Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott

32. The name of the game

It started the way most things had lately for Ophelia — on impulse.

Her original plan was nothing like this. Hell, she couldn't have planned this even if she wanted to. No, the plan was another thing altogether. It did start by apologising to him, of course, she figured that was only the logical way to try and get on his good side.

She had, however, intended for her apology to be less candid. But when the time came, the words simply spilled out of her, unbidden. So...there was that.

Everything that happened since then, it was an accident. It felt like her brain had taken a good look at her meticulously thought out plan — apologize to him, perhaps stroke his ego a little bit and finally try to get on his good side, attempt camaraderie— and found it lacking. So, it had come up instead with this...strange flirty persona that she had never used before.

It was mortifying. When those parting words left her mouth, she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. If anything, Ophelia knew of her limitations, and flirting? Yes, it was one of them.

She had never done it before. Never felt so bold as to try.

Her best attempt with it had been that one time on Lord's Nott study, and that wasn't really it. That was mainly ragebaiting Theodore enough to get close to him and try to influence him into kissing her. It was... hard and to this day she didn't know how on earth she had managed to pull it off.

But this? This was another thing altogether. In order to flirt, one has to be...charming. Mysterious. Tempting.

All qualities that Ophelia does not possess. So, after attempting to be that way with Nott of all people, Ophelia left the potions classroom feeling like the biggest failure.

It was laughable, at best. She felt her hands sweating and her heartbeat pounding in her ears as each step took her, thankfully, further away from that catastrophe of a situation. She could almost see him, making fun of her attempt along with Zabini. If she strained her ears, she swore she heard him laugh.

Or maybe it was all in her head, and she was going insane.

She turned down the corridor too sharply and nearly collided with a suit of armor. It clanged in protest. She muttered an apology to it. To armor. Wonderful. Truly unhinged behavior. She had never been so grateful for the empty corridor as right now.

Okay. Fine. She needed to get a grip and head to her next class. What was her next class? No matter, she just needed to keep on moving, keep putting distance between herself and the offending classroom. Walking was good, it helped her keep her mind focused on other things—like putting one foot in front of the other and avoiding colliding with any more inanimate objects and apologising to them.

But there was no use, her brain hated her and thus kept replaying the scene over and over again, in a loop. And the worst part of it? There had been no strategy in it. No cunning angle. Merlin, if there had been some clever reason, she could've respected herself a little more. But no. Her mouth had apparently staged a coup against her brain and gone, You know what would be hilarious? If we said something suggestive.

Taking a deep breath, Ophelia stopped dead on her tracks in the middle of a corridor somewhere in the castle. Turning her head around to look for any students that may be hiding in plain sight, she took a calculated step towards one of the windows overlooking the east courtyard —wow she had really walked to the other side of the castle— and took a seat there.

She could always turn this situation around. It is...not ideal considering her previously stated limitations but there was no other way around it. She had made her bed, and now she needed to lay on it. Or something like that.