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OTP’s at a Glance

[Personal reference material for something personal. Move along, casual visitors, nothing to see here.]

Albus & Scorpius

Albus knows he can’t possibly live up to all three of the names he bears, so he doesn’t even try. He had been musically inclined from a young age, forms a band with neighborhood muggles, and drops out of school prior to 7th year to pursue rockstardom. He’s a bit goofy like his dad had been, terrible at quidditch, and generally very sweet.

Scorpius refuses to live up to his name, not that anyone in his family is pushing him to. He’s lived a rather sheltered life, tends to be naïve, but is down for mischief and shenanigans when nobody’s looking. He eventually drops out of school halfway through 7th year to follow Albus on his rockstar adventures and does a short stint as a fashion model on a whim. He’s quite tall and grows to be much taller than Albus. Scorpius is generally very positive and friendly, but more wary of outsiders than Albus.

Albus and Scorpius are the embodiment of super-saccharine fluff. They were meant to be together and have never fought their natural affinity. They are very open and out with their love for one another.

Draco & Theodore

Draco grows up to be much more reserved, emotionally stoic, and cool after his troubled adolescence. He develops an obsession with muggle designer menswear. Much of his youth and early-adulthood is spent begrudgingly following the path that had been set for him. Eventually he renounces family obligation and expectations to pursue his true desires. He finds Theodore and makes up for lost time, traveling the world to figure out who he really wants to be. He is rarely found in public wearing anything less formal than a suit.

Theodore’s path had been identical to Draco’s, but sharply deviated from it. He fled Hogwarts after sixth year to escape the inevitable war. He hid himself in the muggle world, wandering the globe in search of himself. He is aesthetically very different from Draco. Theo is very much a jeans-and-tee-shirt sort of person who embraces muggle culture, having spent so much time estranged from the magical world. He has many tattoos and smokes entirely too much. He is described as having cerulean eyes.

Draco and Theodore were forced to be playmates from a young age, but grew to become close friends. Theodore and Draco developed feelings for one another beyond friendship while at school, but Draco rejected these feelings in order to stay on his predetermined path. They had a bad falling-out after Theo tried to kiss Draco. Though they did not see each other for many years, they accepted their true feelings for one another when Draco had found Theodore abroad. They had an affair that was not quite secret, but finally came out with it following Draco’s divorce from Astoria. Draco and Theodore’s relationship has never been easy or pretty. It’s angsty and dark and a dirty secret, even when it’s not really a secret.

Teddy & James

James is every bit his namesake (plural, actually). He is the quintessential Gryffindor – loud, brash, no filter, cocky, impulsive. He conducts himself with a great deal of entitlement, but always puts his money where his mouth is. He achieves Gary Stu level greatness, but his smugness and arrogance are not always well received, and so he’s not loved by all. He manages to charm his way out of any sort of trouble. He is generally above everyone and everything, but idolizes Teddy. James is quite athletic, but he appears to be on the small side. He goes on to become a professional chaser for Puddlemere United.

Teddy is most often noticed for his curly, turquoise blue hair and his lavender eyes, though he plays down the fact that he’s a metamorphmagus rather than draw attention to himself. He’s studious and responsible, and takes his role as pseudo big brother to the Potter children very seriously, particularly when it comes to James. He is skilled at transfiguration and goes on to study it at an advanced level, eventually becoming the transfiguration professor at Hogwarts.

James and Teddy are all about forbidden love, though James never sees it as such. James pursues Teddy for quite some time while Teddy remains hung up on morality issues. Their relationship starts when Teddy is in his first year teaching at Hogwarts and James is completing his final year of school. It’s a secret for a long time, even when their age difference becomes negligible. Their initial relationship dynamic is a bit Lolita/Humbert until James finishes school.

#reference

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Friendly reminder.

A Note from Theodore Nott

I hereby declare that there will be no more muggles on this blog from here on out.

If you want to talk to my boss, you can find that arsehole HERE. My boss is hereby banned from using my account for their own personal muggle nonsense, including nonsense about wars amidst the stars.

All muggles looking for my boss’ Star War nonsense, please redirect your attention HERE.

All muggles and wizards alike are welcome to ask me anything. But if you’ve questions about where to obtain a time turner, you’re shit out of luck.

Want to read about what Draco and I get up to? You’ll find that on this blog, as well as HERE.

#Theodore Nott

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Since there were 3 asks me's can u ask when you are going to update 'On tuesdays we turn back time bc LITERALLY ITS SO GOOD AND ADHFJ

From the boss: Oh my gosh! I didn’t even realize anybody else liked it! I’ll update it soon. Thank you!!! :D I post on AO3 under the pen name unkissed if you want to follow the story there. You’ll get notifications when I update. :)

From Theodore: For the next chapter, maybe my boss won’t turn back time to when I was a ridiculous teenager. Because, as amusing as it was for you, it was not so amusing for me.

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And On Tuesdays, We Turn Back Time: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: “Wild Horses Run Faster”

{Read the prologue here. Mild Cursed Child spoilers, but not really. Rated M.}

PTT Setting: 2 August 1993, Twenty Minute Window

Location, as in real estate and as in time travel, is of utmost importance. Theodore understands this intimately.

His loft is in a less-than-desirable area of Southend London – a converted industrial space with smutty windows and ample square footage, perfect for the bachelor with a penchant for strutting about in his underpants and performing non-ministry-sanctioned experiments with illegal magic. Not concurrently, of course. No, Theodore Nott reckons that time turning is one of the few things he does at home that requires clothing. One would not fancy accidentally popping into a glass factory in the Victorian Era wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs and tattoos twining his arms.

Today, Theodore is planning his first test series with the Polytemporal Time Turner. And he knows that location is extremely important in the early development stages. He needs to step back in time to a safe space. A location where there is little to no chance of being spotted.

His clever and dutiful (his words, not ours) assistant has a brilliant suggestion.

“We should do it in the stables at Malfoy Manor,” Draco suggests.

Theodore bites back a lascivious grin as he makes minute adjustments to the hardware with a suitably minute screwdriver. “We’ve done that before and you always end up with straw in the most unfortunate orifices,” he says.

When Theodore glances up from the brass device, Draco is giving him a sidelong look. “What are you talking about? We’ve never used it there.”

Theodore lets himself smirk fully. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Draco pauses, blinking silently at him, and then as realization dawns, he smacks Theodore, not very lightly, on the shoulder. “Pervert,” he mutters. “And for the record, we never fucked in the stables.” Now it’s Draco’s turn to smirk lasciviously. “I once pushed you up against the wall behind the stables and gave you the blowjob of the century, but no. We do not fuck in horse stables like animals.”

Theodore snorts a giggle. He knows that Draco’s haughtiness is facetious. He tries not to dwell too much on the recent memory of Draco getting on his knees in the grass after a vigorous ride over the estate. “Anyway, the stable’s brilliant. Secluded. Very little chance of human interaction. And if we go far enough back in time, we’ll know, because…”

Theodore pauses here for sensitivity’s sake. He doesn’t want to put Draco in a foul mood on an ever-important day of scientific experimentation. But Draco is unaffected, at least he puts on a good show of it, as he always does.

“Because Baldur will be there,” Draco states, with maybe the slightest hint of sad nostalgia glinting in his silver-grey eyes.

Theodore nods solemnly. “Exactly… Perfect indication of time period without needing to interact with humans to obtain a time marker.”

Draco moves the conversation along without having to dwell wordlessly upon the death of his favorite horse. “It’d probably be wise to go back prior to The Occupation. Merlin knows what the Death Eaters were getting up to on my property while it was under siege.”

“You’re so prudent, I could kiss you,” Theodore coos, leaning in to do just that, leaving Draco’s lips smiling slightly.

“My word, Theodore - I’d no idea you found practicality so sexy,” Draco jokes.

“I’m just thrilled that you’re so into this. Just along for the ride my arse. You’re as much of a nerd as I am.”

“Such a nerd,” Draco drawls in agreement, but more with the latter part of the statement, before pecking Theodore on the mouth. “Set the PTT to 1993. Should be safe.”

~//~

“Ouch!” Draco hisses, as quietly as he can, terribly indignant, “Whilst traveling through time is not the appropriate moment to pinch my arse, Theodore.”

Theodore puts his hands up quite innocently, and indignant himself. “I did nothing of the sort! Time travel hurts. You know that, Draco.”

Draco rubs his smarting backside and mutters bitterly, “It figures that yours would be the sort of time turner that gives you a sore bum.”

“I’ll use more lube next time,” Theodore jokes.

Draco quickly forgets his aching glutes and Theodore’s filthy sense of humor when he lays his eyes on the most beautiful creature ever to grace the earth… other than himself. Baldur, a glorious Blue Roan gelding, stands regally in his stable, and the soft sound that the horse makes is one of immediate recognition. “We did it.” Draco smiles subtly with an equally understated remark of triumph.

“Brilliant!” Theodore declares, much more enthusiastically than his partner, “We should have twenty minutes. I’ll write up my findings while we wait. And I’ll need you to scope out any other time markers as best you can.”

Draco moves tentatively towards his horse and mumbles a half-hearted agreement.

“I’ll give you a few minutes to reacquaint yourself, of course,” Theodore offers softly with a sympathetic kiss on the forehead. “But, remember what we talked about.”

Draco gives a slight nod, but isn’t sure of his ability to keep himself emotionally detached from the past. Not this time. “Mm-hm. Treat the souls of the past with the distant reverence one regards portraits.”

But Draco can’t. It’s his Baldur! His mighty beast, restored to all his virile, muscled, glory. He reaches his hand out and the horse’s nose meets it for a tender nuzzle. “Hello, old friend,” Draco whispers, hoping to Merlin that Theodore isn’t hovering, especially now that he feels impending tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

He didn’t think it would be like this. That seeing something from his past would give him more than a tingle of nostalgia – that it would wrench his heart into pieces – that it would hurt so fucking much to return to the time before their world was torn apart by dark wizards and war.

Theodore was right. Time travel is painful.

Draco doesn’t have time to linger and ache for his beloved dead horse. For Theodore is swearing under his breath and grabbing Draco by the wrist.

“Fuck. This shouldn’t be happening,” Theodore laments in a whisper. “Come on – we need to get up there.” He gestures to the hayloft.

The two scramble up the ladder into the hay, high up within the barn, and not a moment too soon. Because a very cool and aloof teenage Draco is entering the stable as a lanky teenage Theodore hesitates in the doorway trying to look equally cool and aloof, but inevitably looking awkward. Present day Theodore is tall and slender in all the elegant ways that Draco finds delicious. Teenage Theodore, however…

Beneath a quieting charm, Draco snorts amusedly. “Gods, look at you, Theo. That’s our time marker right there.”

“Shut up,” Theodore groans, rolling his eyes.

“All arms and legs, and no coordination,” Draco assesses, as if seeing his best mate for the first time.

“Fuck you. I can’t be older than thirteen or fourteen,” Theodore justifies. But it is just too startlingly apparent how well Draco is adjusting to puberty compared to Theodore. “Anyway, we weren’t supposed to be here. I set the PTT to a very safe date in 1993. If it’s truly the second of September, we’re not supposed to even be home! We should be at Hogwarts.”

Theodore lowers a pair of magnifying goggles onto his eyes and examines the time turner, careful not to tinker with it while they’re in the past. “Bugger. The lunar temporal setting got stuck. We must be in August or something.”

Meanwhile, Draco can’t get over teenage Theodore’s ungainliness and only vaguely registers what current Theodore is saying. “Merlin, your voice. It’s changed three octaves within the same sentence,” Draco snickers.

Theodore narrows his eyes at Draco. “Yes. Puberty was very unkind to me. I was painfully aware of it then, and really don’t need to be reminded of it now.”

“Simmer down, Theo. Try to see the humor in it. Look at yourself. Look your face. I can’t even…” Draco has to bite on his suit jacket to keep from laughing out loud.

Theodore is not amused. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing. It’s just that stupid teenage me is so fucking blind!” Draco muses, “You were so in love with me and it was written all over your face, and there I am, trying so fucking hard to impress you. Merlin, I sort of want to yell at myself, calm your tits, Malfoy, you have him already. I mean, look at me. What sort of teenage douchebag wears Ray Bans while horseback riding? Did I really think those sunglasses would make you think I was cool?”

“Gods, I thought you were the coolest,” Theodore groans, yearningly. “I’m pretty sure this was around the time when I began having entirely unholy thoughts about you. I mean, that arse, bouncing up and down on a horse. And those sunglasses? Fuck. My undoing.”

“If I only knew,” Draco sighs wistfully.

“If I only knew.” Theodore mirrors Draco’s sigh, but his feels heavier.

Draco knew how much his refusal to admit his feelings for his best mate had affected Theodore, and how in turn it had left Draco alone when he needed his friend the most.

They watch in silence as the two boys mount the horses and ride off together, one much more graceful than the other. One hiding so much more than his eyes behind designer shades. And as the figures disappear down the grassy knoll, Draco and Theodore exhale with relief.

Draco lounges upon the bed of straw and savors the musk of horses and youth. He turns to Theodore and asks, “If you could have told your teenage self one thing at that moment, what would it have been?”

Theodore bites the corner of his bottom lip and ponders. “Hmm…” And as he contemplates, he casually rolls onto Draco and lies astride him. “I would tell him that everything was going to be alright. That Draco would betray him, and he would betray Draco, but they’d reunite and their love would be stronger than ever, such that nothing would ever divide them again. Not war. Not blood purist fathers. Not public opinion.”

Draco smiles up at Theodore. Wordlessly, with a kiss, he tells the other just how much he truly is loved.

Theodore’s lips migrate to the side of Draco’s neck. He murmurs against his skin and Draco feels the warmth of his lover’s whisper like a seductive caress. “And then I’d tell him one last thing. That some day, in this very stable, you are going to shag that boy blind.”

Draco chuckles. “You’d lie to your teenage self like that? Give him wet dreams and high hopes?”

And as Theodore gently rolls his hips over Draco’s, creating sweet, hot friction, he says… “Best we not make a liar out of me.”

Draco’s dark smirk reflects Theodore’s own as he drawls, “Then you’d better fuck me into the next century. Because I can’t very well be in love with a liar.”

#theodore nott #draco malfoy #draco/theodore #draco x theodore #cursed child fan fiction

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And On Tuesdays, We Turn Back Time

NOTE: This work of fan fiction, including the summary, contains mild spoilers for The Cursed Child

SUMMARY: Theodore Nott tests the time turner he’s making for Lucius Malfoy by going back to re-live moments with Draco Malfoy. Not really compliant with The Cursed Child. Set vaguely in the master fic universe created by unkissed and Colorfulstabwound. This is a work in progress collection. Stories will vary in rating and may be explicit.

Prologue: For Science, Because Wizard Science Is Now A Thing

Theodore Nott doesn’t need the money. He doesn’t need the recognition. He doesn’t even need acknowledgement. Because Theodore is like any other exceedingly wealthy pureblood in the Post-Voldemort Era.

He’s bored as fuck.

It just so happens that one Lucius Malfoy, fresh out of a reduced-sentence-term in Azkaban, is also bored as fuck. And even though reparations had been paid after his liquid assets had been un-frozen by The Ministry, Lucius is still rich as sin.

What does one do when one has too much money, too much time on their hands, and a very unattractive surname on their resume? One naturally goes into Science. Yes, Science – the new fashionable pastime of the idle rich – because everything muggle is now roguishly stylish these days.

And so Lucius finds himself a patron of Science, funneling major Malfoy gold into the research and development work of one Theodore Eridan Nott, son of one his late Death Eater cohorts, who now fancies himself a self-made Scientist. Both men share a common impetus for life - They do what they do because they fucking can.

Why does Lucius Malfoy want to own a Time Turner that defies Croaker’s Law of Time Travel? Because he fucking can. And because nobody else has the means and the backroom connections that would necessitate obtaining one. Why is Theodore Nott developing said Time Turner? Because he fucking can. And because nobody else dared to do it.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. There is an unspoken underlying motivation behind Theodore’s work. Theodore knows that if he does this for Lucius, the Malfoy elder might flip his shit marginally less than utterly when he finds out his precious son and heir is having an affair with Theo.

And, actually that is also not entirely true. You see, it isn’t really an affair. Having an affair implies that one’s spouse is unaware or otherwise disapproves of the extra-marital relationship. Astoria Malfoy knows that Draco Malfoy has been fucking Theodore Nott for years. She entered the marriage knowing exactly what she was getting – a wealthy husband whose family would financially bail out the fallen House of Greengrass. She knew she’d not get a doting, loving, heterosexual husband.

Still, this knowledge was no consolation for playing the role of Draco’s wife. The strain of a loveless, sexless, sham marriage had taken its toll. The press called her frail of health. But Draco called her drunk. All the time. Poor Dear succumbed to alcoholism, but not before Draco’s own heir had been produced at great cost.

But we digress. Let us return to the subject of bored-as-fuck rich men.

Specifically, let us examine the relationship between bored-as-fuck rich men and Time. For Theodore Nott, time is a malleable lover – one that need only gentle coaxing and magic to unravel and bend at his behest in the most magnificent ways. (It was no wonder that Draco had succumbed to Theodore in the same way.)

The Polytemporal Time Turner, or PTT as Theodore refers to it, can be set along two different aspects of time. One can set the clock back any number of years, days, minutes, and can also restrict the window of time travel. Want to go back to 1975 for an hour and twenty minutes? Now you can, with the adjustment of a few dials and the press of a button.

It had taken Theodore years of tinkering and testing and some rather revealing forays into time travel to perfect his invention. There was no way that Draco would let Theo have all the fun on his own. And so it was Draco, Theodore’s research assistant by default, who shared in these subtle adventures.

Subtle, because even the smallest interferences with history could set off a cascade of events that would irreparably change their present-day reality. And the two young men rather liked their charmed lives, discounting for the fact that they were unspoken societal outcasts in the post-war world. Ever the careful and calculating Slytherins, Theodore and Draco had understood the dangers of recklessly leaping back in time. So they moved through history as imperceptibly as possible – mere flies (or butterflies, really) on the wall, observing the past with the perspective of ones who had been there, truly living the adage that hindsight was twenty-twenty.

If you ask Theodore publicly why he chose those specific instances to relive, he’d simply tell you in the least self-serving manner that it was for science. He did it all for science.

If privately consulted however, Theodore would tell you an entirely different story.

And so here we have it. Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, and muggles alike, we give you Time Turner Tuesdays.

Why Tuesdays? Well, there were simply no other days left unoccupied.

Malfoy Mondays were a celebration of all things blond and ostentatious. Wednesdays were reserved for, well, activities befitting the midweek hump (wink, wink). On Thursdays, Theodore was the focus of Draco’s attention, most ostensibly at the end of a riding crop (another collection of stories entirely). Fridays were meant to be forgotten by Saturday with the help of a great deal of liquor or otherwise illicit substances, and foolishly repeated by Saturday night. Leaving Sundays for being lazy, entangled in Egyptian cotton sheets.

And so, on Tuesdays, we turn back time.

#theodore nott #draco malfoy #draco/theodore #cursed child #cursed child fan fiction #draco malfoy x theodore nott #time turner tuesday #cursed child spoilers #not canon compliant #fuck canon #cursed child what cursed child

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Chocolate

Theodore Nott had a tendency to touch things he was not supposed to be touching.

Like Draco Malfoy’s hair. And Draco’s perfectly half-Windsor-knotted Slytherin tie. And Draco’s crisply pressed, immaculately white Oxford shirt. This tendency seemed to increase immediately after Theodore would eat chocolate with his fingers.

Draco knew Theodore did it just to get a rise out of him, and so he’d learned to accept the inevitability of Theodore besmirching Draco’s carefully constructed façade. However, that did not mean Draco would not protest. It just meant Draco wouldn’t go to pieces like he had as a younger, more easily aggravated child. He wouldn’t give Theodore the satisfaction.

Draco found himself in the presence of Theodore and an obscenely large chocolate egg. It was the night of their return to Hogwarts following an uneventful Easter holiday, and each of them had been eagerly awaiting this opportunity to gloat about the spoils their visits home. Really, Draco had not wanted to pull out massive amounts of chocolate in front of Crabbe and Goyle, who would have pestered him for a taste all the way to the Scottish Highlands. Draco did not like to share. But he’d make an exception for his best mate – the threat of Theodore’s chocolaty fingers aside – because chocolate always made Theodore smile, and Draco rather fancied that smile.

They sat face-to-face behind the closed curtains of Draco’s four-poster, alone in their dormitory, as pudding was still being served in the Great Hall. A smirk had already begun to quirk the corner of Draco’s mouth as he reached into his rucksack for the massive egg.

“You’ll never believe what mum gave me for Easter,” he drawled smugly.

Theodore rolled his cerulean eyes and muttered, already unimpressed, “Let me guess. A giant chocolate bunny.”

Draco didn’t want to correct Theodore, lest he reveal that he cared about the other’s approval. He pulled his hand out of the rucksack, leaving the egg inside. He shrugged his shoulder and said loftily, “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. You’re not getting any of it.”

Theodore snorted and waved a dismissive hand. “Fuck your bunny. Check out this egg.” He reached into his own rucksack with two hands and proceeded to officially steal Draco’s thunder.

Out of the bag, which obviously had an extendable charm, came a huge egg-shaped object wrapped in gold foil. It was not unlike Draco’s, but much bigger, to his embitterment. It was entirely unfair that Theodore had a bigger anything.

Theodore also had a tendency to steal Draco’s thunder, or at least attempt to steal it. Theodore also had a tendency to steal, period. And so Draco was not terribly surprised when Theodore said the egg was not a gift. Nobody gave Theodore gifts, really. Except Draco.

“I nicked it off my father’s desk in his study,” Theodore admitted quite proud of himself, “No idea why he even has a chocolate egg.”

“Erm, to give it to you?” said Draco, the obviousness of his suggestion dripping with sarcasm.

Theodore furrowed his brow as he examined the egg, hefting it in his palms. “The bastard never gives me chocolate. Hell, he doesn’t even eat chocolate.”

“Then it was obviously a gift that somebody had given him,” said Draco quite plainly, then added with a wry grin, “Maybe a lady friend. Perhaps you’ll have a hot stepmother soon.”

“Eugh!” Theodore gave Draco a wrinkled-nosed smile and a playful shove, dropping the egg in his lap. “No woman would want that withered, old geezer.”

“Gold-digger, maybe? Could the egg be a gift for your future hot stepmother?” Draco joked.

“There is no future hot stepmother, you pervert,” Theodore jibed back, “Quit your wishful thinking.”

“Are we going to keep theorizing about the egg’s origins, or are we going to eat it?” Draco asked impatiently.

Theodore teased, “I don’t know. I’m quite put-off by the thought of my father courting a young witch, and I’m not sure I’m in the mood for chocolate.”

Draco glanced at him critically. “There is no such thing as a mood for chocolate. You are in a constant state of desire for chocolate.”

Theodore twisted his mouth into a half smirk and admitted, “Well, I am a bit of a chocolate whore.”

“You are not a chocolate whore, Theodore,” Draco corrected him, “You are a chocolate slut. Whore implies that you commit unsavory acts in exchange for chocolate. Slut means you want it all the time and take it indiscriminately from anyone.”

He immediately regret the connotations of what he had just said and hoped Theodore didn’t take it for flirting. Though if he was honest with himself, maybe he really was flirting.

“Oh, I see,” Theodore drawled, “You’re an expert on sex and chocolate now.” Theodore leaned towards Draco, appearing amused enough to make Draco nearly blush.

“Semantics, Nott,” Draco claimed, clearing his throat nervously, “It’s about the semantics”.

But somewhere deep in the back of his mind was a thought that lingered, hiding with all the other thoughts of his best friend that he’d been suppressing. Sex, chocolate, and Theodore were three things that shouldn’t be so appealing together.

Theodore’s superior smirk darkened in the way that it often did when he knew he was getting to Draco. “Mm-hm,” he murmured, not convinced. He moved to Draco’s side of the bed so that they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. “You want me to be a chocolate slut because that would mean I not only take it indiscriminately from anybody, I give it indiscriminately to anybody.”

And because of Theodore’s tendency to touch what he was not supposed to be touching, like mysterious chocolate eggs in Thaddeus Nott’s study, the boy propped his chin on Draco’s shoulder and rested his hand on his knee.

Draco could feel Theodore’s warm breath against the side of his neck when he spoke softly with devious undertones that made Draco’s heart race. “You want me to give it to you. Don’t you, Draco?”

“I’ve got loads. I don’t need it,” said Draco, quietly offended.

“But you want it,” Theodore whispered, “Because it was stolen. And it would be wrong. And you know it’s so much sweeter when we’re being bad.”

Draco honestly couldn’t tell if Theodore was legitimately being seductive, or if it was Draco’s own suppressed fantasies that colored his perception. Perhaps Theodore was putting the moves on Draco, but in an ironic, joking way. Theodore was an arsehole, after all.

But if Theodore really was being a dick, then why was he faintly nuzzling the side of Draco’s neck with his nose? Why was that hand on Draco’s knee slowly migrating upwards along the top of his thigh? Why was Draco’s pulse audible in his ears and his heart palpable in his chest? Why in Merlin’s name did the sultry tone of Theodore’s voice conjure images of vast expanses of bare skin painted with chocolate fingertips and wet, open-mouthed kisses that tasted of sweet cocoa?

Fuck this kid. Theodore Nott was a dick, whether he was truly flirting with his best mate or not. Because either way, it would end the same – with Theodore slinking off to gloat, Draco blushing furiously despite himself, and an angry wank session in the bathroom later on (or worse, a hand job after reluctantly succumbing to Pansy’s advances).

But in reality, it was worse. Much worse. Even though they broke the sexual tension (whether perceived or real – Draco wasn’t sure) with a fit of laughter and a healthy exchange of grossly offensive, derogatory epithets as one does with their best mate.

The outcome was horrific, really, for Draco soon found out first hand exactly what kind of a chocolate slut Theodore was.

Later that night, who should Draco find Theodore sharing his stolen chocolate with, practically in his lap on the common room sofa, but Pansy Parkinson herself? Once again, Theodore was touching what he was not supposed to be touching. Draco did not explicitly have the exclusive rights to Pansy’s unwelcome advances (though in Theodore’s case, they appeared quite welcome). But it still burned like flames high on his cheeks and twisted his stomach into tight knots.

The two were giggling by the fireplace as they licked melted chocolate off their fingers, completely unaware of Draco’s presence in the entryway. Theodore pressed a chocolaty fingertip to Pansy’s nose, leaving a dark smudge. Pansy let out a sound halfway between a squeal and a giggle, and though she called him a prick, her smile told Draco that she thought quite the opposite of Theodore.

Theodore leaned forward, motioning as if he were going to lick the chocolate right off her nose. “Let me get that for you,” he joked, eliciting another gleeful squeal from Pansy, who only half-recoiled away.

She returned the favor with a chocolate smudge of her own placed on Theodore’s cheek. She giggled triumphantly.

“Ah, you’re going to have to clean that up now, missy,” Theodore teased, crooking a finger to beckon her mouth to his cheek.

“Nope.” Pansy shook her head coyly and giggled before assaulting his other cheek with chocolate.

“Aim lower, sweetheart. It’ll be mutually beneficial,” Theodore intoned smoothly in that same voice he’d used on Draco in their room earlier.

“You aim lower… sweetheart,” Pansy challenged.

Draco wondered when Theodore had crossed the line from being a cheeky flirt to sleaze bag and was appalled on several levels.

But if it actually worked, was Theodore really being a sleaze bag? Draco decided that, no, Theodore was not being a sleaze bag. Because this was Pansy Bloody Parkinson, and both Theodore and Draco knew her well enough to understand the way she operated. Pansy was exactly the reason why Draco knew the true meaning of slut – it had very little to do with sex and everything to do with empowerment and attainting influence.

These things were at the very heart of Pansy’s motivation – not the raging hormones of a fifteen-year-old. If Draco could detach himself from the people involved, he’d admire their Slytherin ambition. Neither Theodore nor Pansy really wanted each other – sure, they’d probably not say no to a snogging session if it arose, just like Draco couldn’t really say no to a hand job, but that’s not truly what they were after.

They wanted what everyone wanted. Power. Influence. Status. Draco.

If Theodore and Pansy were going to play this game, Draco sure as hell was going to play it too. He sauntered over to the sofa with his usual entitled strut. When he sat down on the sofa with Pansy now between himself and Theodore, they weren’t even startled. They knew he’d be coming. They wanted him to come.

He draped a possessive arm over Pansy’s shoulders and drawled, “No chocolate for me, darling?”

As expected, Theodore was quickly forgotten. “I’ve always got chocolate for you, baby,” she intoned sweetly. She broke off a piece of chocolate from the chuck in her hand and offered it to Draco. Instead of neatly taking it from her, he leaned in plucked it out from between her fingers with his teeth. But he didn’t stop there. Oh no. He then proceeded to close his lips around the digit and sucked the melted chocolate clean off her dainty fingertip, closing his eyes briefly to revel in the sweetness of the power he had over her.

“Don’t be stingy, Pans,” Theodore reprimanded her, but in an entirely provocative way, making Draco believe that Theodore was playing the game coolly. No matter. Draco could find a way to make him jealous.

However, Pansy did not offer Theodore another hand-fed chocolate. She gave it to Draco. And when he licked the remnants off her finger, he saw that not only was Pansy swooning, but Theodore was too. And this is where Draco completely lost his handle on the game. Theodore should have been furious. But the sick fucker was enthralled.

Pansy pouted and presented her empty hands sadly. “I’m all out of chocolate.” She turned to Theodore and said, “You’ve still got some, don’t you?”

“Loads,” Theodore said, doing vaguely lascivious things with his tongue as he annunciated.

There was a shared glimmer in their eyes – a twinkle of conspiracy between Theodore and Pansy that made Draco’s blood boil. He was getting the feeling that he was being played – being played right into Theodore’s waiting hands. Theodore poised a bite-sized chunk of chocolate at Draco’s mouth. Pansy leaned back into Theodore, under his outstretched arm. And as Draco stared at them coldly both Pansy and Theodore stared back at him, smirking knowingly. They didn’t think he’d take the bait. Not from a boy. Not publicly, at least.

But Draco grinned darkly before taking the chocolate into his mouth and scraping his teeth against Theodore’s fingers, never blinking once. Didn’t think I’d do it, hm arseholes?

Theodore shuddered, completely unraveling while trying to make it look like he was keeping it together. He just barely suppressed a sound of pleasure while he bit the corner of his bottom lip. And this, unfortunately, had its usual effect on Draco. Theodore’s emotional lip-biting made Draco want to bite other parts of him – made Draco want to lick the faint indentations in Theodore’s lip that his teeth had left behind – made Draco forget about games and power and jealousy and Pansy – made Draco… oh fuck.

Draco sat up, graceful as ever despite his haste to excuse himself. “Thanks for the chocolate,” he said with a wink, leaving Theodore and Pansy practically salivating in his wake. On the exterior, Draco walked away cool and unaffected as ever.

On the inside, however… the inside his trousers however… was a different story.

As Draco stared up at the canopy of his four-poster that night, he imagined that he could still taste the brine of Theodore’s skin underlying the taste of chocolate. He imagined how the inside of Theodore’s mouth would taste – gritty and bittersweet from the remnants of dark chocolate. He imagined kisses that hurt and skin that bled from superficial cuts made by the anxiousness of Theodore’s fingers – fingers that eagerly touched every part of Draco that he was not supposed to touch.

#draco malfoy #theodore nott #pansy parkinson #draco/theodore #chocolate #chocolate slut #unedited and rough #just the way he likes it

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