❝ 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐟𝐨𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧... ❞
theodore nott x fem oc
*very slow burn*
this book is written for, and dedicated to all swifties out there.
rated mature for explicit violence, graphic de...
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DRINKING ON A WEEK-DAY NIGHT was never a good idea, Ophelia had known that from the beginning, before she had decided to have her three glasses of firewhiskey. But she had never known how truly horrific the aftereffects of drinking were until the next morning, when she woke up with a splitting headache.
"Oh, fuck—" she groaned, sitting up from wherever she had been lying, which happened to be one of the fuzzy orange armchairs in the Gryffindor common room.
"Language, there's first years here!" some random sixth year remarked, the voice echoing in her head, ten times louder than it actually was. Ophelia had a strong suspicion it belonged to Granger, but her mind was far too clouded to even think straight. She was still in her party outfit from last night, and her back ached like never before, considering she had passed out on one of the couches in the common room.
It was rather a soft armchair, most would say.
But Ophelia had never slept on anything quite so hard before. She was spoiled rotten, so used to having a soft layer of memory foam on top of her own personalized, medicated mattress.
Even here at Hogwarts, she told Lucius to send her a mattress topper in her first year, when she couldn't sleep at all, the first night because the bed was too hard. And because she had found out she was sorted in Gryffindor instead of Slytherin unlike the rest of her family.
Her hand clapped itself over her eyes, blocking out the bright sunlight that streamed through the large, glass windows. She looked at her watch.
She literally had thirteen minutes to get to class.
"Shit, I'm late!" she exclaimed loudly again, forcing herself to get up.
"Language!" Granger called out again.
Ophelia ignored her, her feet scurrying across the stone steps to her dormitory, where she quickly shed off her party clothes and donned her school uniform. She didn't have time to take a shower that morning, let alone have breakfast, (not that she felt like eating after last night). If she planned this right, she had enough time to get a hangover cure from Madam Pomfrey.
She would probably get into trouble for underage drinking if any of the teachers found out, but the blonde was sure Madam Pomfrey wouldn't tell anyone, considering how she was one of Madam Pomfrey's favorite and most frequent patients, after Harry Potter, of course.
She gathered her blonde hair into a quick French twist, fastening it with a large claw clip. Though it had been about ten years since the claw clip hair accessory came out, there were only some who could afford it.
Ophelia had gotten a hold of one as soon as claw clips first came out. Her father had made connections with the inventor, Christian Potut, and ever since then, Ophelia had a selection of the finest hair accessories from Christian's exceptional factory in Oyonnax, South East of France, delivered straight home to Malfoy Manor.
