𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄

𝟑. 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲.

I'm going to kill Theodore Nott.

My eyes burn holes into his hand, resting on the curve of your hip where the hem of your sweater meets the waistband of your skirt. Your hair is down today, pulled out of your eyes with a black ribbon tied in a neat bow on top of your head.

Theodore taps a finger against the small of your back just because he can. Maybe he knows that I'm watching, seething just a few feet behind him because he's living the life that I've only ever dreamed about.

Or maybe he doesn't. Maybe he was just touching you because he wanted to.

Either way, you were wrapped up all pretty and ready for me to open. Like a gift box on Christmas morning. And he was touching what's rightfully mine.

I've never been good at sharing.

I squeeze the handle of my wand so tightly that I hear the wood groan under the pressure. Nott leans over and whispers something into your ear. I can't quite catch it over the hum of other conversations, but whatever he said was making you giggle quietly into your hand.

My heart aches at the sound and I lean back in my chair with a frustrated huff. I love the sound of your laugh more than anything, but it crushed me to hear it then, for him of all people.

I'm going to kill Theodore Nott.

You weren't as close to him as you were with Parkinson, Malfoy, or Zabini. He only started manifesting at your side around fourth year. But he was the same breed of Slytherin snake. Same venomous smirk and constricting touches. Same dangerous, predatory gaze whenever he studied you.

We're supposed to be taking notes on a section from our textbook, but Professor Flitwick left the room just under an hour ago and the only person who bothered to follow his instructions was Hermione, who was sitting at the far side of the classroom, scribbling away on her scroll of parchment.

I haven't moved since you sat down at the desk in front of me. I spent the class period studying how your hair fell over your back and how you tapped the toe of your shoe into the flagstone floors every so often.

If I tried hard enough, I could imagine that I was the one sitting beside you instead of Nott -- who, in this perfect world, wouldn't exist -- and that it was my hand gently grazing your waist with the back of my knuckles.

A shuddered breath escaped my parted lips and I looked up at the ceiling. I'm going to kill Theodore Nott. But not if you kill me first.

Class ends when the clock tower chimes on the other side of campus. Everyone rises to their feet and I try not to make it obvious that I'm watching you collect the rest of your books in your arms out of the corner of my eye. I want to offer to carry them for you, but the look on Theodore's face tells me that it's not even worth trying.