Temptation

Blaise, the bastard, had woken Theo up with a splash of cold water that morning. Luckily for Blaise, Theo had been too hungover to fully retaliate at the moment, though the thought of revenge was already simmering in the back of his mind. There was no world where Theo Nott would let something like that slide. But first, he had more pressing matters to deal with—namely, the splitting headache from last night’s drinking session. Thank Circe for hangover potions.

Even with the potion kicking in, Theo still didn’t feel like practicing Quidditch after class. But with a match looming on Friday, missing practice wasn’t an option. They had scheduled the pitch for today, and he knew better than to skip.

Now, fifteen meters in the air, the cold wind sliced through him, biting against his skin. He hovered, keeping an eye on the new players they had join the team after the trials. He didn’t particularly care for the additions—new blood always meant he had new targets to practice his own moves on though.

Draco and Mattheo were both somewhere higher in the air, with some more players, doing their job correcting their game.

Theo waited his turn.

One of the new recruits hurled the quaffle, and that was Theo's cue. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, his broom slicing through the air with precision. The players beneath him hadn’t even noticed him coming in. As one of them reached for the quaffle, Theo bolted forward, snatching the ball from his hands with a practiced ease. The wind whipped around him as he shot through the air, weaving past the defense as if they were standing still.

In one fluid motion, Theo propelled the quaffle through the highest scoring hoop. The satisfying thunk of it passing through echoed, and Theo turned on his broom, glancing back at the players who had failed to stop him.

"If that's the best you can do, we might as well call off the bloody match," Theo barked, his voice cutting through the cold air with sharp authority. He wasn't the team's captain, but his words carried weight, as though he were. Like any other Slytherin, Theo despised losing, and while defeat didn’t sting him as badly as it did some of his friends, he definitely preferred celebrating victories. Winning drinks were always sweeter.

The players below him remained silent, gritting their teeth and getting back to practice without much protest. Theo, satisfied for now, descended lower to where Blaise and Enzo stood, observing the game from the ground. They had positioned themselves at a vantage point where they could see everything, taking mental notes on who was match-ready and who wasn't.

Theo flew alongside Enzo, his eyes trained on the players still in the air. "I've seen Pansy fly faster on a broom than them," Enzo muttered, not even bothering to look at Theo. His eyes stayed locked on the field.

He wasn’t lying. The new recruits were playing overly cautious, too careful, and it was starting to grate on Theo's nerves.

"Sometimes I think we should ask her to join," Blaise chimed in, leaning against his broom with a smirk. "Promise her a shopping spree if we win—nobody would be able to keep her from the hoops."

That earned a genuine laugh from Theo. "She’d curse herself blind before she'd let herself get dirty or sweaty."

The boys snorted with amusement, all too familiar with Pansy's aversion to anything remotely athletic. Theo couldn’t help but remember a moment from two years ago, after a particularly grueling match they had won. Pansy had been so caught up in the victory, she'd forgotten herself and hugged Draco—unfortunately, Draco had been soaked in sweat from the game.

As soon as Pansy realized what she'd done, she recoiled in horror, pushing him away like he'd just hexed her. "Disgusting, sweaty gnomes," she'd said, grimacing as she wiped her hands dramatically. "You lot need an anti-sweating spell before you come near me after a game."

She had stormed off immediately to take a shower, making a huge fuss about cleanliness and hygiene, and ended up arriving late to the celebration party that night. Draco had laughed it off, but Pansy's high standards for post-match interaction became somewhat of a running joke among them.

The three of them shared another laugh as they watched the rest of the team fumble through practice. It wasn’t a perfect session, but it wasn’t hopeless either. They just needed to toughen up before the match—get rid of the hesitations, stop worrying about making mistakes, and start playing with the confidence Slytherin was known for.

"Still," Enzo said thoughtfully, "if they don’t shape up soon, we’re in for a long match on Friday."

Blaise’s smirk faded slightly, already planning how to push the team harder. "Don’t worry," he muttered, his eyes narrowing with determination. "They’ll shape up. I’ll make sure of it." Without wasting time, he flew up, already barking corrections to the team, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

Theo watched him for a moment before glancing at Enzo, who was still staring at the players struggling in the sky. "How long do we have to stay here?" Theo asked, already calculating how much longer they were supposed to endure the mediocrity on display.

Enzo finally tore his gaze away and glanced at Theo. "About 10 more minutes."

Theo shrugged, already feeling done with the lackluster practice. "Want to join me for a smoke, then?" Ten minutes was short enough to call it a day in his mind—he’d done his part.

Enzo grinned, not needing to think twice. "Yeah, I can’t watch this shit show much longer anyway."

With a shared understanding, they flew down to one of the wooden towers beneath the bleachers. Theo already had a fresh pack of cigarettes in his pocket, anticipating the moment. He handed one to Enzo and lit up his own, taking a deep pull and exhaling slowly. The warmth of the smoke filled his lungs, bringing an immediate sense of satisfaction.

"Should've gone for a smoke as soon as I saw the first throw," Theo muttered, leaning back against the pillar and watching the smoke curl up into the cold air. The chaos of Quidditch practice felt miles away now, a distant blur.

Enzo chuckled, taking a drag from his own cigarette. "Honestly, mate, watching this was painful- I'll have to get laid after this to forget it-„ Enzo snorted.

They shared another laugh, the easy rhythm of their banter filling the quiet beneath the bleachers. Theo took another pull from his cigarette, feeling the tension melt from his muscles.

"Think they'll pull it together before Friday?" Enzo asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Theo exhaled another cloud of smoke, watching it dissipate before answering. "Yeah. We’ve got this," he said confidently. "Blaise and Draco will whip them into shape. And if not... well, there’s always more hangover potions after."

Enzo snorted. "Fair enough."

Theo took another pull of his cigarette just as the rest of their group joined them. Without a word, he handed the obviously irritated Mattheo his cig, who took it without question. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the distant figures of the Gryffindor team approaching the pitch for their practice session. At the front were Potter and Ginny Weasley, walking side by side, brooms in hand, looking very much like a couple. It was almost nauseating how cozy they seemed.

"Rumor has it they’re official," Enzo said, his eyes following the Gryffindor pair.

"Who? Potter and the Weaslette?" Mattheo turned to Enzo, then glanced back at the approaching couple.

Enzo nodded, exhaling smoke into the crisp air.

Mattheo scoffed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Shagging his best friend's sister? Well, Saint Potter isn't as saintly as we thought, huh?" His grin widened with amusement, and the group let out a collective chuckle.

"Imagine one of us making a move on Draco’s sister," Mattheo added, clearly pleased with the reaction he was getting.

The boys laughed, but Draco, standing a bit to the side, wasn’t as amused. His jaw tightened slightly, his expression hardening at the mere suggestion. Theo noticed, but kept his thoughts to himself, though he couldn’t help but let his mind wander for a brief moment. The idea of someone making a move on Draco’s sister wasn’t hard to picture. In fact, the thought had crossed his mind more than once. But for the sake of his best mate, Theo quickly shoved the idea to the back of his mind.

"Don't worry, Draco, I'm only joking," Mattheo teased, that familiar smirk still on his lips. "You made it clear Cassie dear was off-limits." His tone was light, but the underlying truth of Draco's warning was unmistakable. They all knew how protective Draco was when it came to his sister, and he’d made sure no one forgot it.

Draco rolled his eyes, clearly tired of the topic, but there was no real anger there. It was just part of the dynamic.

Theo, standing beside Draco, let out a breath, but his mind had already begun replaying the memory of the first time he saw Cassiopeia at Hogwarts. The way she looked in that dress, her legs, the way she carried herself—it was impossible to forget. And then there was that time he’d accidentally startled her, and she’d shoved him against a wall in pure instinct. The memory hit him like a jolt, sending a familiar tension through him. He was sure it was only a split second, but she had somehow found her way into his thoughts, lingering far longer than he’d like to admit.

But she was off-limits. Draco had made that crystal clear. And Theo knew better than to cross that line. He couldn't allow his thoughts to drift in her direction—not even accidentally.

Merlin forbid, Theo thought, shaking his head slightly, trying to push those thoughts away. Maybe the best approach was to pretend she didn’t exist— occupy his mind with other, not-so-off-limits candidates. It was the only logical solution. Plenty of girls at Hogwarts were vying for attention, his attention, and focusing on one of them would be far safer.

Yes, he thought to himself, taking another drag from the cigarette. That should work. Focus elsewhere, forget about her.

After a few more minutes of banter and a welcome change in topic, the group finally made their way to the locker rooms, the chill of the afternoon air lingering as they descended from their brooms. The practice may have been lackluster, but the familiar rhythm of post-Quidditch routines took over.

Theo was still turning over thoughts in his head as they entered the locker room, but he shoved them aside as soon as the hot steam from the showers filled the air. Stripping off his gear, he stepped under the spray, letting the water wash away the last remnants of his earlier musings. His muscles flexed under the water, as he moved his hands through his hair.

The sound of water hitting tiles and the usual chatter from the rest of the team filled the space. The boys already making plans for the evening.

Once cleaned up, they dried off, dressed, and started making their way back to the castle. The weight of practice had lifted, and the mood was lighter.