Chapter 2
Theo dusted off his robes as he stepped out of the fireplace, casting a wary glance around the dimly lit hallway. His eyes flicked over every detail, searching for anything out of place. Not that he would have noticed, even if something was out of place. It had been ages since he’d spent any real time here. If he was being honest, the manor felt more like Pansy’s than his own at this point.
He’d avoided it after his father’s arrest. After Potter’s —
Best not to linger on that.
Still, Potter, ever the insufferable arse , had done the right thing. Theo hated the publicness of it all, the spectacle, the stain it left on his name and reputation. But in hindsight… It was better this way. He might not have liked how it happened, but he could appreciate the outcome.
The manor’s looming gothic interior wasn’t exactly welcoming . Too much of it reminded him of his mother. Too much more reminded him of his father .
He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of old ghosts. Father. That word was too generous for the man.
His gaze landed on a vase of fresh flowers perched on the entry table. His brows furrowed. That was new . Everything else looked untouched, exactly as he remembered—unfortunately. But fresh flowers?
Was this Iggy’s doing? Or had the guest truly made themselves at home? The thought sent a shudder down his spine. Merlin help them if they’d redecorated. Merlin help him , if they’d redecorated.
Theo let out another slow exhale, steadying himself. He perked up his ears, listening for any sign of movement. He didn’t need to. The light at the end of the hallway was a dead giveaway.
His steps were silent on the thick carpet. They always had been. As a child, so he wouldn’t disturb his sickly mother. As a motherless child, so he wouldn’t attract his father’s attention. Even now, with the awareness of it pressing in on him, he couldn’t change his approach. Years of navigating this house like a ghost had left their mark. Making noise on purpose felt wrong , almost like betraying the survival instincts ingrained in him since childhood.
The hallway was shorter than he remembered. At the end, a door stood slightly ajar, a beam of warm light bleeding onto the carpet. The guest was quiet. But not as quiet as Theo. As he neared the door, he caught the faint rustle of movement.
Peering through the open door of the reading room, he spotted her. A woman. Standing by the window. In pajamas . Pajamas. The nerve.
Her back was to him, long, blonde hair falling in a sleek sheet down her spine. It blended in seamlessly with the creamy silk pajamas, making it hard to see where the hair stopped, and the pajamas began. The pajamas she had the audacity to lounge around in. His home.
They looked comfortable. For a fleeting moment, he wished he was in his own, similar, silk pajamas, at his London flat, with that curry soup. His stomach rumbled. Loudly.
The woman turned and that’s when he noticed the owl. Perched on the windowsill, it looked utterly exhausted. The intruder—and the owl—blinked at him in slow, silent judgment.
Then, she smiled. Not a real one. A polite, unreadable thing that didn’t quite reach her storm-grey eyes. “Hello.” The woman greeted him with a nod of her head. “I’m Elvira Vik.” The polite smile grew. “You must be the famous Master Nott I’ve been hearing so much about,” she said with a hint of dry amusement.
Her accent was off . Not quite English. Not entirely unfamiliar either. He couldn’t place it. As he considered it, considered her, she moved to the fireplace and, without a second thought, tossed the letter she had been holding into the flames.
The owl watched on. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the owl looked annoyed with her actions. Best not to assign too many human traits to animals, he reminded himself. It was just an owl. Surely it didn’t understand her actions anymore than Theo did.
Theo glanced at the letter in the fireplace. The intruder’s aim was off. The letter lay off to the side, not at all close to the flames, and by the looks of it, the flames’ hypnotic dance would continue to avoid it. The fireplace bore signs of more paper remains. If he had to guess, this wasn’t the first letter that had been tossed into the fire these last few days.
His attention returned to Elvira - if that was really her name. She had sharp features, an angular face that looked like it could have belonged on the cover of one of those glossy muggle magazines. She was tall. Taller than Pansy, still shorter than Theo. But decidedly tall for a woman. The silk pyjamas seemed to swallow her whole.
No wonder they looked so familiar. They were his .
His mouth opened, then closed. No good starting point came to mind. He considered. He closed his mouth. Then opened it again. Another internal pep-talk started: He was a grown man and this was his home, and she’s an intruder who stole his pyjamas. It didn’t quite work.
“Yes.” He croaked. His voice sounded unusually strained. He felt his cheeks warm with embarrassment, and hoped to Merlin that she couldn’t see it. He cleared his throat, a quick attempt to recover himself, to avoid any further embarrassment. “Iggy tells me he let you stay after the party?” A dumb question. Of course. They both knew this to be the truth. He should have said something cleverer.
The woman didn’t look judgemental as she responded with a nod. “Your house-elf is kind.” Her voice was quiet and calm. Theo’s blue eyes shifted to the owl, which seemed to still be grumbling over the letter in the fireplace, and then back to the woman.
“A bit too kind.” Theo replied. It sounded harsher than he’d intended. Or maybe it didn’t. Wasn’t it the right level of harsh for an intruder? He felt this sinking sensation in his chest. This time he could name the mix of emotions. Anxiety. Overthinking. Second-guessing. Self-doubt.
The woman shifted. She took a step away from the fireplace, towards the door. Towards Theo. “I can leave.” She said. Her voice was still quiet, but no longer calm. The words rushed out in quick succession. “I can stay at the Leaky Cauldron, or I’ll find a muggle hotel.”
Once more, Theo’s mouth opened, and closed, and then opened again. He was uncertain what to do with this. He hadn’t expected it to be this easy, for her to just give in and offer to leave. His eyes assessed her once more. It didn’t seem like she’d damaged his property or stolen anything. And it wasn’t as if she was actually in the way. The manor was only used for Pansy’s parties these days. She had to actually be in need of a place to stay, given her offer.
He recalled Iggy’s pleas. Iggy’s insistence was that he be a gentleman and help a poor lady in need. Perhaps… Perhaps Iggy was right to be generous. Perhaps. Perhaps he could let her stay until she found a viable solution. That was fair, right? That was… Gentlemanly?
“I suppose… You are looking for a place of your own?”
The woman nodded. “I’ve been in contact with rental agencies. I have a viewing scheduled for next friday.” She answered in the same quiet rush. Her foreign accent, and the rush of her words made it sound oddly melodic.
Friday. That was over a week and a half away. And that was only a viewing. That didn’t guarantee that she’d be gone by then. But then again, she was trying. She was looking. It didn’t seem like she was intending to squat in his home indefinitely.
“And you don’t have a home to return to?” He asked carefully. He knew as soon as the words had left his lips, that it probably wasn’t the right thing to ask. She didn’t look homeless. To be fair, he’d never heard of such a thing as a homeless witch or wizard. Was that even a thing? With magic at your disposal, could you even be homeless, unless you chose to be?
His attention returned to analyzing the woman. Her lower lip trembled for a moment, and then she answered. “I have a home… but I can’t go back right now.” There was an edge to her words. It sounded raw. Honest.
The next question came out in a blurt. “Why not?”
It was met with a deep sigh from the woman. She ran a hand through her long, shiny hair. Now it was her turn to repeatedly open and close her mouth. It seemed like she didn’t quite know how to answer. “Look, I promise I will be out of your hair as soon as possible.” She landed on a non-answer then. “Or like I said, I can go to a hotel. I’m sorry for the intrusion, but Iggy made it sound like… Well like you were fine with it. Like I was welcome to stay.” The rush of her words sounded even more melodic now. Theo still couldn’t place the accent. “I am really sorry.”
Theo frowned as he weighted the options. Finally he shook his head. “It’s fine. Stay until you find a place of your own.” He muttered. Elvira studied his face closely. After a while, when she seemed satisfied with whatever she saw there, she nodded. “Thank you.” She said. “I can pay?” She offered. To this Theo shook his head. For all the criticism he could place at his father’s dead feet, he had left Theo absolutely loaded. Whatever she could pay for her stay was likely to be a drop in the bucket in comparison to all the gold in his Gringott’s vault.
Again the witch studied his face, and once again, seemed to decide to accept this answer. She nodded once more. Seeming satisfied, she moved to the window and waited for the moody owl to step onto her arm. Once it did she glanced back at Theo. “Thank you again.” She said, absently stroking the bird’s feathers. “I’ll take him to the owlery. Good night, Mr. Nott.”
Theo watched her disappear into the hall, leaving him alone in the reading room. He ran a hand through his dirty-blonde hair, exhaling sharply as he began to pace. That had gone about as… well, he wasn’t sure yet. He’d planned to be more assertive. He hadn’t planned to let her stay, yet here he was.
His gaze drifted across the room until it landed on the letter in the fireplace. With a flick of his wand, he summoned it, catching the envelope midair. He hesitated for only a moment before glancing over his shoulder and slipping a finger beneath the seal, tearing it open.
Iggy would have given him that look if he knew what Theo was about to do. But the opinionated elf wasn’t here.
The privacy invasion was about as successful as his attempt at being assertive. As soon as he unfolded the letter and skimmed the contents, he realized—this was not English. And it wasn’t any language he recognized.
Still, he tried. He could make out Elvira’s name, the clear frustration of the author (evident from the excessive capitalization and alarming number of exclamation points), and, finally, the signature. He squinted at it.
V…tur Krum? No, that didn’t make sense. Vttor? How had this person managed to pass their education with handwriting this unintelligible?
Finally, common sense caught up with him.
Victor. Victor Krum.