Pulling Strings - Theodore Nott

35. A good soldier

Theodore's POV

Theodore forced his eyes to stay on the ground, careful not to accidentally trip on a rock. The path to Hogsmeade was rough despite technically being a road so there were never too many precautions to pay attention to one's feet.

It definitely did not have anything to do with looking for an excuse not to turn around and stare at Ophelia the whole way.

Somehow, it was obvious and he had missed it altogether. This was a...date, even if she tried to paint it in a less romantic way than it usually is. Which is why, he didn't know why he hadn't anticipated that she would dress accordingly. After all, he still remembered the way she looked for the date with Finch-Fletchley that he stopped.

It did nothing to prepare him for it. Ophelia came out of the castle —because they had agreed to meet outside, less prying eyes than in their common room— looking like one of the models in that magazine that Anna liked to read so much, Witch Weekly, and he feared for a moment that he was just standing there, open-mouthed in awe.

He schooled his face as fast as he could and after exchanging a short greeting, began to walk towards the town.

He had proposed they take one of the school carriages, but she refused. He suspected it was because the carriages were shared but decided not to make a comment about it. They had almost made it there, the first few shops visible when she spoke. It caught him off guard at first, having grown used to the quiet and the sound of snow under their feet.

"You're quieter than usual."

"Huh?" He turned to look at her and it was a mistake. His eyes travelled all the way to her lips— and the way they were a furious shade of dark red— almost like forced by a magnet. With a painstaking effort, he turned to her eyes. "I'm fine, just...nothing to say."

She hummed, clearly not believing him. "Really? Nothing to criticise? You seemed to have some strong opinion about something I was wearing last time you saw it, if I remember correctly." She shot him a lopsided smile, like they were in some sort of joke together.

He couldn't avoid the way his eyebrows scrunched in thought. Had he?

Likely, his face betrayed him because not long after he heard a small chuckle coming from her. "You seemed pretty disgusted by my lipstick, said it looked, and I quote, crass." She smirked at him, as if she had caught him red-handed doing something he shouldn't have.

And...fuck, she had a point.

He remembered now, it was that night...everything went back to that night. He felt his neck start to get hot and was grateful for the cover that his scarf provided. Theodore tried to focus on the fact that the air was freezing and that his ears were probably going to fall off. It didn't help. Nothing helped.

Crass. He'd said it like he was above it, like it offended his sensibilities. Like he wasn't the one who had stared at her mouth for an embarrassing amount of time.

He cleared his throat, "I don't recall being—"

"You do." Ophelia's tone was light, almost singsong, but her eyes didn't leave his face. She was enjoying this. Of course she was.

He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, as if it could anchor him to the ground. "It was...an observation."

"It was an insult."

"It was—," He stopped. Because she was still looking at him like that, like she was waiting for him to lie again so she could catch him doing it. Theodore had the uncomfortable realisation that she might actually be good at this. "Fine," he said, too quickly. "It was an insult."