Chapter 5
Three things were abundantly clear to Theodore Nott in that moment. One, Muggle tequila was, without question, the greatest invention on the planet—magical or otherwise. Two, he had definitely indulged in far too much of the aforementioned tequila because he could barely feel his face. Which was a damn shame because currently, there was a female sitting on it. And three, he really loved his life….. Right now at least.
Theo’s hands rested firmly on her thighs, grounding himself as much as anchoring her. The way she responded to his touch was intoxicating in its own right, a heady complement to the buzz of the tequila coursing through his veins. Theo dug his fingers in, holding her in place as she started to writhe on top of him.
“Oh god, T!” Her soft, breathless exclamations filled the room, and Theo couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips. He reveled in the way she surrendered to the moment, trusting him completely. Her fingers gripped the headboard, knuckles pale, as she let out a shuddering sigh. She arched her back trying to reach for his throbbing cock but instead Theo expertly flipped her to her stomach and moved in place behind her. Scooping one arm just under her hips, he pulled up until she was on her knees. She automatically arched, laying her face sideways on the mattress to look at him. Theo purred, “good girl,” he reached around and started stroking her clit. “Are you ready for this?” She gasped at the contact and eagerly shook her head yes.
And so Theo went to work.
****
Theo groaned as he trudged through the unnaturally bright hallways of Cambridge University, his sunglasses firmly in place to shield him from the fluorescent lighting. He paused at an intersection, squinting down one corridor, then the other, before deciding to continue straight ahead. Navigating the labyrinth of academia was never his forte—especially not after a night of drinking. Muggle tequila, he thought bitterly, is both a blessing and a curse.
“Ah, there you are,” he muttered to himself as he reached the heavily warded, Muggle-repelled door that led to the magical research lab. He muttered the password, pushing it open. The lab was as chaotic as ever, an odd fusion of magical artifacts and Muggle contraptions stacked precariously on every available surface. The buzzing of experimental runes hummed faintly in the background, and the air smelled faintly of burnt parchment and fresh ink. The magical research lab at Cambridge was Theo’s least favorite place… probably.
“Hello, golden girl, are you here?” he called, stepping further into the room. His voice echoed faintly as he leaned casually against one of the cluttered tables, examining the assortment of objects scattered before him.
His hand idly brushed against what appeared to be a modified stopwatch attached to a series of copper wires and enchanted gemstones. The moment his fingers made contact, the device began vibrating violently. Before he could react, the entire stack of artifacts wobbled and then crashed to the floor in a cacophony of clinking metal and shattering glass.
“Whoops.”
A familiar voice rang out from one of the adjoining offices. “Honestly, Theodore, I know small children who cause less of a disturbance every time they enter my lab.”
Hermione Granger rounded the corner, her curls pulled into a haphazard bun, a muggle pen tucked behind her ear. Her sharp brown eyes took in the mess on the floor. With a flick of her wand, the wreckage vanished, leaving the table as pristine and clear.
He straightened up, leaning casually against the now-clear table with a chagrined smile. “Oh, but I’m so much more endearing, love.”
She rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “Endearing? Debatable.” She began laying out several pieces of parchment in front of him before placing a vial of pale blue potion on the table. “Here, try this.”
Without hesitation, Theo grabbed the potion and downed it in one go. The effect was immediate—A soothing, cooling sensation spread through his body, melting away the pounding headache and nausea that had plagued him all morning. “Oh, Merlin,” he groaned in relief. “Marry me, you brilliant, beautiful witch!”
Hermione laughed, crossing her arms. “I take it it’s working. Good.”
Theo paused mid-celebration, narrowing his eyes at her. “Wait. You didn’t know if it would work when you gave it to me?”
“Well,” she replied matter-of-factly, “I’ve only just finished it, and I knew you’d show up hungover on tequila.”
He gave her a long, appraising look, but there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in her eyes. Theo and Hermione weren’t exactly close, but their working relationship had developed into a surprising camaraderie over the years. Despite her no-nonsense demeanor, she always seemed to know what he needed—whether he asked for it or not.
Theo gaped at her. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re predictable,” she shot back, a smug grin on her face.
“Just a little pet project of mine,” she continued, organizing the parchment on the table in front of him. “I wanted to see if I could isolate the disconnect between traditional hangover potions and Muggle alcohol.” Theo slid his sunglasses off, tilting his face up to the glaring overhead lights as if to bask in his newfound clarity. “Brightest witch of our age, folks,” he declared dramatically. “Is that why you called me here?”
“No, don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione said, pointing to the stack of parchment. “This is why I called you here.”
Theo picked up the nearest sheet, scanning the detailed notes and diagrams. His brow furrowed as he read. “I’ve recently had a patient whom I believe suffered from the new unexplained strain of Black Cat flu being tracked,” Hermione explained.
He looked up, an eyebrow raised. “You’re not a healer. You don’t have patients.” he said automatically, though he continued scanning the parchment. His eyes froze on a name halfway down the page. “Ember?” he asked, his tone sharp.
Hermione nodded solemnly.
Theo’s grip tightened on the parchment. “Is that what they’re saying it was? Why was it so much worse for her? None of the other kids have experienced symptoms that severe.” He began flipping through the other reports, his movements more frantic.
"I also think that I've figured out what is happening to the muggle children."
"You looked into it?" he said in surprise.
It had been just over a year ago that Theo had brought Hermione information on multiple muggle children who were dying from the flu according to the hospitals. He had worked for the Department of Mysteries since leaving Hogwarts. Most departments had difficulty working with Unspeakables due to their general nature and tendency to alienate people. Which is why Theo had been promoted to head liaison 6 years ago, because he still had the social skills and ability to work with pretty much anyone. When Alison Creen in the department of magical accidents and catastrophes showed him an odd trend of muggle children dying she eventually cleared the incident of any magical influence. She drunkenly admitted to Theo she didn't fully believe in her report but received a lot of pressure to close the case. So he decided to look into it himself. And after working with the Golden Girl on and off throughout the years, he knew in his bones she could help him solve the complex problem. She had agreed that it was an illness that normally was very survivable with minimal intervention. He couldn't let it go and no one else would give him the time of day over the issue but it was just too coincidental that wizarding children were catching a seemingly new strain of Black cat flu, while there were muggle children suddenly dying from the muggle flu.
“I spoke to Headmistress McGonagall,” Hermione continued, her voice heavy. “For the second year in a row, there will not be any muggle-born children starting at Hogwarts.”
Theo’s head snapped up, his face a mixture of disbelief and outrage. “You’re joking. How is that even possible?”
Hermione’s expression remained grim. “I checked the records, Theo. The last time Hogwarts didn’t have any muggle-born students was our seventh year, and we both know why that happened.”
Theo’s stomach twisted at the memory. The sight of his muggle-born classmates being pulled out of the Great Hall before the Sorting Ceremony was seared into his mind. Most had been taken to make-shift prisons and wouldn’t be seen again until after Voldemort’s fall—if they were seen again at all.
“And before that?” he asked hoarsely.
“1918,” Hermione replied. “Which happened to also be a record-low attendance year.”
Theo stared at the reports in front of him, his mind racing. Hermione’s voice softened, her eyes glistening. “Theo… I think those seven children who died over the last two years could have been muggle-born witches and wizards.”
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. Theo swallowed hard, his chest tightening. “You’re saying this flu—this strain—it’s targeting them?”
“How else could you explain that they were all 10 or 11 year-olds who would’ve been starting Hogwarts the following September.” The silence hung in the air between them.
“Shit.”