instead; cedar wood, pine trees, and a hint of sterile hospital. 

“I’m angry,” he says softly, fingers sliding up just slightly. “But not because I had to pick you up.” he clarifies, not wanting you to think of yourself as a burden. “I’m angry because you’ve put yourself in a risky situation and then tried to deny me.” 

Your heart pounds in your chest, mind swirling with confusion at the situation. “I didn’t know you still cared,” you whisper, looking away in embarrassment.

He scoffs, just barely as he sits back into his seat. “You think me not seeing you for three weeks means I stopped?” He asks, hand squeezing your thigh just enough to make you tense. You nod slowly and he runs his free hand through his hair. ”Silly girl, I couldn’t stop if I wanted to,” he says. “And that's the problem.” 

His eyes meet yours once again and he takes his hand off your thigh to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. “You don’t even understand what you’re doing,” he muttered. “Sitting there, all soft and drunk. Looking at me like you want me to fix it.”

‘Yes, please fix it — fix me,’ you think, eyes flicking down to his lips. “You know you want to,” you tell him, voice a soft whisper, nearly a plea. Your mind is a mess, thinking of all the ways he could have you if he wanted to, but Carlisle is a man of restraint; even when it’s cracking. 

He leans in, face inches from your own. “Of course I do,” he says. “But I shouldn’t have to clean up your mess just to hold you again,” he adds, referring to your drunk decisions you forgot about — the whole reason you’re even in this situation to begin with. 

You look down, ashamed. “I’m sorry,” you say honestly, his hand finding its way back to your thigh, his thumb moving in a circular pattern — it’s soothing, forgiveness. 

–

“Bella,” you call out to the girl ahead of you, clutching your bag in one hand and a present in the other as you jog to catch up. “Slow down, I’m going to trip.” you tell her, smiling when she laughs and calls you a slow poke. She has two bags and a present of her own, yet she moves like her hands are empty. 

The cullen house sits in front of you, minimal birthday decorations covering the entrance; the work of Rosalie, no doubt. It’s Edwards 20th birthday and Bella planned a sleepover with the three of you. “I hope he likes what I got him,” she says, knocking on the front door. Her eyes glance down at the box in her hands, thumbs smoothing over the yellow wrapping paper as she chews her lip in thought. 

You bump your shoulder against hers, smiling at her worry, “He’ll love it.” It doesn’t do much to ease her stress, but she knows you’re right. 

The door in front of you opens, revealing Carlisle in a red button down and slacks. You pause momentarily to take in the sight, but Bella is quick to push you forward, causing you to stumble as she’s grumbling about no time to waste, but the look in her eyes says you were being too obvious. 

Carlisle steadies you with a large hand on your waist, not that you needed the help. “Careful girls,” he jokes, letting his hand trail up the side of your waist, down your arm and to your hands. He grabs the gift and your bag, wordlessly taking them elsewhere and you brush the interaction off — Bella hadn’t even seen it, too busy walking up the stairs to her boyfriend’s room. 

You’re able to catch up quickly, glancing back at where you stood moments ago, feeling butterflies form in your gut. ‘Bella is not going to believe what just happened,’ you think, smiling softly to yourself. 

“Happy birthday!” you yell in sync with Bella, the two of you take turns giving the older boy a hug. “How’s it feel to be such an old man?” you ask, jokingly punching his shoulder. 

“Feels good, should start planning my retirement and funeral now, huh?” he replies, taking the gift from Bella and opening it. Your mind drifts to your interaction with Carlisle earlier as the two of them chat back and forth - ‘Had he meant anything by it?’ you wonder, attempting to see it as nothing. “You know,” Edward starts, catching your attention. “They say the feeling of butterflies is actually anxiety, that it could be a warning.”

Bella laughs, but you go stiff; how the hell did he know? It has to be a coincidence, a very off putting one. “That’s not good,” Bella says, setting her bag down on the floor and taking a seat on his bed. “I’ve had butterflies every time I look at you.”

He leans down to kiss her, hand brushing her brown hair out of the way, “That’s different, you have the good kind.” The clock ticking on the wall above his bed fills the silence as the pair go in for another kiss.

You, suddenly uncomfortable with the moment, decide to offer them privacy and silently head downstairs for a bottle of water and to hopefully find your bag and gift — why had he taken those and why did you let him? “I’ll be back guys, I’m thirsty,” you tell them, not waiting for a response before you leave the room and descend the stairs. No one else appears to be home, but you figure they’re just out or working later than usual. 

The kitchen is void of people and your items, but there’s a stack of water you grab from in the fridge. “Where is my stuff,” you mumble to yourself quietly, breaking the seal of your drink and taking a sip. The quiet hum of the refrigerator fills the kitchen, and you continue to mull over the situation as you drink. 

Then, a familiar voice sounds from behind you, causing you to briefly choke on your water from surprise. “Carlisle,” you gasp, coughing a few more times as you rest your hand on your heart. “You scared me!” 

He’s quick to place his hand on your back, gently rubbing as he mutters a soft apology. “That wasn’t my intention, I’m sorry,” he tells you, removing his hand once you recover. The space between you is small, practically nonexistent as you crane your neck to look up at him. “I heard you ask where your stuff was,” he starts, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt as he speaks. “I said I can show you, it’s right down this hall in my study.” He takes off down the hall before you can agree, leaving you to follow the trail of his cologne, faint traces of sandalwood and cashmere. 

He is already at the door when you turn the corner, holding the heavy oak open far enough that a sliver of warm light spills through. “I wanted to talk to you for a moment as well,” he says, letting you walk past him into the room. Your shoulder brushes against his broad chest; he doesn’t attempt to move or apologize and neither do you. “I heard that you’re in the nursing program, correct?” he asks, shutting the door with a soft click behind him. The room feels much smaller now as the hair on your arms rises. You ignore it, nodding mindlessly.

“Yeah, just finished my first semester actually.” you tell him, subconsciously taking in the space around you. Your bag and gift are sitting in a seat across the mahogany desk, and you take a few steps towards them, still gabbing. “My finals were last week, so now I have a whole month off to look forward to.” The thought makes you smile, knowing you and Bella get to take that road trip to the mountains for a snowy hike soon and have mini spa days together — maybe even a martini or four if either of your parents agree. “I’m pretty excited.” 

Carlisle moves to his chair, silently motioning for you to take a seat where your items occupy. His expression holds a gentle smile and an almost adoring look in his eyes if you knew any better. “I can tell,” he says softly, watching you fidget with your items. A moment of silence passes between the two of you before he speaks. “I was wondering if you would like to complete your clinicals at my hospital?” 

You’re a bit stunned by the offer and confusion builds on your face as you tilt your head. “I appreciate the offer, but my program doesn’t let me pick my own placements.” Part of you feels bummed, you would have loved to work with him, but a part of you also feels oddly... relieved. But his expression does not falter, instead he chuckles and shakes his head, moving his hand an inch closer to your space. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he responds confidently, waving the matter off as if he’s above it — and maybe he is, you wouldn’t know, but your expression does not let up and he takes this as a chance, leaning forward to explain more. “I have connections,” he adds, moving back into his chair allowing you to release a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. “I just need you to say yes.”