Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott

17. Descent into madness

Theodore's POV

Theodore was convinced he was losing his mind.

Last night, he had used the excuse of wanting to shut Ophelia up to justify why he had kissed her, but the truth was... he had been dying to. The realization had hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out reason. Something had taken over him—a strong, almost animal impulse—to taste her lips, to feel her breath mix with his. And now, he knew he wouldn't rest easy until he made sense of it.

Hence why he was convinced he was on the way to madness. This had never happened before. He had kissed his fair share—more than his fair share—of girls, but never had he felt that desperate need, that raw, uncontrollable urge to do so. His hands clenched into fists at the memory, as if trying to grasp onto some semblance of control. But control had slipped through his fingers the moment her lips parted in surprise beneath his own.

His mind scrambled for a rational explanation, grasping at any thread that might absolve him of this irrational obsession.

He didn't rule out the possibility of being under a potion's effect. After all, Selwyn was a very skilled witch when it came to potion's and it would only make sense for her to have put something on his drink when he wasn't paying attention last night. Yes, that would explain the heat that had rushed through his veins, the way his pulse had pounded in his ears, the overwhelming need that had gripped him. It would explain everything.

But then a voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that it didn't make sense, why would she do that?

She didn't want him closer to her as well as he didn't want her closer to him. Or at least he thought he still felt like that. His breath came a little sharper, his fingers twitching as he ran them through his hair in frustration.

It was all so very confusing. He didn't like the way she made him feel, how she lingered in his thoughts uninvited. How, despite himself, he had started searching for her in a crowded room before he even realized he was doing it.

He also felt discouraged to entertain the potion idea because even though he hated to admit it, last night had not been the only time he had felt that urge. Matter of fact he had felt it numerous times already but he had also always managed to keep it in check. It was unlikely that Selwyn had been slipping him a potion since the beginning of the school year.

So, that only left him with his previous assessment. He was going mad.

He felt a heavy weight being dropped on him and was forced out of his thoughts. Looking up, he found Blaise, a scowl on his face while carrying two heavy bags in each arm.

"Could you get up? Give me a hand with this?" He pointed with his head towards the bags and Theodore quickly went to grab them.

"You know, no one is forcing you to take this many clothes." Theodore said, lifting one of the bags to store in the overhead compartment of the train.

Judging by the look in Blaise's face, he didn't agree. "Well, some of us actually have taste, and want to look our best." he retorted, stepping forward to grab the last bag. He huffed as he lifted it. "Not everything can be fixed with black robes, Nott."

Theodore didn't bother responding. Instead, he dusted off his hands and settled back into his previous seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Blaise followed suit, dropping onto the seat opposite him with a dramatic sigh, as if loading the bags had been an unbearable task.

A comfortable silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the distant murmur of other students in the train. Theodore let his gaze drift lazily out the window, watching the blurred scenery pass by, but he could feel Blaise's eyes on him.