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“Theodore...?”
My voice echoed over the hollowness of the halls; the usual banter of students absent, the dim candles' fire glued to the wall, flickering as if the breeze was but a preparation for a storm brewing between Theodore and me. I blinked. He blinked. Both of us blinked but none of us made the first move to break the unexpected tension in the middle of the night.
Theodore looked like shit. There, I said it. His hair was a mess; his usually puffy and lively curls were stranded over his forehead, as if drenched in sweat and dried by a wild Puffskein’s dirty coat. For the first time, his strands didn’t look blonde – no, they never were – they were light brown, very, really light brown; the type of color that deceives you into believing they were dark blonde. His normally drop-dead blue eyes were voided from color, looking similar to grey under the shadow of his thick eyebrows. His cheeks hollow, bottom lip slightly shaking, if one would pay heed at his unusual behavior. My eyebrows faintly moved closer to each other, forehead wrinkling ever so slightly that one had to pay attention to notice as well. The silence drew between us like an overused violin that would rather remain silent than play a horrid, untuned melody.
“Did something happen?” I carefully asked, my voice coming out quieter than I had intended, “It’s past curfew, what–”
“I know.”
“... Okay? What–”
“Please,” Theodore sharply cut me off again, this time his voice shook alongside his bottom lip – he looked like he was about to break down into sobs – his eyes searching mine hopelessly, “Can I come in?”
The hesitation coming from his words, the uncertainty as to why he was standing in front of my door in the first place was palpable through every heavy breath he let out. I was unsure myself: do I let him in my personal, most sacred space or do I slam the door in his face and send him to hell? The temptation to pretend to be deaf was flirting with me over and over again. My eyes kept observing Theodore’s every move, every raise and fall of his chest, every clench and release of his jaw. The amiable, warm light gloomed behind Theodore like a thermal aura, the fair shade covering my sight due to his towering height. I let out a soft sigh, eyes momentarily shutting before drawing my gaze up to him, steady and strict.
“Fine.”
“Please, you– Wait, are you serious?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.” I mumbled under my voice, taking a tentative step back from the door, creaking it ever so little. “Hurry.” A nearing scoff escaped my lips, frustrated at myself for letting Theodore inside – for even considering doing so.
Theodore’s round eyes momentarily showed a spark of relief before they immediately dimmed. Despite everything, his feet began dragging him past my doorstep, his tobacco scent followed after him alongside a strange aroma of citron and sandalwood. He was quiet, like every other time, which wasn’t that strange compared to his whole presence in general at this time of night. My room remained still as Theodore made himself inside, his presence filling the emptiness. The sizzling fireplace broke the cozy ambience of bubbling coming from the Black Lake outside with low hisses, colorful fishes swimming by and halting just to suck the algae off the thick layers of glass from the tinted window of the room. There is a velvety, emerald couch waiting in front of the hearth, a black duvet covering the right cushions and handrest.
And Theodore kept staring at the plain, coffee table, dark and carved from Mahogany, as if it was the first time he had ever come across a table.
“You want to steal it?”
“Why would I? I simply find it... interesting.”
“Nott–”
“Did you choose this decor? It’s too cozy to be considered a Slytherin dorm room.”
“Nott–”
“Like, wow. Who would have guessed an emotionless lady like yourself would have taste?”
“Theodore! –”
“Not me, honestly. Dio mio , you keep surprising me each day passing, gnocchi –”
“Theodore, for the love of Merlin! Stop babbling and explain!”
I practically shouted, a vein popping on my temple as my hands shot up to Theodore’s shoulders to shake him rapidly, sending him back and forth like a sack of potatoes. Theodore, on the other hand, allowed me to shake him in a frenzy, his head flying back and forth as if he couldn’t control it. Abruptly, I let him go with a push of my hands, making him trip and fall butt first to the couch. I stood in front of him as he rubbed his left shoulder, pretending to be in pain, my hands crossed over my chest as my gaze fixated down at him. Theodore’s mouth went wide open, preparing a snarky reply, but he immediately shut it, his gaze low, following the tiled, stone floor and finally landing on my shoes instead. All of a sudden serious, almost hesitant, the sarcastic tilt of his lips falling into a tight, thin slit.
“Ophelia.”
“What, Nott?”
“I’m scared.” Theodore began, his voice atypically distressed, unsteady, unconfident and weirdly vague, as if he was suspecting someone was eavesdropping on our conversation, as if he was targeted by every evil being in this world. My eyebrows clasped together in uncertainty – do I comfort or confront him – instead, I decided to dig deeper. Carefully, I walked closer to Theodore, taking a seat right next to him over the couch, our knees brushing due to the closeness – I had read in Muggle Studies that physical comfort is more effective. The couch dipped under both mine and Theodore’s weight, making a squeaking noise come from the wooden furniture.
“... Theodore?”
“... I don’t feel like myself, Ophelia. I feel out of place, out of character; I forget, I lash out, I am an asshole–”
“You’ve always been a twat.”
“– More than usual. I... I feel like something isn’t right.”
“Everybody loves you, Theodore. You’ll live.”
“... I... I don’t know. I–” Theodore’s fingers found mine on top of my thigh, his pinky grazing mine ever so softly, his eyes, as blue and unsettled as they could be, finally locked with mine, pupils dilated. “You are the only one who would understand me. Without judgement. Without any expectations.”
A faint curl of what looked like a smile hammered my lips, our pinkies cuddled into a pinky promise. My gaze travelled from his thin legs up to his fragile ribs and finally ending my trip on his own eyes. And, for the first time – I think, ever – I looked at Theodore and my heart skipped a beat. Not from feeling unnerved, not from anger and annoyance – but from something more, something I did not dare put a label upon. Theodore remained still, both of us lost in each other. Then, his gaze lowered down to my lips, making me acutely aware where he was staring at. Uh oh . My heart began drumming against my ribcage, I could feel it up to my throat at this point. A bead cold sweat slithered down my twitching eyebrow, trying to cover what seemed to be a blush with a fake cough and a hand over my mouth.
“Theodore, I think–”
“Shut up.”
And before I could even react, he kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was everything I wasn’t prepared for – hungry, heated, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for far too long and something inside him had finally snapped. Like he was a thirsty traveler, seeking an endless source of water in the middle of the desert – me being the solution. His hand slid into my hair, pulling me in like he was drowning, and I was the only thing keeping him afloat. His fingers tugged and tangled firmly yet gently with my brown locks. His lips moved against mine with purpose, with intent , like he’d thought about this – fantasized about it – and now that it was happening, he wasn’t wasting a single second. It felt so charged, so purposeful – meaningful, as if our lips were always meant to whisper against each other's.
I gasped, and he used it to his advantage, deepening the kiss, stealing the breath right out of my lungs with his rough tongue. My hands fisted in his shirt against his chest, trying to ground myself from the charged tension between us. The same tension that was filling the quietness of the room. The slip and battle pf tongues echoed like a sloppy lull that made my breathing quicken heavily, both our chest brushing as they rose and fall rapidly with each intake of breath. Then, Theodore forced my body up by a pull of my hair, our mouths and tongues still connected, as if we didn’t want to let go. Not now. Not so soon. Not when we both got the sweet taste of each other – Theodore tasted like fresh honey, the sub taste of cigarettes present yet not unwelcome, his tongue rough yet slippery enough to quarrel with mine.
As Theodore forced me to my feet, his one knee pressed between my thighs, spreading my legs just enough to make me stumble plenty of footsteps. My back was shoved against the coldness of the stone, pointy-tiled wall with a shove of his puffed chest, his heavy breathing fanning over my fluttered shut eyelashes. Our hands found each other as if connected through an invisible thread pulling us together all the time. Next thing I know, my hands are pinned to the sides of my face, wrists tightly captured by Theodore’s slender, long fingers, his nails digging into the paleness of my smooth skin. The hard breathing didn’t stop our first kiss from happening. Merlin, nothing would.
Until three knocks made both of us halt on every movement. Our eyes widened into the size of a golden snitch, while the hands that were exploring each other’s bodies were now covering our mouths. Our quickened heartrates were pounding against our chests, tightly pressed.
“Ophelia...?”