Chapter Text
Rules of The Hunt
Alyakeiram
"In the end, the forest does not care whether you entered it willingly." - Old hunting proverb
Her hair. It was always her hair: A riot of brown curls that refused to be tamed, as though they existed in quiet rebellion against anything that even resembled order. It spilled over her shoulders in uneven strands, catching the light in places and shadowing others, shifting as she moved like it had a will of its own. There was no structure to it, no discipline—just movement. Constant and unapologetic. Hadn't she ever heard of Sleekeazy's? Or even a basic glamour charm? Honestly, little lioness, living up to every Gryffindor stereotype without even trying—messy, stubborn, entirely unbothered by it.
It shouldn't have caught his attention the way it did. It did.
"What are you staring at?" The question was quiet, nearly lost beneath the steady drone of Professor Binns, but it cut through regardless.
Theo didn't respond. He didn't shift, didn't blink, didn't so much as acknowledge that he'd heard it. The nudge from his right came again, firmer this time, carrying expectation with it. He ignored that, too. His attention remained fixed ahead, on Hermione Granger as she bent slightly to reach into her bag. The movement was absent, efficient, done without thought because she was already thinking of something else. She pulled out a quill, set it to parchment, and without looking twisted her hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, jamming the quill through it to hold it in place. It slipped almost immediately. Of course. A few curls fell loose, brushing against her shoulders again as though rejecting the effort entirely.
Theo's mouth twitched, faint and brief, gone as quickly as it came. Predictable.
"You're missing the assignment… You haven't written anything." Pansy's voice finally broke through, low and threaded with concern. Theo's gaze dropped briefly to the parchment in front of him: blank, save for the neatly written date in the corner—before lifting again, returning to Granger like it had nowhere else it intended to be.
"Hm," he murmured, tone idle, almost bored. "Good thing I've got you to help me later, yeah?" Pansy rolled her eyes, though the smile that followed came easily. Her hand slid over his thigh, slow and familiar, a gesture that didn't require permission because it had never needed to.
Pansy leaned in closer, her voice lowering again as she murmured, "And what should I help you with? How to hold a quill properly?"
Theo didn't answer. He didn't look at her. His attention stayed forward, tracking the way Granger's hair had already begun to escape again, the curls slipping free like they had something to prove. He caught Pansy's hand, gave it a brief squeeze, just enough to acknowledge it, and nudged it back toward her. The contact was easy. It wasn't what held his attention. Class ended in a scrape of chairs and rising voices, students gathering their things and filtering toward the door in clusters. Theo stayed exactly where he was, unconcerned as the room emptied.
Pansy leaned toward him as she stood, gathering her bag, "Are you coming?"
"I'll catch up," he said simply. She didn't question it. A quick kiss brushed his cheek, lingering just enough to be noticed, and then she was gone, swept out with the rest of the class.
Theo remained seated, gaze still fixed forward.
Hermione had no idea anyone was still in the classroom. She finished copying the last of the assignment, satisfied as she reviewed her notes: Complete. Correct. Organized. She packed her things, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she turned to leave and walked straight into...
Solid.
Unyielding.
Too close. "Oh—shh—Merlin—sorry—!" She startled back, breath catching as she looked up.
Theo raised a brow slowly, as though the situation were mildly interesting rather than accidental. "Do you own a brush?"
Hermione blinked once, twice, before letting out a short, incredulous laugh. The question was so unexpected, so entirely out of place, that it took a second for it to land properly.
He didn't smile. Didn't even seem to understand why she found it funny, which somehow made it worse.
"Er—yes," she said, still caught between amusement and confusion. "Well, actually, a comb. Brushes make this—" She gestured vaguely at her hair, as though that explained anything. "Did you really stay after dismissal just to ask about my hair?"
Theo leaned back slightly, folding his arms with a kind of calm certainty that suggested he saw nothing strange about the situation at all. "Yes." No hesitation. No embarrassment. No attempt to soften it.
Hermione stared at him, her expression shifting into something more assessing. "That's concerning," she said, tilting her head. "And why, pray tell, are you on about my hair?"
Theo didn't look away. "Because I can't see the bloody board when you're sitting in front of me." The answer landed flat and unapologetic, and for a second, Hermione didn't respond. Then her lips twitched. "Perhaps you should find another seat, then."
"No." The faintest hint of a smile touched his mouth. "I've sat at that table since first year. You're the one who keeps moving. So, I'd say you're the one who needs to relocate."
"Please," Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. "There are far more trivial things to argue about than my hair and my seating arrangement. No one else seems to be complaining."
"I can argue all day, Granger," he said, quieter now, sharper without raising his voice. "You tell me the sky is blue, and I'll tell you why you're wrong."
Her brow lifted, deliberately: An invitation she hadn't meant to give. "This is ridiculous. I have lunch to get to, and it's practically over, so—" She stepped to move past him.
Theo's hand came down against the table, not touching her, not grabbing—just there, blocking enough to make her stop.
Hermione stilled. Her gaze dropped briefly to his hand before lifting again, meeting his eyes. Green. But not warm. Not soft. They reminded her of sea-glass, pale flecks catching the light in a way that felt almost sharp. Unsettling, though she couldn't have said why. For a moment, she forgot what she'd been about to say. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, he stepped back. No comment. No satisfaction. He turned and left. Hermione didn't follow. She stood there for a moment longer than necessary, something about the interaction sitting wrong in a way she couldn't quite place.
By the time Theo reached the Great Hall, lunch had settled into a low, steady hum. The initial rush had passed, leaving behind scattered conversations and half-finished plates. The enchanted ceiling darkened gradually overhead, clouds gathering before the first flakes of snow began to fall. He barely registered it. He moved toward the Slytherin table on habit alone, scanning the room without really seeing it until his gaze caught on something that made him slow. A plate. Untouched. Waiting. Of course.
"Everything all right?" Pansy asked as he took the seat beside her. Her tone was light, but her dark eyes flicked over him quickly, assessing.
"Great," Theo said. "Just had to take care of something."
She let it go, turning back to her conversation as though she hadn't been waiting. Theo picked up his fork and began to eat, the motion automatic and absent, more habit than hunger.
Draco Malfoy slid into the seat beside him without ceremony, close enough that Theo felt the shift before he looked. "We have to go to Hogsmeade tonight," Draco murmured. "Meet me at the Smarmy. Midnight."
Theo stilled, just for a second, before turning his head slightly to look at his friend: Draco looked…sallow. Tired in a way that went deeper than a missed night of sleep. Theo didn't ask questions. Not here. He nodded once.
Above them, the enchanted ceiling shifted as the snowfall thickened, drawing a ripple of excitement through the Hall. Laughter rose, voices lifting as students reacted to it. Theo looked up briefly. It felt too clean.
"Are you not hungry?" Pansy asked.
"No."
"What's wrong?"
He could have told her. About Draco. About midnight. About the quiet sense that something had already begun to move beneath the surface of things. About Granger's bloody hair. Instead, he shrugged, "Tired."
Her expression softened immediately. "You haven't been sleeping? We can go over the notes tomorrow morning, in the common room."
"Sounds good, Pans." The smile he gave her was practiced, measured just enough to satisfy without inviting anything further. He pushed his plate away, half-finished, and leaned back slightly. And then his gaze lifted again, almost without thought. Across the Hall, Granger stood, pushing her chair back. Her hair had come loose again, curls slipping free around her shoulders. Potter rose beside her almost immediately, Weasley following just behind, the three of them falling into step as they moved toward the doors. Too close. Too familiar. Something tightened in Theo's chest, sharper than it had any right to be. It wasn't entirely new—something like it had been there before, dull and easy enough to ignore—but this felt different. More immediate, precise. His jaw tightened. It had already been sore. Now it throbbed, creating turmoil within his stomach.
Hermione walked into the Great Hall on autopilot, her thoughts still caught in the classroom, replaying the interaction in a loop that refused to settle into anything reasonable. Theodore Nott had never spoken to her. Not once. Not even when Malfoy had made a point of it. He had always just observed: Detached. Removed. So, for him to stay after class, to block her path, to say what he'd said—it didn't fit. She grabbed a bowl of soup without really looking at it and sat beside Harry and Ginny, staring down at it rather than eating. Ron's voice drifted across from her, low and distracted, tangled up with Lavender in a way that made her cringe.
Harry noticed. He always did. "You good?"
Hermione nodded automatically. She wasn't going to dwell on this. There were more important things, always. Still, her mind betrayed her: green eyes. Too steady. You're the one who needs to relocate. Her grip tightened slightly around her spoon before she forced it to relax. No. Ridiculous.
"I think Malfoy's up to something," Harry said quietly.
Hermione blinked, pulling herself back into the present.
"Why?" He always felt this way.
"We can't talk here," Harry replied.
She glanced down at her untouched soup and sighed, already gathering her things again, "fine." They stood and left together. Hermione didn't look back. Didn't notice that she was being watched.