Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott

15. Venomous

Her nails dug into her palms, hard enough that she was sure they'd leave crescent-shaped marks—or worse, draw blood. It took every ounce of restraint not to turn back and hex the hell out of him.

She should have known better than to expect Theodore Nott to act like a decent human being. His birthday had only given him an excuse—at least in his own mind—to be an even bigger arsehole than usual.

But she refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not a word. Not a single flinch.

Instead, she had taken a slow, measured breath, shoving every ounce of anger and indignation deep down, locking it away where he couldn't reach. And then, without a glance back, she stepped away.

For a moment, she thought he might stop her. She had caught it—the brief flicker of hesitation, the way his smirk wavered just slightly, his body shifting like he was considering reaching out.

But he didn't.

Thank Merlin for that. Because if he had, she wasn't sure what she would have done.

He enjoyed watching her? What the fuck did that even meant?

She didn't want to think about it.

The pounding bass from the enchanted speakers overhead only worsened her mood, each thumping beat grating against her nerves. On top of that, the sheer mass of people made it impossible to move more than two steps without shoving past someone. This party was absolute shit. She never should have come.

Why the hell did Anna even want her here? At the first sign of problems, she had left her all alone and now she couldn't seem to find her anywhere. Probably in some dark corner, snogging with Zabini, she thought bitterly. It was bad enough that this was not Ophelia's usual scene but suddenly she had the feeling that everyone was staring at her...judging her. Her clothes, her hair, the way she was standing.

It was maddening, to say the least.

Still, she was not going to leave. She refused to hide in her room like she always did. If not for her, at least to wear the dress that Pansy had lent her for a little bit longer.

Spotting an empty space near the refreshment table, she wasted no time making her way there. Ophelia wasn't much of a drinker—never felt the need to be—but tonight was shaping up to be so thoroughly miserable that, for once, she decided she needed a glass. She winced when the bitter liquid went down her throat and remembered why she wasn't much of a drinker. However, she decided she needed another one.

She scanned the room again, searching for any familiar faces—anyone to make this night feel less unbearable. Unfortunately, the only one she spotted was her brother.

Shit.

Ophelia spun around immediately, heart pounding, silently praying he hadn't seen her. The last thing she needed to top off this already miserable night was her brother storming over to be a royal pain in the ass.

Seconds passed. Then minutes.

No one came to drag her out by the arm, no annoyed voice calling her name.

She exhaled in relief. He hadn't seen her. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

Believing herself already in the clear, she exhaled a long breath and looked over to the table in front of her. What the hell, sure. She grabbed another drink, looking at the foam on top of it before getting ready to down it, when a hand on her arm stopped her.

Of course, it was too good to be true.

She mentally prepared herself, an apology already on her lips when she turned around. "Phineas, it's not what it looks–" The words died in her throat since the boy standing in front of her, wearing an amused smile, was not, in fact, her brother.