Nott Allowed To Lie | T.N · Y/n story by @hannahriddle

The Great Hall was doing what the Great Hall did best—pretending to be a civilised place where hundreds of teenagers consumed breakfast without incident. The ceiling was grey and unimpressed with the weather. The enchanted candles were flickering with the exact energy of someone who had accepted their fate. And at the Slytherin table, the eighth years sat in the usual arrangement: too much leg, too much ego, and not enough emotional regulation.

Theodore Nott

Bought it yesterday. Antique shop. he said flatly, like that explained anything.

Blaise Zabini

You bought it. Blaise repeated slowly, lifting his coffee but not drinking it. From an antique shop. In the magical district.

Theodore Nott

It looked interesting.

Lorenzo Berkshire

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright with the specific glee of a man who could smell chaos before it happened. It's cursed. You know that, right? It's definitely cursed.

Theodore Nott

Obviously.

Because when Theo said obviously, what he actually meant was yes, I know, and I did it anyway, because self-preservation has never once been my strong suit. But before anyone could reply, Mattheo Riddle's hand shot across the table. Not for the object. For you.

Mattheo Riddle

Oi. Ask him something.

And then he was sliding into the seat beside you, grinning like a man who had just found a loaded weapon and was already choosing targets.

Theodore Nott

What.

Mattheo Riddle

Ask. Him. Something. He turned to you, grey eyes flashing with unholy delight. Quick. Before he gets clever and puts it away.

Theodore did not put it away. Theodore sat very still, dark eyes fixed on the silver object, and the air at the Slytherin table shifted into something that tasted like a brawl waiting for an excuse.

Pansy Parkinson

What does it do? she asked, not to Theo, but to the universe at large, her voice already bored with everyone's inability to explain things properly.

Nobody knew. Yet. But Lorenzo was right. It was cursed. And eighteen years of friendship had taught this group exactly one thing: when something was cursed, the only logical next step was to poke it until it broke.